I’m all dressed up and almost ready for Halloween way before Dare is supposed to arrive.
In the lunchroom today, we agreed to stick with tradition and trick-or-treat in my neighborhood, since everyone knows they give out the best candy. We realize we’re getting too old, and this will be our last year trick-or-treating, so we want to go out with a bang and collect the most candy ever.
I’m scratching under Meatball’s chin when Sarah comes into my bedroom, wearing her Wonder Woman T-shirt and holding out her makeup case like it’s Wonder Woman’s magic lasso of truth or something.
“I’m ready!” she says.
“You know you’re only putting makeup on me, not saving the planet from evil. Right?”
“Whatever,” Sarah says, putting her case on my desk. “My magic makeup case will save you from being a merely mediocre mermaid.”
“Nice alliteration,” I say, taking a deep breath, sitting and facing the giant W on Sarah’s chest. Not for the first time, I wish my boobs looked like hers. Developed. Unmistakably feminine. Someday, I tell myself, I’ll be able to move on to female hormones. Then I’ll finally, finally get the body that matches who I am—more curves, fewer angles. I decide to talk to Dr. Klemme about this at our next session together. I know she’ll understand.
Sarah uses bright blue eye shadow that matches my sparkly costume.
“Stop squinting,” she admonishes.
“I’m not,” I say while squinting. “I’m afraid you’ll poke my eye out.”
“Well, stop squinting,” she says, brushing on the color. “Or I will!”
“That’s reassuring.” I try not to move.
The blue eye shadow, black eyeliner and mascara look gorgeous, but my favorite part—my absolutely favorite part of this year’s costume—is the wig. A bright blue, long-haired wig that Sarah bought me from Walgreens with her babysitting money.
“I’ve got the best sister on the planet,” I tell her.
“What a coincidence.” She pokes me in the nose with the tip of her finger. “I do, too.”
I admire myself in the mirror and make a fish face. It feels so good to have long hair again, even if it’s only a cheap drugstore wig.
“Company coming up,” Mom calls.
Sarah stands to the side, hands on her hips. She totally looks like Wonder Woman with that stance.
I sail onto the bed and pose like a mermaid on a rock at sea. Dare is going to love my costume.
When she enters my bedroom and another girl comes in behind her, I sit up fast. Dare hadn’t mentioned bringing someone else. She and I always trick-or-treat together—just the two of us. It’s tradition. And it’s our last year.
Who’s this new girl? What will she think of me…dressed like this?
The Pirate in Pink
Dare’s dressed as a pirate, with an eye patch and a plastic sword tucked into her belt. She’s wearing these great swashbuckling boots, which I realize are her riding boots.
“Nice costume,” I say, hoping she’ll say the same thing to me.
The other girl is dressed as a pirate, too. Pink bandanna. Pink eye patch. And a pink plastic parrot on her shoulder.
I wish I looked like her—lovely eyes (one of which is covered by an eye patch), smooth skin, medium-sized boobs under a puffy pirate blouse and fluorescent pink nail polish on her toes that are poking through these cool Grecian-style sandals.
“Lily,” Dare says, exploding with happiness. “This is Amy. Amy, this is Lily.”
I nod toward Amy, and she gives me a big smile. “Nice to meet you, Lily.”
She scores points for using my real name, but I don’t like that she’s showed up unannounced and uninvited.
“Well, I’ve gotta go help Mom give out candy,” Sarah says, and slips out.
I don’t want Sarah to go. When Meatball trots out after her, his tags jingling, I feel especially vulnerable.
Dare punches me in the arm. “Great costume, Lil. You look good in blue.”
Amy laughs, but I can’t tell if she’s laughing with me or at me.
“Thanks,” I say shyly. “Sarah bought me the wig and did my makeup.”
“She seems like a cool sister,” Amy says. “My sister is a boy.” She looks at me, and her face grows a deeper shade of pink than her eye patch. “I mean,” Amy stammers. “I…I…was trying to be funny. I mean I have a brother, not a sister. That’s all.” She looks down and shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“It’s okay,” Dare says, putting her arm around Amy’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “Right?” Dare glares at me.
“Of course,” I say. “It’s fine. What you said was totally funny.” I make a lame noise that might pass as a laugh.
I look at my best friend—my only friend—with her arm around this girl’s shoulders.
What’s happening here?
Almost Perfect
As soon as Mom sees me, she claps her hands over her mouth. “Let me grab my camera.” She runs off, leaving us—two pirates and a mermaid—at the bottom of the staircase.
I thought Sarah and Meatball might be in the kitchen, but I don’t see them.
Dad strides over, and when he sees me, his eyes go wide. For a microsecond, I hope it’s because he thinks my costume is terrific.
“Timothy,” Dad says in a low, ominous voice, and I die a million deaths in front of Dare and Amy. I had thought we were making such progress.
Dad signals me with his eyes to follow him.
“Be right back,” I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
I follow Dad through the kitchen and into the laundry room.
He slams the door and grabs my upper arm with thick fingers.
I don’t try to wiggle out of his grasp.
Dad bends low so he’s right in my face, and I smell chocolate and peanut butter on his breath. “I’ve been understanding. Haven’t I?” he asks in a quiet, barely controlled voice.
I nod, because if I do anything more than a subtle nod, tears will slip from my eyes and mess up the makeup Sarah put on.
Why is Dad ruining Halloween?
He releases my arm, but continues to talk in a soft, scary voice. “I’ve let you walk out of the house wearing nail polish.”
I hide my fingers behind my back.
“And that…” He swings his arm in the air. “That stuff you wore on your eyes the other day.” He looks into my eyes now. “I let that slide. Right?”
I nod again, sure Niagara Falls is about to erupt from my tear ducts.
“But this…” The vein in Dad’s temple throbs, and I worry it will burst. “This is too much,” he says. “Too far. Don’t you understand?”
I think of Vasquez and our daily ritual at my locker. I understand plenty. I wish Dad understood how much this costume means to me, especially the wig. Plus I’ve loved mermaids since childhood, when I became obsessed with The Little Mermaid. He should remember that.
While Dad’s breathing his chocolate and peanut butter breath on me, and the vein throbs blue beneath the skin of his temple, I wonder what Dare and the new girl are doing. They’re probably talking about me. And Mom’s probably standing there with her camera, wondering what’s going on. It will be so embarrassing to go back out there after this.
It would be easier if I lived here only with Mom, Sarah and Meatball. Dad could live in that little apartment over his T-shirt shop with Grandmom Ruth. They could complain about me over their morning cups of coffee. But the thought of Dad leaving makes me feel sad and empty. I don’t want him to go anywhere. I just wish he’d stop doing things like this. He seemed to be doing so great.
Dad grabs my shoulders. “Don’t you realize?” he says, his voice breaking. “The minute you go out of the house dressed like that, you’re not safe. There are rotten people out there who would hurt you, Tim. There are…”
He lets go of my shoulders and drops down on one knee. “Timmy, don’t you see? All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe, keep you from getting hurt.”
The way Dad’s looking at me, he seems so vulnerable, like Niagara Falls is about to explode from his tear ducts. Or from his heart.
“But, Dad, you don’t need to—”
He grabs me into the most bone-crunching hug he’s ever given me. “I love you so much, son.”
His words are almost perfect.
Halloween, Part 11
Our pillowcases are heavy, bulging as we head back toward my house.
“What does a Jewish pirate say?” Amy asks.
Dare and I look at each other, then shake our heads.
I’m glad the awkwardness of joining them near the staircase after Dad’s talk is behind us. And no matter how worried Dad is, there’s no way I’m changing out of this mermaid costume. I worked too hard to get to this point. I’m not turning back again.
Mom snapped a few photos—I’m sure I did not look my best mermaid self—and we headed out. I can’t believe that was more than two and a half hours ago.
“Ahoy vey!” Amy says.
I laugh a little.
“Boo!” Dare bellows in Amy’s face. “Boo!!!!”
“That’s not nice,” Amy says, shoving her.
“It’s Halloween.” Dare shrugs. “ ‘Boo’ is a perfectly appropriate thing to say.”
Amy holds her pink parrot in Dare’s face. “Aaargh!”
They knock shoulders and keep walking.
I get a little pang of sadness, because Dare is supposed to knock shoulders with me. To feel more included, I share the one pirate joke I know: “How much is a pirate willing to pay to get his ears pierced?”
They stop walking, and Amy taps her chin. “A peg leg?” she asks.
“How is that even funny?” Dare asks.
“I have no idea,” Amy says. “It sounded like it might make sense.”
“It makes absolutely no sense,” Dare says.
“You make no sense,” Amy replies.
“That makes no sense,” Dare says.
No one is paying attention to me, but I say the punch line anyway: “A buck an ear.”
I wait for a response, but none arrives because they’re bantering back and forth. “A buck an ear,” I say louder. “Get it? A buccaneer.”
“Oh.” Amy nods. “I get it.”
“Not funny, McGrother.” Dare pokes me in the side with her fake sword.
“Ouch,” I say, even though it didn’t hurt.
“Who knows any mermaid jokes?” Amy asks, finally making me feel included.
“I know one,” Dare says. “But it’s stupid.”
“Stupid’s good,” Amy says. “Tell it.”
“Okay. Where does a mermaid go to the movies?”
“The dive-in!” Amy shouts, and jumps like she’s on The Price Is Right and guessed the price to win a brand-new car.
“Yup,” Dare says, smiling. “You got it.”
“I got one! Woohoo!” Amy does an uncoordinated pink pirate dance.
“I’m impressed,” Dare says. “Not with your dancing ability, mind you. That’s just embarrassing.” Dare points her swashbuckling fake sword at Amy. “But shiver me timbers, matey, your joke-figuring-out talents are totally awesome sauce.”
Naturally, Amy’s got to do a few more awkward dance steps. This makes me like her.
I was worried about getting harassed after Dad’s talk, but it hasn’t happened. Maybe when people see me, they don’t see a boy in a mermaid costume. Maybe they see three girls walking down the street. At least, I hope that’s what they see because that’s exactly what it is.
“One last pirate joke,” Amy says. “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Dare asks, brandishing her fake sword.
“Interrupting pirate.”
“Interrupting pirate wh—”
“Arrrrrrrgggghhhh!” Amy says, and cracks up.
Dare and I exchange glances. She mouths the word Mooooo, and it makes me feel great, like she and I share a private joke.
I’m about to chuckle a little to make Amy feel good about her lame pirate joke when I see them.
Everything shifts.
Nothing is funny anymore.
Dad was right. I’m completely exposed and vulnerable out here. I shouldn’t be outside dressed in a mermaid costume, no matter how good and right it feels. Dad understood something I wasn’t ready to know. One minute we’re telling stupid pirate jokes and the next I’m in serious trouble.
Straight ahead are five Neanderthals, their heads poking out of some weird basketball shirt built for five, with Dunkin—the tallest—in the middle. Vasquez is on one end, his arm free to do all kinds of damage. All he’d have to do is drop the pillowcase. His head is turned the other way, though, looking back at something.
I wish that seeing Dunkin brought me a sense of comfort—like he’d stick up for me or something—but I know that’s a fantasy, and I have experience in what Vasquez and his crew are capable of.
The Neanderthals are only a couple yards away, heading right toward us, and Dare and Amy, apparently, are too oblivious to realize what’s about to happen.
My stomach clenches as I understand how ugly this is going to get. The moment Vasquez sees me wearing a mermaid costume, I’m done.
Dare tugs on my arm, and when I turn and see her, eyes open wide, I know she’s noticed what’s coming.
There’s no way to avoid them, because they’re taking up the whole sidewalk. And they’d see if we suddenly darted across the street.
As Dare leans over to whisper to Amy, the Neanderthals drop in a heap, as though someone pulled an invisible rug out from under them.
Dare yanks me, but she doesn’t have to. I’m moving as fast as my constricting mermaid costume allows. We scoot around them—past the squirming heap—but I can’t resist glancing back.
They’re a tangle of heads, two arms and scrabbling legs. Vasquez is yelling. The only one from the heap looking at me is Dunkin.
And he smiles.
That’s when I know.
Somehow, Dunkin engineered the collapse so Vasquez and the Neanderthals wouldn’t see me. Dunkin’s grin tells me he did this for me, to protect me.
I try to say “thank you” with my backward glance before I allow Dare and Amy to pull me away.
I’m going to find a way to pay him back. I knew Dunkin was good deep down inside. I knew he wasn’t like the other Neanderthals. And now I owe him big.
Before long, we’re at my house and Amy says, “What’s Captain Hook’s favorite place to shop?” She waits a few seconds. “A secondhand store.”
“Good one,” I say, relieved to be past the danger.
Dare groans.
“You guys look exhausted,” Mom says when we walk in. She puts her arm around my shoulders and kisses me on the cheek. “And happy.”
“Relieved” might be a more accurate word. Maybe Mom feels a little relieved, too, now that I’m home safely.
Dad’s in the living room. He definitely looks relieved to see us—to see me, home and unharmed—but he leaves as soon as we dump our stashes on the floor to begin trading. I know sometimes it’s just too much for him, but at least he’s trying.
The three of us have collected tons of amazing candy. And three granola bars.
When we begin trading, Amy starts up with the jokes again. I realize I made a new friend tonight, and I’m glad Dare brought her.
Sarah comes over, says hello and picks all the peanut butter cups from my pile. I let her because she’s Sarah…and I’m not a huge fan of peanut butter cups anyway. I prefer Twizzlers and anything with caramel.
As I sit in the living room, trading candy with my new and old friends, shooing away Meatball and watching Sarah bite into a peanut butter cup, I’m so glad Dad’s dire prediction didn’t come true, or it would be a very different end of the night.
And I have Dunkin to thank for that.
Score: The Blue Mermaid and friends—1, Vasquez and the Neanderthals—0.
