Owen walked behind them. “Who are you again?”
Marissa spun in a circle and extended her arms before taking a bow. “Moulin Rouge.”
“Looking brilliant,” he said.
“As do you. But what are you?” Marissa readjusted her sparkly headband, pushing her curls away from her face, and scanned him from head to toe.
“I’m a warlock. Can’t ye tell?” He wore a blue bathrobe and triangular dunce cap, and carried a walking stick that he probably found in the woods that day.
I covered my mouth to stifle my giggle. “You look amazing. Almost as good as me.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
Owen pulled me into a side hug. “We’ll stick together if we need to.” I fell into the warmth of Owen’s bathrobe and hugged him back.
“What time is the celebration?” Jaime asked.
“Half-nine,” Aoife replied. “Every pub in Temple Bar is celebrating. Jaime, do you remember last Halloween? What were we again? I can’t remember.” She batted her eyes at him and my eyes remained on her a moment too long. When our eyes connected, I quickly busied myself with tying my shoes.
“Jaime was an American football player and you were a cheerleader.” Owen gathered his wallet and shoved it into his pants pocket underneath his wrapped bathrobe.
“Oh right. We looked great that night.” She looked me up and down and I glanced at Jaime, daring him to compliment our costume.
When he didn’t, I sputtered, “Right. Well, I’m sure we’ll be the talk of the town, too.” I turned away and sucked it as much air as I could, holding it in my belly until I couldn’t hold it any longer.
“Sure. Perhaps for the hokiest costume.” Aoife walked toward Jaime and brushed his hair back, her long red fingernails disappearing in his red beard. Wearing black chunky heels, she hovered at least three inches over him, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Her tight, yellow plaid miniskirt and blazer barely covered her butt and boobs. She screamed sexy school-girl, and all I could see was the Britney Spears video flying through my head.
His eyes rested on her pouty lips and I saw the redness creep up his neck. “Thanks, Cher. You look great.”
She flipped her bouncy hair over her shoulder. “As if!” and she handed him a small bottle of whiskey. He took a sip before passing it to Owen and it traveled around the room. I shook my head no, and it continued to Marissa. She swallowed, and her face scrunched and tightened in disgust.
“Blech.” Her mouth contorted into a snarl and her nostrils flared.
“Let me show you how to do it,” Zoey said, and she took two baby sips. Her face fought the urge to scrunch, and her mouth twitched. She pursed her lips and then pulled them up in a slight smile. “Here you go.” She handed the bottle back to Aoife, who finished the rest.
Unease settled over me as I looked at my friends and frenemies. The biggest threat I felt was with the blonde in the corner, but I deflected my emotions and focused on our room. Three sets of bunk beds sat against three of the four walls. “Are you sure this is safe?” I asked, imagining the hostel owner breaking in and stealing our stuff.
“Dublin’s been celebrating for thousands of years,” Jaime said.
I sat down on the thin, squeaky mattress. “No, not that. I mean this place.” My parents would freak out if they saw me here. “It cost sixteen euro for a bed for the night…there isn’t even a lock on the door. Is it safe?”
Zoey walked over to the door and slid the chain lock above the door handle. “It locks. We’ll be safe sleeping.”
“It’s grand,” Owen said. “Sleep with your items in your pillowcase, just in case. And don’t drink too much.”
I shoved my wallet, phone, and apartment keys into the crossbody under my trash bag and zipped it closed. I silently prayed tonight would be a success.
We followed our Irish friends through the capital city of Ireland toward the Temple Bar area. The damp air traveled through my black trash bag, and I shivered when the raindrops hit my head. The random drops led to a steady stream, and then a deluge.
My hair dripped with water and when I wiped the raindrops from my upper lip, the black eye makeup streaking down my cheeks went with it. Glancing at Owen, I noticed his carefully hand-drawn mustache now resembled a squiggle my toddler cousin could have drawn.
“How do I look now?” I asked Jaime, wiping at my eyes.
“Like you walked the plank.”
I threw my head back and embraced the raindrops hitting my face. I didn’t care that my bones ached with cold or my saturated costume now resembled someone shipwrecked. It was Halloween. In Ireland.
We pushed through the crowds of people filling the sidewalk and entered a pub pulsing with traditional music. The heat from a peat-burning stove blasted against my skin, and I watched the black plastic morph into a shiny wave.
“Wanna pint?” Jaime asked. “You may not want to stand so close to the stove.”
