The closer it got to Halloween, the more crowded Sleepy Hollow became. The blocked-off street was flooded with small families and their toddling children. March, CindeeRae, and I stopped to take it all in. Dad had picked up CindeeRae on the way, and she wore a black hoodie with ears, a furry white bib, and matching leg warmers over black leggings and ballet shoes.
As she twirled ahead of me, a kitty tail flared out behind her. “You’re a cat?” I asked in a hushed voice, afraid Mom might overhear and want to trade me in for CindeeRae, a kid willingly dressing up as a cat for Halloween.
“Not just any cat,” CindeeRae said. “Mr. Mistoffelees.”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s from my very favorite Broadway musical, Cats.” She twitched her kitty nose and did some bouncy ballet moves.
“You guys coming?” Mom called over her shoulder as Dad pulled her toward our favorite food truck. We hustled after them. March and I taught CindeeRae how to play slug-bug Halloween, yelling out duplicates as we saw them: three Spider-Mans, two Captain Americas, three pumpkins, four skeletons, two zombie cheerleaders, another Goku from Dragon Ball Z.
We each grabbed an order of mummy dogs with purple and orange Halloween fries, which were really made from two different kinds of sweet potatoes. We ate at a nearby picnic table and strained our necks to see where we wanted to go first. March called the bounce house at the end of the street, while I argued for the haystack maze two houses down; CindeeRae seconded my motion. I liked having her around.
A big group crowded around the food truck. “Let’s get out of here before that family of Incredibles takes us out,” Dad said.
As we made our way toward the Pumpkin House, covered in orange lights with a lawn full of jack-o’-lanterns, we bumped into Mrs. Hewitt—well, actually Mom did. She slammed into her hard enough to knock the golden lasso from her utility belt. Mrs. Hewitt took the blow, sturdy as a tree stump.
“My Lincoln Elementary Singers!” she cried, holding her arms straight out like she meant to hug us. She wore a red wig and bright red lipstick that bled into the lines around her mouth. A white apron cinched her waist and her tights bagged at her ankles, above heavy black shoes with Velcro.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said, reaching out to steady her. “Mrs. Hewitt, right? District music teacher?” I began to fidget, worrying that Mrs. Hewitt might rat me out for pegging her in the face with a Jolly Rancher, or worse yet, tell Mom I was practicing the duet with Madeleine Brown as punishment for it.
Mrs. Hewitt nodded like Mom was asking if she were a movie star.
“You look great,” Mom said. “We are huge I Love Lucy fans.”
We were; I had watched all six seasons last summer, which we had gotten in a boxed set from my grandma on Dad’s side. Even so, I couldn’t tell who Mrs. Hewitt was dressed as until Mom said so.
“You all look grand as well,” she said, and winked at me.
“Do you live here?” Dad asked Mrs. Hewitt.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I come every night so Pickles can walk the parade.” I hadn’t noticed the wiener dog sitting a couple feet away wearing a pickle costume.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
“That’s interesting,” Mom said, which was really a polite way to say weird. They said good-bye, and March, CindeeRae, Genki, and I continued walking toward the haystack maze.
I caught a glimpse of Madeleine Brown skipping from the witch’s brew to the little stand with a doughnut drop. She was dressed as a pirate and held pirate-twin Catelyn Monsen’s hand. In the other hand she held a leash connected to a collie wearing red-and-white-striped leg warmers and a matching headscarf, the ears poking through the folds.
They skidded to a stop at the end of the line, Madeleine’s and Catelyn’s hands swinging between them. I paused, and March and CindeeRae walked on without me.
I stared at Madeleine as she leaned toward her dog to coo and scratch at his ears. And then I remembered her friend list:
˙ follows me
˙ sits on my feet
˙ plays soccer
˙ licks my tears
Madeleine Brown was being serious. Her best friend was her dog.
When CindeeRae noticed that I wasn’t catching up, she grabbed March’s arm and yelled back to me, “What are you waiting for?”
I put my finger on my lips to shush her and then pointed at Madeleine and Catelyn.
CindeeRae spotted them and laughed, her evil cackle echoing down the block. “Look who’s a baby now, dressing up as a pirate for Halloween.”
I shushed them.
Genki pulled at the leash, and I smiled. My list had been about March, but I could just as easily have made a list about my puppy.
Knowing her secret made the embarrassment from lunch disappear. A warmth spread through my chest. As if he understood, Genki looked up and panted at me, his mouth wide like he was grinning.
“Hurry up, Kazu.” March waved me toward them, standing at the back of the haystack line. Genki and I ran to catch up.
We sat at a picnic table waiting for the puppy parade while eating “poisoned candy apples”; they were covered in a shiny black glaze that tasted like cotton candy. Mom and Dad had run into some friends and were drinking cider together one table down.
“What’s next?” CindeeRae asked.
On the far end of Sleepy Hollow, a man dressed like a circus ringmaster motioned for the crowd of costumed dogs and their humans to form a single line. Genki lay at my feet, pooped from a long night of peopling.
“We need more clues,” I said, rubbing his belly with my foot.
“We’ve looked everywhere,” March said. “What else can we do?”
The ringmaster blew his whistle and motioned the parade forward. “The Monster Mash” blared from one of the Sleepy Hollow houses as dogs and people began the slow march through the neighborhood.
“The hack,” I said, barely able to hear the words myself. This time when I spoke, my voice squeaked. “We didn’t know what we were looking for before, but Crowley’s got to communicate with his partners somehow. We need to check his e-mail again.”
March and CindeeRae sat up taller. Hearing the excitement in my voice, Genki stood and dug his snout into my side, whining, and I couldn’t tell if it was because he was worried about me or wanted help taking off his hot-dog costume.
The front of the parade drew closer, and smack-dab in the middle, Madeleine Brown and Catelyn Monsen walked their pirate dog. Behind them Mrs. Hewitt pranced next to Pickles.
“Let’s check the hack tomorrow,” CindeeRae said. “After school?”
“Tomorrow, after school,” I agreed.