TRICK-OR-TREATING ON THE ISLAND ISN’T REALLY a thing; there are too many dead spots—vacation houses that are empty all fall and winter. So the elementary school has an “alternative Halloween” that they call Fall Fest. After school, the kids go home, change into their costumes, and come back to find the entire school decked out all spookily. There are a bunch of fun Halloweeny activities, like apple bobbing and face painting and a candy scavenger hunt. Officially, the elementary school PTA runs it, but there’s always a senior liaison who is basically in charge of finding high schoolers to man booths and drum up support. This year it’s me. Rennie was supposed to cochair with me, but once actual planning meetings started, she bailed.
It’s Friday, and we’re at the lunch table, and Ashlin’s begging Rennie to tell her what her costume is. “Come on, Ren!” Ash wheedles. “I told you mine.”
Rennie shakes her head smugly. “You have to wait and see.”
I stir my frozen yogurt around with a spoon. I’m too stressed out about organizing Fall Fest to be hungry. I’ve got my to-do list out, and there are still a bunch of to-dos not ticked off. I have today, the weekend, and then two days next week to get everything set. I’m still waiting to hear back on how many cup-cakes Milky Morning is going to donate. And Sutton’s might not donate as much candy this year, so I need a backup plan if they don’t come through.
But my biggest problem right now is that I don’t have enough booth coverage. I got Nadia and her friends to do the scavenger hunt, and I got the drama kids to do a campfire story hour, but I still need judges for the costume contest.
And then there’s the face-painting booth.
Ever since freshman year, Rennie and I have manned the face-painting booth. We’d paint butterflies and stars and tiger stripes on the little kids’ faces. It was our thing. I think it will be a perfect opportunity for us to talk, away from Ashlin and Reeve and everybody else. Just me and Rennie, like it used to be.
I take a deep breath and say to her, “We’re still doing the face-painting booth, right?”
Rennie scrunches her face up. “I don’t think I can. Sorry.” Except she doesn’t look sorry.
“That’s okay,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.
“I need time to get into my costume. Fall Fest is at what, five? And over at eight? There won’t be enough time, even if I rush home after school.” Rennie shrugs. “Plus, some of us are going to pregame at Ash’s before we head over to the haunted maze.”
What? Everybody’s pregaming at Ashlin’s and nobody told me about it? I whip my head around to look at Ash, who’s suddenly preoccupied with her salad. “Does this mean you can’t do the dunk booth with Derek?” I demand.
Her hair hanging in her face, she says softly, “No . . . sorry, Lil. Ren scored some spicy rum from her job, and she found this yum cocktail we can make with it and apple cider. You should come too!”
“How am I going to do that?” I cry out. “I’m supposed to run this thing, and you guys said you’d help me!”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Ashlin says, her eyes fluttery and regretful.
From the end of the table Alex says, “Lil, I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Alex,” I say. In a louder voice I say, “It’s nice to know that I can count on somebody.”
Ashlin pouts at me. “Forgive me, Lil.”
Under his breath, Reeve mutters, “What are you apologizing for? If you can’t do it, you can’t do it.”
I cast a spiteful look in Reeve’s direction. For the past three years he’s come to Fall Fest dressed up like Jason in Friday the 13th. Back when we were freshmen, the senior girls asked him to do it, and it became kind of a Jar Island tradition. Reeve wears a white hockey mask and chases the kids around with a chain saw. The kids love it. They love him. I’ve asked him repeatedly, but he won’t do it. Fine, he is on crutches, but he could at least show up in the costume.
“If Fall Fest sucks this year, it’s on us,” I warn.
“You mean it’s on you,” Reeve corrects me.
I glare at him. “It’s on all of us. Including and especially you. You know how much the kids love your Jason routine. I don’t get why you can’t at least—”
“What’s not to get?” Reeve snaps, pointing at his crutches.
“How is he supposed to run around the gym chasing after kids on crutches?” Rennie asks, and then lets out a groan. “I mean, hello!”
In a shaky voice I protest, “He exercises, like, every day!”
Rennie leans over Reeve to say, “Yeah, in the pool and in the weight room! He can’t put weight on his leg, Lillia. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
Reeve puts his hand on Rennie’s shoulder and she relaxes back in her seat, shaking her head in disgust. Then she turns away from me and starts talking about her costume again.
That’s when it hits me. Rennie did this on purpose. She made it so no one would help me, so I’d be all alone. She convinced Ashlin to have people over when she knew I couldn’t make it.
I finally understand what’s been staring me in the face. It’s not that Rennie’s mad at me. It’s that she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. She is officially through with me. And if Rennie’s through with me, she’s going to make damn sure that everybody else is too. How many times have I seen her do this exact same thing? Edge somebody out of the group because they pissed her off in some way? I’ve seen it happen, and I’ve stood by and said nothing, because I was afraid, and it was easy. Never ever did I think it would be me on the receiving end.
Alex is looking around the table in disbelief. “Are you guys serious? We can’t help Lil out for one night?” When nobody answers, he tosses his fork down on his tray. “You guys suck. Lil, what can I do? Tell me what you need.”
Keeping my head down, I gather my stuff together as quickly as possible. Quietly I say to Alex, “If you have time this weekend, will you come over and help me put some candy bags together for the prizes?”
Alex nods. “I’ll come over tonight, straight from practice.” He says it really loud, and gives everyone else a look. He turns back to me and grins. “But don’t worry, I’ll shower first.”
It takes a lot of effort to smile back, but I do. “You better,” I say.
Then I sneak out to the parking lot and cry in my car. So this is how it all ends, after everything Rennie and I have been through.
Nadia, Alex, and I have an assembly line set up in the dining room. Nadia is Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Sour Patch Kids and Snickers; Alex is FireBalls, Lemonheads, and Starbursts; I’m Nerds and lollipops; plus, I tie the ribbon onto the bag in a bow. It’s the most boring Friday night ever, but I couldn’t be happier this task is getting done.
I hold one up for inspection. “Does this one seem a little light on sweets to you?”
“Alex didn’t put enough FireBalls in,” Nadia tattletales.
“Snitch,” he says, poking her in the side. “It’s fine. I’m doing the kid a favor, less cavities. Besides, you already tied the ribbon, Lil.”
“Yeah, I know.” I bite my lip, weighing the bag in my hand. “I don’t want the kids to feel cheated out of anything.”
“Maybe we should open up the Starburst packs to make the bags look fuller,” Nadia suggests.
I clap my hands together. “Perfect!”
Alex gives her a high five and Nadia grins at both of us.
“Alex, you be in charge of that,” I tell him, and he salutes me.
“Oh, I talked to my mom, and she said she was going to call Joy tonight,” Alex says, carefully opening up a candy bag. His hair is still wet from his shower. He really did come right over.
“Who’s Joy?” Nadia wants to know.
“She’s one of the owners of Milky Morning,” Alex tells her. “My mom knows her from book club. She says she can get her to donate as many cupcakes as you need.” He hands me another bag.
Suddenly I’m feeling so much gratitude and love and friendship for Alex, I can’t even. I don’t know what I would have done without him today. “You’re the best, Lindy,” I say.
Alex gives an embarrassed shrug and says, “It’s nothing.” He points at me. “Hey, you’re slowing down the assembly line.”
After he leaves, Nadia helps me clean up and pack away the leftover candy. She doesn’t look at me when she says, “Alex likes you, you know.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but I stop myself. I can’t lie to Nadi, but I don’t know what the truth is anymore. So all I say is, “We’re friends.”
Nadia makes a show of rolling her eyes at me. “So do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you like him?” The expression on her face—a little bit plaintive, but mostly trying not to care. It breaks my heart.
“Do you?” I ask her.
There’s a pause, I can see her thinking this over. “No,” she tells me. “He’s—nice. He’s so nice. But I don’t like him like that anymore. I did. For maybe a second.”
I reach out and touch Nadi’s hair. It’s soft, like a baby’s. She lets me for a second before shrugging away. She says, “Be nice to him, okay? Don’t hurt him.”
“I won’t,” I say. In my head I add, not again. That’s a promise.
