by Marty Chan
“Move closer,” she shouted. “I want to get a picture of you two together.”
“No pictures,” I yelled.
But Monique herded Remi and me together. FLASH! My Halloween nightmare would live forever in Mom’s photo album right beside my naked-baby-bathing-in-a-kitchen-sink snapshot.
“Give Monique the camera so she can take more pictures,” Dad suggested.
“We’re going now,” I said. I stumbled out the front door in the cramped pink shoes.
In the neighbourhood, ghosts haunted the streets while superheroes half-ran, half-flew down the sidewalks. Two elves sprang past me, firing fake arrows at a skinny orc. Everyone carried pillow cases or bags of candy. No one had a can of spray paint. Graffiti Ghoul wouldn’t be in the open. He’d probably stick to dark alleys. I wished I owned a pair of infrared glasses, so I could see everything at night. At least this would make my glasses seem cool.
The first house Remi and I visited was a version of Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion. On the lawn, a mannequin in a business suit tried to crawl out of a black coffin. Huge mutant pumpkins filled the yard, while curvy plastic snakes lined the front path. Tiny rubber spiders dangled from a giant web above the door.
“Trick or treat!” we yelled.
A pale vampire with a bowl of candy appeared at the screen door. “I vant to thuck your blood,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“I vant to thuck your blood,” he said, drool dripping from his fangs.
“Is he speaking French?” I asked Remi, who shook his head.
Behind us, Monique translated the vampire’s speech: “He wants to suck your blood. It’s a line from a Dracula movie.”
“Can we have our candy now?” Remi asked.
The vampire dipped his hand into the blood-splattered bowl and pulled out a lollipop. He dropped it into Remi’s pillowcase.
“Vat about you, leetle girl,” the vampire said to me. “Vat do you vant?”
Monique laughed. “He thinks you’re a girl.”
“I am not!”
He turned to Remi. “Ith thee your thithter?”
Remi looked at me, puzzled. “What?”
“Ith thee your thithter?”
Remi turned bright red. “My sister? No way.”
Monique couldn’t stop laughing.
Droolacula leaned forward and dropped two lollipops in my plastic shopping bag. “You get two lollipopth for being tho cute.”
“Let me get a picture,” Monique said.
I tried to scramble off the porch, but the vampire grabbed my arm and pulled me beside Remi. Close up, the vampire smelled like garlic and sweaty armpit.
FLASH!
“Got it!” Monique put away the camera.
That night every person who gave me candy called me a cute little girl. When I told them I was a boy, they chuckled and gave me more candy. I hated that it was so easy to mistake me for a girl.
Remi tried to cheer me up. “Hey, at least you’re getting more candy than me.”
I said nothing.
“Plus, no one recognizes you,” Remi said. “It’s a good disguise.”
“You want to be a girl?” I growled.
“Duh. Do I look like a monkey butt?”
FLASH! Monique snapped another shot. When was she going to run out of film? We walked faster, hiding our faces from the camera.
“Did you see anyone who might be Graffiti Ghoul?” I asked.
“I didn’t see anything suspicious.
Maybe we’re on the wrong side of town.” I shrugged.
“I heard that bad things happen on the other side of the railroad tracks,” Remi said.
“How do you know which side is which?” I asked.
FLASH! Monique took another picture. “I’m going to blow that one up,” she said. “One more for good luck.”
I ran for cover, but there was no flash. Instead the camera whirred. The film was rewinding.
“At least things can’t get any worse,” I said.
“Think again.” Remi pointed down the street.
Jean and Jacques Boissonault lumbered toward us.
SEVEN
“Why are they dressed like that?” Remi wondered.
The Boissonault brothers waddled down the street, dressed up to look like two giant slices of white bread. Their costumes were ridiculous, but bullies could wear whatever they wanted because no one would ever dare make fun of them.
“If they catch us Crossing The Line, we’re in big trouble.”
“It’s okay. You’re in disguise, Marty.”
“Do you want to take a chance on getting nurpled?”
Remi slapped his hands over his chest. “Maybe you’d better hide.”
I slid behind my friend and ducked low; he spread his jacket open like butterfly wings, shielding me from the approaching brothers.
“Your sister’s catching up,” I whispered. “She’ll blow our cover.”
Remi sped up, leaving me out in the open. I chased after him, crouching low. Suddenly he skidded to a halt and I did a face plant into the back of his trench coat, leaving some of my make-up on the back of his jacket.
“Hey, Remi. What’s with the jacket?” Jean asked.
“Too hot,” Remi said, still holding his jacket open. “I’m trying to cool off.”
Jacques laughed. “You look like a dork.”
I glanced through a hole in Remi’s jacket. Jacques and Jean’s bread costumes blew back and forth in the night breeze like floppy sails. Jean carried a slender can in his right hand but I couldn’t read the label. Was he Graffiti Ghoul?
“Who’s behind you?” Jean asked.
“What are you talking about?” Remi said.
Jacques pointed. “Turn around.”
I squeezed tight against Remi’s back as he shuffled around. My back bumped against a wooden gate, which creaked open. I jumped through the open gate and crouched behind the slatted fence.
“There’s no one behind me,” Remi said.
“She’s right there,” Jean said, pointing.
“Oh. That’s just my sister.”
Through a space in the fence I saw Monique join the boys. Jean dropped the can into his plastic Halloween bag. I had to get a closer look.
Monique asked Remi, “What’s your friend doing?”
Jean said, “I’m not his friend.”
“Don’t look at me,” Jacques said.
“Not you guys.” Monique pointed at me. There was no other place to hide in the treeless yard. I was trapped.
“You mean . . . uh . . . Martina?” Remi said.
Monique snickered. “Yeah, Martina. I know she went into that yard.”
“You hang out with a girl?” Jacques asked Remi.
“This I gotta see,” Jean said.
The fence gate swung open, and Monique poked her head into the yard. “Let’s go, Martina. No more games.”
She held the gate open. I pulled the wig over my eyes, straightened up, and walked out. I stumbled in my heels on the sidewalk as the Boissonaults watched me.
I squeaked, “Nobody was home.” I eyed Jean’s trick-or-treat bag.
Jean whistled. “Hello.”
Jacques elbowed his brother and stepped in front of me. “I’m Jacques.”
“Hi!” I said, squeaking like Minnie Mouse.
Jean pulled his brother behind him. “I’m Jean, his better-looking brother.”
Jacques shoved Jean aside. “Don’t mind my idiot brother. He’s got no manners. Say, have we met before?”
I shook my head and my wig almost fell off.
“You look familiar,” Jean said.
“Yeah, you do. How do you know Remi?” Jacques asked.
Remi answered, “She’s my cousin.”
“I thought you said you were friends,” Jacques said.
“She’s my cousin and my friend,” Remi said.
“Stop lying, Remi,” Monique corrected her brother. “This isn’t our cousin. It’s — ”
&n
bsp; I cut Monique off: “I’m his girlfriend.”
“What?!” Remi cried. “NO WAY!”
Monique laughed like a hyena, barely able to catch her breath. The Boissonault brothers looked puzzled. Remi, his face bright red, glared at me. I wanted to tell him that I had no choice; anything was better than being caught Crossing The Line. The sting of embarrassment was nothing compared to the pinching pain of ninety-nine nurples.
“We’re not dating,” Remi declared.
Monique laughed. “The lovers’ first fight. Maybe you should kiss and make up.”
Remi jumped away from me, squeezing between Jean and Jacques.
Jacques smirked. “I think someone’s got cold feet.”
Jean agreed. “Martina, if he won’t kiss you, I will.”
“I’m not that kind of girl,” I said.
Monique howled, “You’re telling me!”
Remi said, “Let’s just go.”
“Not yet,” I said.
“Are you nuts?” Remi exclaimed, walking toward me.
Jacques grabbed the back of Remi’s jacket. “That’s no way to talk in front of ladies.”
“It’s okay,” Monique said. “She’s no lady.”
Jean nudged Remi. “Tell Martina you’re sorry.”
“Sorry,” Remi grumbled.
Jacques swatted the back of Remi’s head. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m sorry,” Remi said, then shuffled out of swatting range.
“It’s okay,” I replied. “Actually, I’m feeling faint. Jean, do you have any food in your bag?”
Jean grinned. “What do you want?”
“Can I look?”
“He’s got nothing. Look in my bag.” Jacques shouldered his brother aside.
“She asked me first,” Jean said.
“Why don’t I look in both?” I asked.
The Boissonault brothers snapped open their bags. I only cared about what was inside Jean’s bag — chocolate bars, Mojos, an apple, and the can.
I pulled out the can.
Jean took it from me. “Silly. You can’t eat this.”
Remi craned his neck to see. “What’s the can for?”
Jacques pulled out a similar can. “If people don’t treat, we have to trick.”
He popped the lid off and shot Silly String at Remi. Neither of the Boissonault brothers were Graffiti Ghoul, just bullies with canned string.
“I don’t see anything I want to eat,” I said.
The brothers’ smiles dropped. Remi ushered me away. “Let’s go, Martina.”
“Hey Jean, are you hungry?” Jacques asked, glaring at Remi.
Jean nodded, “I’m starving. What do you have to eat, Jacques?”
His twin brother smiled. “How about . . . a SANDWICH?!”
The Boissonault brothers grabbed Remi and body-checked him, making him the filling between their slices of bread.
“Ugh. You guys stink!” Remi shouted.
“Jean, are you still hungry?”
“You bet. How about another . . . SANDWICH!” Jacques cried out as the two brothers gave my friend a second helping of their joke.
Remi staggered forward, barely hanging on to his pillow case of candy while the bullies laughed.
Jacques beamed. “Great idea for costumes, Jean.”
Jean laughed. “I’m never going to get sick of that joke. See you later, Martina.”
Jacques waved goodbye, and the brothers walked away, high fiving each other. Remi leaned against me, trying to catch his breath.
“Did you have to tell those snot gobblers you were my girlfriend?”
“Sorry, Remi,” I said. “I thought I saw the ‘you-know-what’ and I thought the brothers were the ‘you-know-who’.”
Monique walked over. “Time to take Martina home.”
But our wander out wasn’t done yet. “I still want to do more trick-or-treating,” I said.
“My pillow case isn’t even half full,” Remi whined.
“My mom said I could stay out for another hour,” I said.
“You can come over to our place and count your candies,” Monique said. “Now let’s go. It’s cold, and I’ve got homework to do.”
Remi shook his head. “You’re lying. You never do homework. You just want to get home so you can see your boyfriend before Mom and Dad come home from bingo.”
“Shut up,” Monique growled.
Remi smooched the air.
“Quit it,” I said. “We need her so we can stay on the wander out.”
He didn’t hear me. He hugged himself and pretended to kiss an invisible partner. “Oh, Brian.
You’re so strong, but your hands are so soft,” he said.
“You’re going to get it when we get home,” Monique said. “Now let’s go.”
She grabbed Remi by the collar, and dragged him down the street. Our wander out was a bust.
EIGHT
Monique led us through Bouvier’s dark territory like a jungle explorer. We cut through backyards, squeezed through a broken section of a wooden fence and navigated unlit alleys until we reached Main Street. I’d never been to Remi’s house, so I had to stick close to the Boudreaus or I’d get totally lost. We crossed Main Street and headed for the cul-de-sac between the church and my school. The fir trees, lined up like soldiers along a parade route, ran along a short road past the towering brick buildings to the squat Georges P. Vanier Composite High School. A chain-link fence surrounded the drab one-storey junior and senior high school building. The greyed venetian blinds in every window reminded me of cell bars.
“Quit gawking,” barked Monique. “I don’t have all night to wait for you goofs.”
Now I knew why teenagers were always so cranky; I’d be upset too if I had to go to this prison school.
Remi started to climb the fence.
“Elementary students aren’t allowed in the high school yard,” I said.
One time, Eric Johnson tossed a Frisbee over the fence of the high school grounds. Instead of leaving it there, he climbed the fence to get it. A pack of teenagers caught him and tried to make him eat the Frisbee. When he couldn’t bite through the plastic, the boys stuffed Eric into a garbage can and rolled him across the street back to our school. Since then, no elementary student ever went near Vanier.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” I said.
“It’s night. There’s no one here. We’ll be safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“I do it all the time,” he said.
Monique was already at the top of the fence. “Come on.”
“Okay . . . ” I started to climb the fence. A chilly breeze blew up my skirt. I stepped back. “I can’t.”
“It’s easy, Marty,” Remi said. “Climb up and swing your leg over and jump down on the other side.
“I’ll rip my mom’s dress.”
“Oh, right.” Remi hopped down. “Monique. We’re going the long way.”
She landed on the other side. “I’m not climbing the fence again.”
“We’re almost home. Marty and I can make it the rest of the way by ourselves,” Remi said.
“Yeah, and you’ll tell Mom that I bailed on you.”
“Then maybe she’ll let me go out on my own.”
Brother and sister glared at each other through the chain-link fence.
“This is stupid,” Monique muttered. She climbed the fence and straddled the top. “Marty, let’s go.”
“My mom will kill me if I rip her dress.”
“Don’t be a baby,” she said. “Give me your hand.”
She reached down. I slowly raised my hand, thinking she was going to pull me up and over. Instead, she grabbed my sleeve. The silky Cheong Sam dress slipped right off me!
“Now you don’t have to worry about ripping the dress,” she said, holding it up.
“Give that back,” I said.
“Ew! Skid mark.” Remi pointed at my underwear.
Monique chuckled.
“It’s n
ot funny,” I said. “Give back the dress.”
Remi yelled at his sister, “Just toss it down. Marty and I’ll walk around the yard.”
“Quiet,” Monique hissed. “Someone’s coming. It’s the Sandwich Brothers.”
Remi and I scrambled up and over the fence. I landed on the other side and laid flat on the cold, crunchy lawn beside Remi. I listened for the Boissonaults, but heard only Monique’s laughter.
“Gotcha!” She said.
Remi stood up. “You dumb monkey butt.”
His sister sneered. “I got your friend moving, didn’t I?”
“Monique,” I interrupted. “Can I have my dress back now?”
She tossed me the Cheong Sam. She hopped down off the fence while I pulled the dress over my head with Remi’s help.
“You two look so cute. Like a married couple,” she teased.
“Take that back,” Remi said. “Or else.”
“Or else what? You’ll cry?”
He charged at his sister, but she neatly stepped aside and grabbed him in a headlock.
“Do you like that? Does it smell good?” Monique turned his head and rubbed his nose in her armpit.
“No. No. Ugh. It stinks. It stinks.”
“Take a big whiff.”
“Gross. Let go.”
“Say uncle.”
“No,” Remi gagged.
“Say it.”
She twisted him around again. I thought his head was going to pop off.
“Uncle,” he finally grunted.
“Works every time,” she said to me, letting go of her brother.
“Duh! Uncle doesn’t count when my fingers are crossed.”
“Sounds like someone needs another pit stop.”
“I dare you,” Remi said, stepping beyond her reach.
“Do we have to climb the fence again?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
Monique shook her head. “There’s a gate on the other side. Let’s go.”
The frosty grass crunched under our feet like we were walking on shredded wheat. We headed along the front of the school building until we reached the track field. Across the wide yard, fir trees towered over the fence, marking the end of the schoolyard.
Behind her brother, Monique stepped on the back of his shoes, tripping him up.
“Quit it,” Remi said, picking up the pace.
She hopped forward, snagging his other shoe.
