by Sarah Sutton
“You okay?”
You have got to be flipping kidding me.
Lucas’s finger cut into my vision and pointed at the return address. “Is that—”
“Don’t.” I shrugged his hand away and pressed forward, my steps more like monster stomps in the high school hallway. I gripped the envelope with tight fingers, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the stupid thing ripped under the pressure. Good.
“Your dad sent you a letter, huh?” Lucas asked, keeping up with my elephant-like footfalls and following me to my locker. “What does it say?”
“I obviously haven’t opened it,” I snapped at him, clenching my jaw shut tight. He only saw the front, my brain reasoned with my personified anger, trying to coax it back within reasonable boundaries. He wouldn’t have seen that the seal hadn’t been broken. “And I’m not going to.”
As I turned down the corridor with my locker, I started toward the trash can.
Gram was wrong. I wouldn’t open the stupid thing just because she’d packed it in my bag. If she wouldn’t throw it away, I would.
I reached to toss the envelope into the trash when Lucas cut around in front of me, body-blocking the garbage can. The familiar teasing glint to his gaze vanished—those blue eyes were serious and trained on me. “Blaire.”
“Would you move?” I shoved at his chest, but the football player didn’t even freaking budge. “Seriously. Move.”
“You don’t want to throw that away.” The edge of his jaw became prominent as his lips tightened. “Open it or don’t open it, but don’t throw it away. It could have something important inside.”
I threw my hands up as everything spilled over. Anger had won out against reason, and it made my tone piercing. “You sound like Gram. This letter? It’s none of your business. So can you drop it? We broke up, and I’ve been perfectly clear on the fact that I don’t want to talk to you. So why don’t you go bother someone else?”
Lucas’s chest rose sharply and fell once. I waited and waited for a sarcastic remark in return, an eye roll, something, but he froze solid. For one heartbeat, two. The paper in my hand became heavier and heavier. I wanted nothing more than to throw it in the trash.
The longer he looked into my eyes, the more exposed I felt. He used to do that all the time—trace my eyes, find the true feelings there. He’d always tell me my words could be fantastic at weaving a lie, but my eyes would give me away. And he looked in them now, trying to decipher the truth, and I couldn’t let him.
Don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty.
So I squeezed my eyes shut, heart thumping painfully in my chest.
The night before I’d broken up with Lucas had been the best night of my life.
Lucas’s parents and little sister had been out of the house for the night, and I’d gone over to watch movies with him, like we always had when no one was home. But there was something about the fact that we were alone that night, in that big house, that made me bold, braver than before.
That night, everything had been charged ten times higher than ever.
I could still remember how it felt to have his lips on my neck as my fingers fumbled for the buttons on his shirt, the warmth of his breath as he’d chuckled against my skin.
Could still remember the near-crushing feeling in my chest of loving him so much.
Could still remember the moment when my cell phone rang, startling us apart.
Could still remember the happy look on his face the next day as he’d sat beside me in the car, moments before I’d broken his heart.
I saw stars from how tightly I pinched my eyes shut, and I dragged in a breath to apologize. But when I finally got the courage to look, Lucas no longer stood in front of me.
No, he and his stiff shoulders already headed down the hall.
A strangled sort of compression worked its way up my throat, crawling along the sides, scraping it raw. Desperation made my voice sharp. “Are you going to run away with hurt feelings? What, you can’t take it? I thought you missed me yelling at you?” Please stop, please stop, I thought to him, my breath shaking. If he didn’t turn, it might’ve been the final straw.
That razor-sharp panic ebbed a little as Lucas pulled to a halt, pivoting on his heel. A distance of seven lockers separated us, as well as two students who tried to seem like they weren’t eavesdropping.
“You told me to walk away,” he said to me, voice level.
But I didn’t mean it.
The letter in my hand weighed me to the ground, as if made of lead. And the trash bin was right there, right in front of me, but I couldn’t even think about dropping it.
I reached around and tucked it back into my backpack, tugging on the zipper as I crossed the distance between us. “I…I shouldn’t have said that. Any of that.”
“I do know we broke up, Blaire,” Lucas said quietly, so quietly that the two students listening wouldn’t have been able to hear. “I remember I can’t walk up to you like I used to. I can’t hold you like I used to. I’m not sure why you think it slipped my mind.”
“It’s this stupid month,” I told him, folding my arms, trying to shrug on a coat of nonchalance, one ten sizes too small. But I fought so hard to wipe away the sharpness of the moment. “I—I just hate October. I hate Halloween. It puts me in a…bad mood.”
“Those are fighting words in these parts. Hallow takes Halloween very seriously.” He attempted at humor, but the emotion didn’t settle in his eyes, his voice too flat. “But I get what you mean.”
He would know what I meant. He’d been there this time last Halloween, the first anniversary of Dad leaving. He’d been there to witness everything.
“I don’t want to pretend you don’t exist,” I told him honestly, looking up into his eyes even though it was a bad idea. I tended to get lost in them. “I’m not used to being around you this way.”
Lucas had said he missed being able to walk up to me, being able to hold me the way he used to, and I missed the same things. I missed being able to call him at night, listen to his breathing on the other end of the phone when he fell asleep. I missed playing games with him and Delia in their backyard.
So much history lay between us that the thought of it all going down the drain made me ache. Then again, the thought of holding on to a dead-end hurt even more.
He offered me a smile, making my breath catch. “We could be friends.”
I so badly wanted to agree. “That never works, and you know it.”
“We could make it work.”
“No, we couldn’t.” Not when my insides tore apart each time I saw him.
Lucas took a step forward so only an arm’s reach of distance separated us. I kept my arms close to my chest, forbidding them from reaching out. “You said so yourself—you’re struggling through this month. You need friends to get you through it.”
I took a step back. Distance. Distance was good. “I’ve got Donnie.”
“Got me for what?” Donnie asked as he walked up to the two of us, two cups of coffee in hand. He’d worn his dark hair loose today, no gel to spike it up. He eyed Lucas. “Hey, man. I didn’t realize you rejoined the ranks or else I’d have brought you a coffee too.”
“He’s not rejoining the ranks,” I told Donnie as I took my espresso, shaking the mere idea from my head and continuing my trek to my locker. “He’s merely being a nuisance.”
Donnie’s and Lucas’s footfalls on the linoleum were harmonious behind me, as well as their following voices. “Don’t listen to her—Blaire and I are friends now. Or, should I say, again.”
“Friends?” Donnie’s voice pitched high.
I couldn’t blame him. Donnie had been there through the trenches of our breakup, unsure which side to settle on. He was family, sure, but I was the one who’d broken up with Lucas, his friends, with no explanation. I hadn’t told Donnie about why, so he knew nothing.
And with how I’d been lately, if I were him, I’d be nervous about the idea of Lucas and me being friends too.
“Do you not normally get sugar?” Donnie asked, brow squished.
“You’ve never put sugar in it before.”
He blinked. “Oh. Well, you know, I thought you could use some sweetening,” Donnie returned quickly, but he didn’t stick to the subject long. “But really. Friends? Why?”
“Because I hate myself, apparently,” I muttered, and as I approached my locker, I saw a paper had been taped to the front of it—an orange-colored poster with small decorations on the front. Once I realized what it was, I sighed. “No, the universe hates me.”
The annual Halloween festival was coming up next Saturday, and of course someone had taped a poster for it on the front of my locker. Out of all the other lockers, they’d chosen mine.
HALLOWEEN BOO-BASH: EAT, DRINK, AND BE SCARY.
Ha. So clever.
I grabbed it, crumpling it up into a ball before dropping it to the ground.
“She hates Halloween,” Lucas whispered to Donnie.
I ripped my locker open, my newspaper clippings fluttering in the breeze. Why advertise a community event at school, anyway? They didn’t have to advertise on my locker, either.
“How can someone not like Halloween?” Donnie demanded, and I looked over my shoulder. He sipped at his coffee, looking cheery. “It’s the best holiday. Well, second to Christmas.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Your pumpkin spice is giving me a headache.”
“Plus the Boo-Bash is the best, Blaire. Everyone around here treats it like a second prom. It’s, like, the biggest event of the fall, and you know it.”
I did know it, and I dreaded it every year. “Sounds like torture.”
“Just saying, if you fully experienced Halloween instead of locking yourself in your bedroom, you’d like it.” Donnie gestured at me. “I mean, look at you. You have a skull-and-crossbones backpack. You have creepy pictures in your locker. How do you hate the spookiest month of the year?”
As I hung my bag on the hook, I realized he wasn’t wrong. The paper clippings on my locker wall were of strange things—owls with glowing eyes, dark forests, broken stepping stones in a walkway. Random things I’d found as I flipped through magazines and cut out. I guess they could’ve been a little bit spooky.
I hadn’t always hated Halloween. Once upon a time, I’d enjoyed it. That felt like a lifetime ago.
I shook my head. “Just because I like the aesthetic of it doesn’t mean I have to like the month.”
“Donnie’s right,” Lucas said, tapping his fingers against my open locker door. His gaze traced over the clippings and taped pictures. Something in his eyes tightened as he looked away. “If you fully experienced Halloween, you’d love it.”
“What the heck does ‘fully experiencing Halloween’ mean?” It sounded creepy. And exhausting.
“You just need help to see the greatness in the holiday,” he said, eyebrows rising and falling. “Help from your friends.”
My first instinct was to scoff, loudly and in his face, but I found myself still under his azure gaze as it focused down at me. Sarcasm coated my voice thickly. “You’re saying you want to show me the joy of pumpkins and ghosts?”
“I’m saying I’m willing to help cure you of your bitterness.”
“God knows she’s got a lot of it,” Donnie quipped.
Lucas’s attention lifted over my head to flash my cousin a grin. My coffee warmed my hands, searing my fingers. Donnie had forgotten to get a sleeve.
I didn’t want to be the grouch of Halloween, didn’t want to put a damper on the holiday, but this was a slippery slope.
I could be strong enough, though. Spending time with Lucas didn’t mean things went back to how they were. I could be strong enough to remember why I’d done what I had in the first place—I had enough self-discipline.
My gaze leveled with Lucas’s. “You have three chances to convince me October doesn’t suck. Three outings.”
“Five.”
“What? No. You don’t get to negotiate terms.”
Lucas, though, wasn’t stopping. “Four.”
Donnie made a noise. “Definitely four. Gram taught you how to compromise, Blaire.”
I could’ve smacked him. He was supposed to be on my side. “Fine. Four chances, and Donnie has to be present for every one of them.”
“You don’t trust me?” Lucas asked, batting his dark and beautiful lashes.
More like I don’t trust myself.
“Hey, I don’t mind tagging along on your soul-searching journey,” Donnie said, shrugging. “As long as there are no haunted houses.”
“Deal.” Lucas plucked my espresso from my numb fingertips. He had it half raised to his mouth before he paused. “You weren’t going to drink this, right?”
I wasn’t. Donnie had killed the coffee with sweetness. The only thing worse than a sweet coffee was a letter from my long-lost father, and I had one of those too. Sitting in my backpack. Taunting me. Haunting me.
But there was something about watching Lucas place his lips on the spot where my own had been, the thought of the hot liquid pooling in his mouth. A flash of heat warmed my veins, followed by an icy chill.
I didn’t even say anything when I slammed my locker shut, practically running away from the two of them. This time, though, when I walked away, neither boy followed.
I struggled on my homework that night, my thoughts trailing from calculus questions to everything else going on. I felt bitter. Pessimistic. Negative. It was like I couldn’t help it. Everything that came from my mouth was just…cynical. Recalling how I’d spoken to Lucas today physically hurt, a knife stabbing my insides. I would’ve thought he’d be the last person I’d speak that way to, but no.
Even down to Mrs. Wilson’s costume party last Saturday. I’d been annoyed too. And because of, what—my pinching shoes? What was up with that?
I blamed it on Dad’s stupid letter. Things had been going so well before I’d gotten it. I’d been coming off of the best summer since Mom had died, Lucas and I had been dating happily for over a year, and my junior year of high school had loomed on the horizon. Everything had been perfect, up until I’d pulled that ugly envelope out of the mailbox. And then my world had fallen apart.
A sharp shriek echoed through the apartment, though slightly muffled through my closed bedroom door, causing me to jerk my pen across my worksheet. “Gram?” I shouted, heart drumming into high-gear, and I shoved to my feet. “Gram! Are you okay?”
I threw my door open when she didn’t answer me, bursting into the living room. With the scream still echoing in my ears, I expected to see Gram’s small body crumpled on the floor from a heart attack or her finger sliced open from a kitchen knife. Something.
Instead, she sat at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of her, a wide grin on her face.
“Jeez,” I muttered, pressing a palm to my chest. My heart didn’t want to settle down, not yet. “I thought you broke a hip or something, Gram.”
That wide grin faltered, but only slightly. “Oh, I’m not that old. But come look, quick!”
“Did you open up a spam email again?” I asked, rounding the table. “I told you not to click on anything if you don’t recognize who sent it.”
Gram pointed a frail finger on the computer, not caring how her fingerprints would transfer onto the screen. “Just look, would you?”
I looked and immediately figured out why she’d screamed.
The subject line read Halloween Boo-Bash Catering Request.
Of flipping course.
“They’re asking me to cater!” she exclaimed, fidgeting in her seat. “Or, well, us, but still! This is huge, Blaire. They usually always hire out some fancy bigwig company from Bayview.”
“’Bout time they went local,” I huffed, and though her excitement was so exuberant, I couldn’t quite get myself to share it. I pushed off the table, heading to the fridge. “
Can you make it fit into your schedule? It’s so last minute.”
“Of course I can make it fit! This is the Boo-Bash we’re talking about.” She leaned forward, reading the email with her mouth wide open.
The amazingly wonderful Boo-Bash. Ugh. It was bad enough the party had been advertised on my locker—now we had to cater it too? I guess I couldn’t avoid it this year.
I went to the fridge to pour myself a glass of soda, the kitchen holding a stifling sort of silence, nothing but the fizz of my pop filling the air. “I’m happy for you, Gram,” I forced out after a moment, looking at where she sat. “This is huge for you.”
“It’s going to be amazing. I can wear my fairy godmother costume—you know, the one that makes me look taller?—and you can wear the princess gown—”
A groan slipped out. “Can’t Donnie wear it this time?”
There was something childlike about wearing costumes around other adults. Sure, they wore costumes too, but it still felt strange. Like I was playing dress-up. Like their costumes were appropriate because they were at a party, but my frou-frou princess gown was weird because I wasn’t a guest. I was a worker. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I could’ve dressed up as something else—something more festive for the time of year—but no.
Gram rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure he’d look as lovely as you do in it.”
“Why can’t I be a ghost?” I demanded. “More of a Halloween staple?”
“I can probably whip together a pumpkin costume if you wanted. Something large and unflattering.”
Honestly, it would’ve been better than the princess dress.
Gram peered over her shoulder at me, the glow of the computer screen a faded shadow around her figure. “Blaire,” she said, tone changing in an instant, going from excited to almost nervous, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to work the Bash. I know…I know how hard this time of year is for you. Especially since…”
A fist of discomfort clenched my stomach, but I flipped my switch. The smile I pulled onto my face felt real enough—real enough to fake her out. “It’s a big party for you, Gram. You’re going to need all hands on deck. Besides, I haven’t been in years. It’ll be fun to go again, rather than watching it from my window.”
