Stars So Sweet

by Tara Dairman

  “Hey!” Gladys greeted her. “I was sure I’d be the last one here.”

  “We had an away game in Oceanside,” Parm gasped, almost breathless. “Just got back.”

  Up in Charissa’s room, a Sasha McRay album was blaring and Rolanda and Marti were already in their matching black witch costumes accented with sparkling sequins. Charissa, still in her fluffy mauve bathrobe, was braiding Marti’s thick red hair, and Rolanda was perched in front of Charissa’s three-way mirror, applying makeup.

  “Hey, girls!” Charissa snapped an elastic band in place around the base of Marti’s braid. “Welcome to Dance Prep Central. Omigosh, I can’t wait to see your costumes!”

  Gladys was also eager to get a look at her costume, since her aunt had made some alterations to it while she was in the city. She tossed her bag onto Charissa’s canopy bed and unzipped it, exposing bright orange fabric with black accents.

  “You’re dressing as a pumpkin?” Marti asked incredulously.

  Rolanda looked up from her makeup. “Isn’t that, like, a little kid’s costume?”

  Gladys had never liked those two much.

  “It’s not just a pumpkin,” she said. She pulled the costume free from its bag. Sewn onto the front, instead of the triangles of a jack-o’-lantern’s eyes and nose, was a symbol she had learned all about at the Mathletes bake sale: .

  “I’m going as pumpkin pi,” she explained.

  Marti stared. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a math joke,” Rolanda said. “Or . . . a food joke?”

  “It’s both,” Charissa declared, “and I love it.” The other girls shrugged and went back to primping. “Parm, did you want to shower before you changed? There’s a towel on that shelf.”

  “No thanks,” Parm said, tossing her backpack onto the floor. “And anyway, I’m not changing.”

  “Did you forget your costume?” Charissa asked.

  “Nope,” Parm said. “I’m just not into dressing up. I think it’s dumb.” She glanced quickly around the room. “No offense.”

  Charissa looked horrified. “Parm, you’ve got to have a costume! It’s Halloween!” She crossed the room and snatched her own witch outfit off its hanger on the closet door. “Here, wear mine,” she said.

  “What? No way.” Parm shot Gladys a frantic look. “Gladys, back me up here.”

  Gladys, who was in the process of pulling on a pair of green tights, feared that her friend had entered into a losing battle. “I dunno, Parm,” she said in a playful tone. “You may not have a choice. I once heard a very wise man say, ‘Whatever Charissa wants, Charissa gets.’”

  “That’s right!” Charissa cried. “And all I want for Halloween is for Parm to dress up and look beautiful and have a great time at the dance. Come on—put that on, and I’ll do your hair, too.”

  “Charissa!” Marti whined. “You can’t give her your costume. We’re supposed to be the three witches from MacBook!”

  “Macbeth,” Rolanda corrected her. “The three witches from Macbeth. It’s only one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays!” She shook her head, braids swinging—but Gladys had to wonder whether Rolanda had been so knowledgeable about Shakespeare before she’d joined the Drama Club.

  “There will still be three witches,” Charissa told Marti. “You, Rolanda, and Parm.”

  “And what will you be?” Marti asked.

  Charissa gazed around the room until her eyes rested on Parm again. “I’ll be a soccer player,” she declared. “Parm, we’ll switch. You’ll wear my costume, and I’ll wear your uniform.”

  “My uniform’s not a costume,” Parm said.

  “Sure it is,” Charissa countered. “At least, for me it is. It’s something I wouldn’t wear unless I was dressing up as another person. And the whole point of wearing a costume is to feel what it’s like to be in someone else’s shoes, right?” She glanced down at Parm’s muddy soccer cleats. “You’ll need to lend me your shoes, too.”

  “This is crazy,” Parm said. “You’re crazy.”

  “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” Charissa grinned. “Now come on, get changed.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Parm grumbled, but just the same, she kicked off her cleats and began to change her clothes. Luckily, she had some fresh socks and shin guards in her bag so Charissa didn’t have to use her dirty ones.

  Twenty minutes later, they all piled into Charissa’s mother’s SUV. Parm’s eyes glittered with sparkly purple shadow, and her long hair was swept up into an elegant swirl. Charissa, meanwhile, had commandeered Parm’s stretchy headband and two of her black under-eye stickers, as well as her uniform, and looked like a fierce soccer warrior.

  Gladys tugged on the hem of her orange outfit and wondered if it was possible for a pumpkin to be filled with butterflies.

  The sun was down by the time they reached the school, but light and loud music spilled out from the open gym doors. The girls tumbled out of the car and joined the stream of seventh- and eighth-graders making their way toward the entrance.

  “Hey, it’s witches!” a boy’s voice called out. “Real original.”

  Owen sauntered up to their group, flanked by two other boys Gladys knew from elementary school: Jake Wheeler and Ethan Slezak. Jake wore a furry tunic and Viking helmet, and Ethan was dressed as some sort of robot. Owen, though, was dressed simply in jeans and a black hoodie.

  “We’re not just witches,” Rolanda said sniffily. “We’re the three witches from Macbeth.”

  “Yeah!” Marti chimed in. “Bubble, bubble toil and trouble!”

  “It’s double, double, not bubble, bubble,” Rolanda hissed, but Owen and his entourage were already howling with laughter.

  “You’re one to laugh,” Parm snapped at Owen, “considering you didn’t even bother to wear a costume!”

  Owen stopped laughing and beckoned Jake and Ethan to move off with him. “Hey, save me a slow dance, will ya, Parm?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Not on your life,” Parm muttered.

  Charissa slung an arm around Parm’s shoulders. “I knew you’d see the light about costumes,” she said. “Come on—let’s get inside. Gladys has to meet up with her hot date.”

  “Not a date!” Gladys reminded her, but she fell into step with the other girls anyway.

  Giant pumpkins, fuzzy fake cobwebs, and orange-and-black streamers decorated the gym, and one side of the room was flanked with long tables holding cups of punch and bowls of chips and candy. A few kids were already dancing, but a lot more were milling around the refreshment tables or clustered by the doorway. Charissa had to push through them to clear a path for her friends.

  Meanwhile, Gladys—whose heart was thumping now in time to the bass pouring from the DJ’s speakers—looked everywhere for Hamilton. They should have set a specific spot to meet. There were hundreds of kids here, almost all in costume. How was she supposed to pick him out?

  “Gladys?”

  She glanced up—and had to suppress a scream. Standing before her was a boy who looked like he’d been shot in the head and had half the flesh on his face eaten off by maggots.

  But he was also wearing a beret.

  “Hamilton?” she squeaked. “Oh my goodness! You’re a . . .”

  “Zombie,” he answered. “Specifically, Mr. Masterson, father of Grady, protagonist of Zombietown, U.S.A. What do you think?”

  “Extremely. Terrifying,” Gladys told him truthfully. Hamilton grinned, and she was glad to see he at least hadn’t gone as far as getting a set of fake bloody teeth.

  “My mother knows a Broadway makeup artist,” he said. “She came over to help me get ready.”

  “Wow—you took this really seriously,” Gladys said. “I got dressed in about five minutes.”

  “And you look great!” Hamilton said quickly. “Pumpkin pi—really clever.”


  “Thanks.”

  They stood there awkwardly then, looking around. Gladys’s friends had moved to the refreshment table, and now she felt a sudden hankering for candy corn.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get something to eat. Charissa’s here, and I’ll introduce you to Parm.”

  Over the next hour, more students arrived at the gym, and the trickle of dancers out on the floor turned into a raging river of kids showing off their moves. Gladys wasn’t big on dancing, but Hamilton insisted that they join the party. “After all, this may be the only school dance of my entire life!” he said. “It would be foolish not to take advantage.”

  Gladys was relieved that at least no one was pairing off, so she was able to dance clumsily alongside Hamilton as part of a larger group that also included Charissa, Parm, Rolanda, and Marti. Elaine de la Vega—whose costume consisted of fake glasses and a laminated PRESS badge—moved all around the gym snapping pictures. Gladys also kept catching glimpses of Owen and his buddies skirting the perimeter of their dance circle, but every few minutes Charissa shot Owen a death glare, and they backed away.

  Their group was rehydrating with cups of punch (a disgusting “red” flavor, but still, Gladys was thirsty) when the DJ’s voice crooned out over the speaker system. “We’re gonna slow things down now,” she said. “This next dance is for all you couples out there.”

  Hamilton cleared his throat. “Er, Gladys,” he started, “would you have any interest—”

  “Yo, Parm!” Owen’s voice seemed to carry over the crowd as he ran toward their group at full tilt. Hamilton was barely able to jump out of the way before Owen’s sneakers skidded to a stop right in front of Parm’s pointy witch shoes. Breathing heavily, Owen knocked his hood back from his head. “Will you dance with me?”

  Parm stared at him for a bewildered moment, then, drawing herself up to her full height, said, “Okay, fine.”

  Gladys nearly choked on her punch—but that was nothing compared with Charissa’s reaction. As Parm and Owen walked together out onto the dance floor, her lower lip trembled in wordless shock. A moment later, when Owen put his hands on Parm’s waist, Charissa ripped off her headband, flung it to the ground, and raced toward the door that led to the hallway.

  Gladys stared at the couple on the dance floor, then at Charissa’s retreating back—which, ironically, said Singh. Something was coming together in her head.

  “I’m sorry, Hamilton,” she said. “I’d better go see if Charissa’s okay.”

  “Of course,” Hamilton said. “I’ll be right here.”

  Gladys took off into the hallway and just caught sight of the girls’ bathroom door swinging shut behind her friend. She found Charissa standing by the sinks, gazing down into one of them. No one else was in the bathroom.

  “Charissa,” Gladys said. “I’m sorry.”

  Charissa turned to her and sniffled. “Am I that obvious?”

  “No! I mean, I doubt anyone else noticed anything. And definitely not Owen.”

  “What do I care if Owen notices?” Charissa said.

  Now Gladys was confused. “Wait. Don’t you have a crush on him? I thought that was why you were upset.”

  Charissa stared at her. “What? No way! Owen Green . . . I mean . . . he didn’t even wear a costume!” She kicked the toe of one of Parm’s soccer cleats into the cinder-block bathroom wall. “I’m upset because Parm is dancing with him, and . . . because I like her.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Gladys said. “I think it’s really great that the two of you have become friends.”

  “No,” Charissa said quietly. Her gray eyes locked onto Gladys’s. “I like her.”

  “Oh.” Gladys blinked. “Oh.”

  Charissa turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She balled up the front of Parm’s soccer jersey in her fist, then let it fall back against her torso. “God, I wish I’d brought a different outfit to change into. I look so stupid.”

  “Charissa—” Gladys started.

  “Let’s not make a big deal of this, okay?” Charissa said. “Owen’s into Parm, and she’s apparently into him. Parm and I are just friends, and that’s how it is.”

  Gladys bit her lip. “Okay,” she said. “But if you ever want to talk more . . . well, I’m here.”

  Charissa tried to smile. “I know.”

  Gladys stepped forward and gathered her friend into a hug. Charissa sank into her, her body shaking slightly. Gladys squeezed her tighter.

  “Don’t say anything to her, okay?” Charissa whispered. “I’m not ready for anyone else to know.”

  “Of course,” Gladys said. This was Charissa’s business, to share whenever and with whomever she chose.

  “Thanks.” Charissa stepped back, then pulled out her phone. “I’m gonna text Daddy to come pick me up. I’m not really in the mood for dancing anymore. Do you think you can get a ride home with someone else?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Gladys said.

  Charissa finished sending her text, then Gladys walked her out to the front exit. They waited together in silence for Charissa’s father to come, and when his dark sedan pulled up, Gladys gave Charissa another hug.

  “Are you gonna be okay?” Gladys asked.

  “Yeah, don’t worry about me,” Charissa said. “If the others ask, you can tell them I got sick—too much candy corn or something.”

  “There’s no such thing,” Gladys said, and they exchanged a smile.

  “You’re a good friend, Gladys,” Charissa said. “And Hamilton’s lucky to be your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not—” Gladys started, but Charissa was already dashing toward her dad’s car.

  Gladys was halfway down the hallway that led back to the gym when a zombie shuffled up to her.

  “Gladys!” Hamilton cried. “I was starting to worry.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Charissa wasn’t feeling great, so I waited with her ’til her dad could come take her home.”

  “Ah.” Though it was hard to tell under the makeup, she thought she saw his expression soften. “I thought maybe you’d decided to abandon me here—you know, give me a taste of my own medicine for disappearing on you.”

  Gladys shook her head. “I’m not that vengeful. And I’m really glad you’re back in town.”

  “I’m glad, too.” He smiled. “Well, shall we return to the gymnasium?”

  Gladys stepped up close to him, then took his hand into her own. It was warm and slightly moist. He didn’t pull it away.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  They made it back to the dance just in time for the last slow song of the night.

  Chapter 29

  RETURN OF THE BLOWTORCH

  “SO, GIRLS, HOW WAS THE BIG DANCE?” Parm’s mother asked as Parm and Gladys climbed into her car.

  “Fine!” Parm said quickly. “Right, Gladys?”

  “Yeah, it was fine,” Gladys said. She hadn’t actually had much of a chance to talk to Parm other than to ask if she could catch a ride home with her. Parm and Owen had spent the rest of the dance together, which pretty much made them an official DTMS couple—though it didn’t sound like Parm was eager to share that news with her mother. Then again, Gladys wasn’t exactly planning to blab all the details of her time with Hamilton to her own parents, so she understood.

  Mrs. Singh started the engine. “Parminder, what are you wearing?”

  “Oh . . . Charissa lent me a costume,” Parm said. “And actually, she has my soccer stuff. But I’m sure we can swap back at school.”

  “The last I heard, you were dead set against dressing up.” Mrs. Singh sounded amused. “What’s next—will I find you at the refrigerator at midnight, stuffing yourself with my cooking?”

  “Geez, Mom—a person can change her mind about one thing, can’t she?”

  “I believe she can,” M
rs. Singh said merrily.

  When Gladys arrived home, she found her mother rereading Zombietown, U.S.A.—her own copy now finally signed by the author. “Aunt Lydia and Dad went to bed,” she told Gladys. “But I stayed up to wait for you. What an exciting day you’ve had! I want to hear all about it.”

  Gladys told her mom about her meeting with Fiona, her lunch review “test,” and the Halloween dance—leaving out certain bits, of course. “But getting back to the Standard job,” she said. “Fiona gave me a check. A pretty big one.”

  “Yes, your father showed me,” her mom said. “We’ll take it to the bank tomorrow and put it straight into your savings account.”

  “Actually,” Gladys said, “I had another idea of what to do with it. Kind of . . . an investment. But I’d need your help to make it happen.”

  Gladys explained her idea. Her mom was skeptical at first, but Gladys made her argument convincingly and, in the end, managed to win her mother over.

  “There’s no guarantee you’ll make your money back,” her mom warned, “but it sounds like you’ve thought through the risks.”

  “I have,” Gladys said.

  “Then I’ll put in the paperwork tomorrow morning,” her mom said, “and if all goes well, you can make the announcement at dinner.”

  • • •

  The next day at school couldn’t go by fast enough. Once again, Gladys found herself wishing she had a phone, if only to text her mom and find out how their plan was coming along.

  Okay, and she wouldn’t have minded texting Hamilton, either. She wondered if there was any wiggle room in the “no phone ’til you’re thirteen” plan; if so, she might be willing to scrap her Christmas wish list in exchange for one.

  Between fourth and fifth periods, Gladys spotted Charissa and Parm leaving their math classroom together. Their usual roles were reversed: Parm was chattering happily while Charissa listened, her expression rather blank. As she passed them, Gladys caught a wisp of their conversation. “And then he said, ‘Ya wanna get some ice cream on Saturday?’ And, well, I don’t like ice cream, but I said okay anyway, so . . .”