else?” Michael Myers chuckles. “Fine. I’m siccing my dog on you.”
Nate says under his breath, “You don’t have a dog.”
“They don’t know that.” I open the front door, whistle sharply—and screech when a brick crack-lands on the porch, missing me, Nate, and my imaginary dog by inches. “HEY!”
Laughing, the ghouls sprint off, costumes flapping, shoes slapping the sidewalk.
“I’m calling the cops!” I scream. “Willful destruction of property!”
“Don’t bother. Mrs. Gibbons called the cops every Halloween. They never catch ’em.” I stare in disbelief. “I told you, it’s a tradition. People stand outside and ask if Annaliese can come out.” He pulls me down on the glider. “I sort of hoped they’d forget about it this year, seeing as how the old lady’s …” He glances up at the big amber moon. “Dead now.”
I think of that room upstairs, the one with the canopy bed, where, presumably, Annaliese once slept. “They tormented Mrs. Gibbons? After what she went through?
You
didn’t, did you?”
“If I say yes, would that change your perception of me?”
“I’m not sure I have a perception of you yet.”
Other than the fact that I think you’re very, very cute and a whole lot nicer than some people around here
. “Losers!” I shout as Nate slides an arm through mine. But now that I know I won’t be slaughtered by a mob of monsters, I laugh outright. “What a hoot! Admit it, Nate. They scared the bejesus out of you, too.”
Nate frowns. “Hoot? Bejesus?”
He deflects my fist. Then, just like in the movies, he leans closer and closer till our lips nearly touch—and whispers to me in the sexiest way imaginable, “Dang, surfer girl. You’re fittin’ in here just fine.”
3 MONTHS + 27 DAYS
Saturday, November 1
Meg and Tasha show up in the morning to take me shopping at Barney’s. It’s
so
last minute, I doubt I’ll find a thing, and I’m having hideous visions of showing up in
Mom’s
old prom dress.
“Lacy wanted to come,” Meg says, “but she’s got another migraine and wants to shake it before the game.”
I’m glad Lacy didn’t show. I’m in no mood to be nice to her.
“Chad finally e-mailed her,” Meg adds as we walk toward the square. “He says he’s going to send her a plane ticket to Okinawa.”
“What?” Tasha yelps.
“He wants to marry her. Really! Now she just has to tell her parents.”
“Or elope.”
“She can’t elope to Japan unless she has a passport,” I remind them. “And she needs their permission to get one. To say nothing of getting
married
.”
“Maybe Japanese laws are different,” Meg says hopefully.
“Who cares, if she can’t get there?”
“Why are you always so negative?”
“I’m not, I …” Fine, forget it. I don’t know how old this Chad dude is, or what the age of consent is, here
or
Japan. But I suspect he’s in for a buttload of trouble.
We cross the square and walk down Main Street, while Tasha describes the fight she had with Millie. “She pitched a fit! She practically threatened to disown me. But I said, too bad, I’m going to the dance and no way can she stop me.”
Meg pats her back. “Good for you for sticking up for yourself. She pushes you way too hard.”
“Maybe,” Tasha admits halfheartedly. “But, really, she just wants me to be the best.
I’m
the one who wants to go to the Olympics. My folk have been saving up for it for years. But I’m
not
missing Homecoming. Now she’s mad as hell.”
We reach Barney’s Consignment Shoppe at the south end of town, between the Lutheran church—Lacy’s dad is the pastor there, Meg informs me; no wonder Lacy’s so nervous about telling her parents she’s pregnant—and the Army Surplus. I roam the cluttered aisles for fifteen minutes, growing more and more desperate. Nothing but halters, spaghetti straps, and plunging necklines!
Then I spot it: black velvet, with long sleeves and a high collar. My friends watch
Nate says under his breath, “You don’t have a dog.”
“They don’t know that.” I open the front door, whistle sharply—and screech when a brick crack-lands on the porch, missing me, Nate, and my imaginary dog by inches. “HEY!”
Laughing, the ghouls sprint off, costumes flapping, shoes slapping the sidewalk.
“I’m calling the cops!” I scream. “Willful destruction of property!”
“Don’t bother. Mrs. Gibbons called the cops every Halloween. They never catch ’em.” I stare in disbelief. “I told you, it’s a tradition. People stand outside and ask if Annaliese can come out.” He pulls me down on the glider. “I sort of hoped they’d forget about it this year, seeing as how the old lady’s …” He glances up at the big amber moon. “Dead now.”
I think of that room upstairs, the one with the canopy bed, where, presumably, Annaliese once slept. “They tormented Mrs. Gibbons? After what she went through?
You
didn’t, did you?”
“If I say yes, would that change your perception of me?”
“I’m not sure I have a perception of you yet.”
Other than the fact that I think you’re very, very cute and a whole lot nicer than some people around here
. “Losers!” I shout as Nate slides an arm through mine. But now that I know I won’t be slaughtered by a mob of monsters, I laugh outright. “What a hoot! Admit it, Nate. They scared the bejesus out of you, too.”
Nate frowns. “Hoot? Bejesus?”
He deflects my fist. Then, just like in the movies, he leans closer and closer till our lips nearly touch—and whispers to me in the sexiest way imaginable, “Dang, surfer girl. You’re fittin’ in here just fine.”
3 MONTHS + 27 DAYS
Saturday, November 1
Meg and Tasha show up in the morning to take me shopping at Barney’s. It’s
so
last minute, I doubt I’ll find a thing, and I’m having hideous visions of showing up in
Mom’s
old prom dress.
“Lacy wanted to come,” Meg says, “but she’s got another migraine and wants to shake it before the game.”
I’m glad Lacy didn’t show. I’m in no mood to be nice to her.
“Chad finally e-mailed her,” Meg adds as we walk toward the square. “He says he’s going to send her a plane ticket to Okinawa.”
“What?” Tasha yelps.
“He wants to marry her. Really! Now she just has to tell her parents.”
“Or elope.”
“She can’t elope to Japan unless she has a passport,” I remind them. “And she needs their permission to get one. To say nothing of getting
married
.”
“Maybe Japanese laws are different,” Meg says hopefully.
“Who cares, if she can’t get there?”
“Why are you always so negative?”
“I’m not, I …” Fine, forget it. I don’t know how old this Chad dude is, or what the age of consent is, here
or
Japan. But I suspect he’s in for a buttload of trouble.
We cross the square and walk down Main Street, while Tasha describes the fight she had with Millie. “She pitched a fit! She practically threatened to disown me. But I said, too bad, I’m going to the dance and no way can she stop me.”
Meg pats her back. “Good for you for sticking up for yourself. She pushes you way too hard.”
“Maybe,” Tasha admits halfheartedly. “But, really, she just wants me to be the best.
I’m
the one who wants to go to the Olympics. My folk have been saving up for it for years. But I’m
not
missing Homecoming. Now she’s mad as hell.”
We reach Barney’s Consignment Shoppe at the south end of town, between the Lutheran church—Lacy’s dad is the pastor there, Meg informs me; no wonder Lacy’s so nervous about telling her parents she’s pregnant—and the Army Surplus. I roam the cluttered aisles for fifteen minutes, growing more and more desperate. Nothing but halters, spaghetti straps, and plunging necklines!
Then I spot it: black velvet, with long sleeves and a high collar. My friends watch
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