Chapter 1
“Keme,” I said. “You’re my friend. You’re my best friend. No, scratch that, you’re—you’re my brother. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
Keme stared back at me. His face didn’t give anything away, but that might have been because he was covered in pancake makeup. (This year’s costume was Pennywise the Clown, and it. was. terrifying.)
“And,” I said, “I know you feel the same way about me.”
He shook his head. (Honestly, so fast it was a little rude.)
“Which is why—” I said.
“Let it go,” Fox suggested. For Halloween, they’d decided to go as—well, I wasn’t sure. Their top hat had a skeletal hand curled around it. And they were wearing a befeathered corset with high-waisted trousers and gleaming steel vambraces. (I knew they were called vambraces because I’d played alotof Dungeons and Dragons.) They were lugging around a cast-iron pumpkin cauldron, which they kept trying to get me or Bobby or Keme to carry. And theirbootshad goggles on them.
I ignored them. “—I know you’ll trade me your Butterfinger for my Baby Ruth.”
Keme tilted his head to one side. His dark eyes were unreadable.
“I’ll even throw in—” I began.
Keme tore the wrapper on the Butterfinger.
“Wait!”
He stopped in the middle of sliding the candy bar free.
“—a Snickers and a Reese’s and—no, no, no, Keme!”
He took an enormous bite of the Butterfinger. And then, like a true teenage boy, he grinned. It was disgusting. He had those crispy, crunchy, peanut-buttery crumbs in his teeth. He made sure I saw before he took another savage bite.
“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked as he jogged back to our group with two disposable cups of apple cider. He’d gone as Marty McFly fromBack to the Future, and let me tell you, my childhood crush on Michael J. Fox (in that VEST, cue Millie voice) hadn’t faded over the years. “What happened? I heard someone scream.”
“Everyone’s fine,” Indira said. She was dressed as a hippie, but in a cute way. (Not in an oh-my-God-she’s-trying-to-wash-our-windshield-for-spare-change way, which had happened the one time I’d gone to San Francisco.) Honestly, her simple, cream-colored blouse and dark slacks were probably part of her normal wardrobe, but she’d gussied them up with a suede tassel vest and a braided leather headband. “Nothing happened.”
Fox sniffed. “Capitalism happened.”
Bobby looked at me.
“I have no idea what that means,” I said. “But Keme ate my Butterfinger.”
“It was mine,” Keme said. “He was trying to trade.”
“Oh,” Bobby said without missing a beat. He handed me my cider. “Okay.”
Which goes to show that if you find a good one, hold on to him.
Around us, Hastings Rock’s Halloween celebration was in full swing. The year before, I’d missed the festivities because I’d gone to watch Bobby and Keme compete in an annual surfing competition. This year, though, Gremlins and Grommets—or whatever it had been called—was canceled. Mostly because the woman who had organized it for all those years was in prison for murder.
The town had gone all out for the occasion, the way it always did on holidays. Spiderwebs draped the sides of old Victorian homes, with fake plastic spiders clinging to them. Storefronts had jack-o'-lanterns by their doors. People had put up skeletons and ghosts and foam tombstones that said things like HE NEVER MET A CREPE HE DIDN’T LIKE (that was outside Crepe You Very Much, of course), and SHE FORGOT TO BRUSH HER TEETH (Seafoam Sweets), and HE TALKED ABOUT TACOS (Let’s Taco Bout Tacos). Cyd Wofford, our resident Marxist, was dressed as a zombie (with a cleaver sticking out of his head, which was awesome) as he handed out full-sized candy bars and tried to explain to anyone who would listen that zombies were a metaphor for the working class. Mr. Cheek (owner of Fog Belt Ladies Wear and a fervent admirer of Deputy Bobby Mai) was dressed as Catwoman and had been trying to whip everyone until Bobby gave him a stern talking-to.
(Honestly, Mr. Cheek probably loved it.)
Everyone had turned out for the town’s trunk-or-treat, which was being held on a crisp Sunday afternoon, instead of on Halloween itself, which fell in the middle of the week. Kids dressed as Disney characters and superheroes and non-specific princesses, not to mention a SCREAMING Statue of Liberty, thronged the streets, rushing to collect as much candy as they could from the stores and street vendors and food trucks and anyone else who had decided to hand out goodies. (As a side note, Let’s Taco Bout Tacos was giving out gummy tacos, and the third time I went back, Bobby had to say something about making sure everyone got to have some.) Laughter and excited chatter and spooky music hung in the air, mixing with the smell of candied apples and pumpkin spice everything, and it was a perfect day.
Almost.
“Where is Millie?” Fox asked as they transferred the pumpkin-cauldron-bucket to their other arm. “Keme, did she text you?”
Keme glowered at Fox, which was answer enough.
