The same star that’s in one of the pages of her opened books.
Oh God. What’s going on?
I dart out of her bedroom and into my own. Aunt Bette opens the back door and calls for me.
“Up here!” I say in a voice that I hope sounds normal. Then I hold my breath and pray she won’t come upstairs. Thankfully, she doesn’t. I hear the faucet come on, probably for her teakettle.
I take careful steps over to my bed and sit on the mattress. It’s pushed up against that shared wall. I reach out and touch it, feeling for I don’t know what. Energy. Heat. Something coming through from the other side.
Has Aunt Bette been putting spells on me?
I don’t think she’d try to hurt me, but I can’t say I feel totally safe. Especially when I don’t know how long that thing in her room has been up. And what it might be doing to me.
But there’s nothing coming through, nothing to feel besides a wall. A plain old wall.
Of course. What else would it be?
I guess when you live with a crazy person, it’s hard not to feel crazy sometimes too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Halloween night is beautiful. Clear sky, not too cold, and a big full moon. Kids are starting to file in with their parents, and my heart is thrumming in my chest. I’m standing by the entrance in my ballerina costume, greeting people and passing out raffle tickets. I’m wearing a pink leotard that crosses in the back and a tutu on top, with sheer pink tights and pink ballet slippers with ribbons that wind up my legs. My bun is so high and tight it’s pulling on my scalp, but I don’t dare mess with it because it took me forever to get it right.
Alex walks in, and he’s got on black framed glasses and a button-down and khakis.
“What are you?” I ask him. “A nerd?”
Alex wags his finger at me, and then he rips open his shirt with a flourish, and underneath is a Superman tee. “Clark Kent, at your service!”
I laugh and clap my hands. Alex used to wear glasses, but he never does anymore. I like him all geek chic like this. “Alex, you’re my hero,” I say. Then I point him in the direction of the apple-bobbing booth and he takes off.
The kids look so cute in their costumes. There are a few Iron Mans, a Harry Potter, a little boy who is dressed up as a chef, a girl who is a bottle of ketchup. My favorite is three boys dressed up as Snap, Crackle, and Pop from the Rice Krispies cereal box. I’m totally giving them the costume award.
My sister and her friends are setting up the scavenger hunt, hiding clues around the gym. They’re Santa’s reindeer—Nadia is Vixen, and she’s got on antlers and a fur shawl of our mom’s that she never wears and crimson-red lipstick. Alex is dropping more apples into the apple-bobbing pail.
I’m by the food table arranging candy-corn cupcakes on a big black tray when I see him—Reeve, swinging in on his crutches and his soft cast. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and his Jason mask and has a chain saw strapped to his back. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he showed.
I watch as Reeve sets up a folding chair for himself under the basketball net. He drags another chair over, plops down, and props his leg up on the second chair. A bunch of kids run over to him. “Reeve!” they shriek. “Chase us!”
Reeve shakes his chain saw at them menacingly. But he doesn’t chase them. He can’t. I watch the kids collectively deflate when they realize this, and they walk away to the other booths, and then Reeve’s just sitting there alone. He looks bummed out, marooned in his chair. All alone.
I can feel a little lump in my throat. I basically harassed him into coming, and now he doesn’t have anything to do. I head over, making a show of stopping and checking on the sound system along the way, so it doesn’t look like I’m coming over just to say hi.
I stop in front of him. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” Reeve grunts from behind his mask.
I clear my throat. “Um, so . . . I feel bad I made you come when you can’t really do anything.”
“Which is what I tried to explain to you in the first place,” he says, pushing his mask on top of his head.
“I know.”
“How am I supposed to run around with the kids here and then go to a freaking maze with you guys?” Reeve huffs. “My leg should be elevated pretty much at all times.”
“I know,” I say again.
We stare at each other for a second. And then he says, “Nice costume.”
I wait for him to make a crack, maybe ask me where my tiara is, but he doesn’t. He reaches out and touches my tutu. I can feel my insides heat up.
Then Alex comes up behind me and Reeve’s arm drops. “Hey, man,” Alex says.
“Hey,” he says.
“It was decent of you to show,” Alex says with a nod. To me Alex says, “Lil, if you want, I can trade jobs with Reeve since he can’t run around. I don’t mind. Reeve, for the applebobbing station all you have to do is sit there.”
Reeve stares at him in disbelief. “Jason is my thing.”
“I know, man, but the kids want you to chase them around. It’s not scary if you wave the chain saw at them from your chair. . . .” Alex’s voice trails off, and he looks at me like he’s hoping I’ll back him up.
Before I can say anything, Reeve rips the mask off his head and tosses it at Alex. “Here, take it, then. Have at it. You won’t do as good a job as me, but whatever.” Jerkily, he gets up on his crutches. “Go show off for your girl.”
Alex’s face goes red, and I look around the room, pretending like I didn’t hear him.
Reeve stalks off, and at first I think he’s leaving, but he’s not; he’s moving toward the apple-bobbing booth. Alex leans in to me and whispers, “I think maybe Reeve’s still channeling Jason.”
I let out a guilty giggle. “Thanks for everything, Lindy.”
Alex puts on the Jason mask. “You’re welcome,” he says in a creepy serial-killer voice.
I laugh again, for real this time. Then I walk back over to the refreshment table and set out the spider cookies I baked the night before. I arrange it so the good ones are on top and the broken ones are underneath.
This has actually turned out okay. The kids are having fun, the booths are more or less running themselves, and some of the parents stayed behind to help chaperone, so it’s not just me in charge. I’ll be able to put this on my college application with pride. And the best part is, I did it without Rennie.
