I start Halloween night off squeezed into a booth with Sam, Lenore, Theodore, and Lavon at a place on Atlantic called Bake-N-Broil. It’s the kind of diner that’s probably been around forever and is mostly popular with the over-sixty-five, card-carrying AARP members set. We definitely stand out. But the burgers and French fries are good, and for dessert we order giant slices of pie, accompanied by scoops of vanilla ice cream. I watch as Sam takes small, thoughtful bites, and I can almost feel his hands itching for his notebook to write down all the intricacies of the flavor profile.
Lenore insists she doesn’t want any pie but then sneaks bites of everyone else’s. And Theodore and Lavon take turns feeding each other the French silk pie they ordered, sharing one fork. It’s adorable.
“Oh, you two are so cute, and it’s making me feel like my godmama Arlene, who lives alone in Torrance with her five cats,” Lenore says. “No one told me this was going to be a date night!” Theodore smirks and snuggles in closer to Lavon. “Okay, since Tessa is ditching me for her soon-to-be boyfriend, Sam, you’re gonna have to be my bae tonight. What do you say, boo boo?” She scoots in close to him, fitting her shoulder under his arm and rubbing his cheeks. Sam blushes and awkwardly pats her arm. I roll my eyes involuntarily.
“You good?” Lenore asks me, arching her eyebrow.
“Yeah. Just nervous about tonight, is all.”
She nods but still looks at me curiously.
“You could always skip all that and stay with us,” Sam suggests, pushing his clean plate away from him. I want to say yes. It would be so much easier to go to his house. All the tightness in my body would release, and I could just have fun—like we did dancing with Miles. Like we always do. But I think about the happily ever after plan and how I feel like the sun is warming my whole body when Nico looks at me with his sleepy smile. That will be fun too.
“That does sound tempting, but I want to go. The semester is halfway over, and you know, I need to do anything that may jump-start my writing—”
“I still don’t get this rationale,” Lavon cuts in. They were all happy to fill him in on the plan before we even got our waters. “Listen, if you would like to explore the very enticing specimen that is Nico Lucchese, just admit that. No need for pretenses.”
“Enticing specimen, huh?” Theodore says, whipping his neck round and giving Lavon a look of mock outrage.
My neck flames. “That’s not it!”
“Girl, it’s partially it, and that’s okay,” Lenore says. “Most artists have used their own sexual awakenings as inspiration for their creations. I mean, there’s the rococo art movement. And, like, Frank Ocean. Own it!”
“Why does everyone keep trying to make this a sex thing?” I shout, barely audible over Lenore, Theodore, and Lavon’s laughter. All the white-hairs are starting to turn around and stare.
“What’s Miles doing tonight?” Sam asks, rubbing the side of his pink face. I want to kiss him in gratitude for changing the subject. Well, not actually kiss him.
“He loves passing out candy, so probably that.” I grin, remembering last year. “Actually, last Halloween he got obsessed with toilet papering someone’s house after he saw it in a movie, but he didn’t get more than a few sheets up before my parents caught him. Maybe he’s going to try that again.”
Sam laughs. “We could help him out with that. Steer him in Mrs. Hutchinson’s direction.”
“Oh my god. Please do not do that.”
He shrugs his shoulders dramatically, as if to say, We’ll see, and then gives me a big one-dimple smile. “But seriously, does he like scary movies? Maybe he can join our marathon.”
I’m about to shoot him down, because, yeah, Sam is a nice guy and may be down with that, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them want to spend their Saturday night hanging out with Miles. But before I can say anything, Lenore jumps up in her seat. “For sure! Miles is the best. Actually, he can be my bae tonight.”
That doesn’t cause me to roll my eyes, but it does make them a little watery.
I meet up with Nico and everyone outside the golf course at ten. The tall lights on the green aren’t turned on, and at first I don’t see them. I start to second-guess showing up here alone. But then their four figures appear out of the fog that hangs over the damp, dark grass.
The first thing I notice is that none of them have on costumes.
“What are you wearing?” Rhys asks.
I’m wearing Ravenclaw robes that I haven’t put on since sixth grade, but they somehow made it through the move. I ran home to get them after leaving the diner. It’s not my best costume, but I thought it would do. And it would be a little nod to Nico and the conversation we had on his bed. Now all it is is a glaring reminder of how juvenile and uncool I am.
“You come straight from trick-or-treating?” Grayson asks. “You and Weiner?”
What the hell? I want to ask Poppy, but when I see her satisfied smirk, I know exactly what’s going on. But I mean, can I blame her?
“I thought we were wearing costumes,” I say quietly, looking Poppy right in the eye.
“I love it,” Nico says with a smile. He tugs on the kelly-green rolled-up beanie perched on the top of his head. “Green for Slytherin,” he adds with a wink.
There—so much for your sneaky shit, Poppy. And I’m glad I’m wearing the robe anyway, because it’s actually cold tonight. The dry heat that’s been hanging over Long Beach since we moved here suddenly dropped as if instructed to by the holiday. It feels like a real fall night, with puffs of hot air escaping out of our mouths when we speak. Poppy snuggles under Nico’s fleece-lined bomber jacket, and I look away.
“All right, let’s go find Munchkin Town!” Rhys announces, and I realize he’s talking into his phone, taking on his vlogger persona.
It’s not just that he’s yelling it (which probably isn’t best for this supposedly covert operation), but it’s the word he used. Again. Yeah, it’s not as bad as the other M-word Poppy was throwing around before, but it’s still offensive and insensitive—like the R-word and how people just drop that like it’s nothing. It irritates me how they say it so easily, urban legend or not. I wonder if they say other words as freely too . . . when I’m not there.
“We decided that we’re going to keep calling it that,” Poppy says matter-of-factly. “Sorry, Tessa.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can think about them too much. “Well, you’ll just sound like assholes then.”
Grayson laughs, and Rhys jumps and calls out, “Oh!” (Probably for the enjoyment of his followers.)
Maybe I should have gone to Sam’s instead.
“Hey, let’s just agree to disagree?” Nico says, standing in between us. Even though it’s dark, I can see Poppy’s face is beet red. And it’s not from embarrassment. No, she’s just pissed. “We don’t have to call it anything really,” Nico goes on. “The mission is to locate it, not label it, right?”
“Whatever,” Poppy spits out, pushing past both of us and walking ahead with Grayson. She pushes Rhys’s phone out of her face when he tries to capture her on video.
I wonder if their status has changed since we last talked, because Nico doesn’t chase after her or try to smooth things over. Instead, he stays next to me.
“Don’t worry about her,” he says, waving her off. He leans in close, so only I can hear. “And for the record, I agree with you.” And then he winks. Again. The winks are like freaking breadcrumbs, stringing me along a path that I know I should probably turn back from. But the winks . . . and just everything—they aren’t only in my head. Girlfriend or not.
The tension surprisingly diffuses from there, Grayson and Poppy walking ahead and me, Rhys, and Nico following behind. I realize Rhys has two phones—one for his IG stories and one for his vlog—and he alternates between them seamlessly, sometimes even using both at the same time.
After skirting the golf course for a bit, we finally come upon a wrought iron and brick gate surrounding a neighborhood of huge houses, and Rhys crouches down and explains to his followers that we’ve finally found it.
But Nico interrupts his celebratory dance. “Nah, man, that’s just a normal gated community. My dad’s golfing buddy lives in there.” He looks at me sheepishly and then hurriedly adds, “A community for people of average height.”
“Well, then where are we going exactly?” Poppy asks, annoyed, as Rhys quickly types an explanation on his stories. “How many gated neighborhoods can there be back here?”
I can’t help but agree with her, as much as it pains me. “Did anyone check a map?”
“It wouldn’t be on a map,” Grayson says, shaking his head. “If they’re trying to stay on the DL, why would they put their place on a map?”
“There must be something else back here,” Nico says, and starts to look around. The golf course is on one side, and the gate is on the other, with only a dark paved road ahead. There’s no sidewalk or streetlights on it anymore, and it’s hard to tell how long it goes on . . . or what could be back there.
“We need to just keep walking,” Grayson insists. “And don’t turn your flashlight on, Rhys, because that’s just going to give us away. I don’t care about your video quality.”
I’m pretty sure this is how horror movies start. And you know who dies first in those.
Suddenly a pair of headlights swings into the darkness, as if turning a corner. And we don’t talk about it—we all just scatter across the road. Poppy, Nico, and I end up barely behind a bush next to the gate, and Rhys and Nico are standing at the edge of the course. With our ineffective hiding spots, it’s no wonder that the car slows and then idles. It’s a black BMW with dark tinted windows. But the driver’s-side window lowers, and a thirty-something man with cornrows and an orange pumpkin T-shirt leans out, his elbow gripping the door.
He looks right at me, Nico, and Poppy and asks, his voice deep and gravelly, “You kids looking for Munchkin Town?”
“Oh, shit!” Rhys yelps, and runs over to the door, both his phones out and recording.
“Yes, we are, sir,” Nico says, eyes wide.
“Well, you’re on the right track, but you still got a ways to go. Walk down this road some more.” He points to where he just came from. “And eventually you’ll see an unmarked road leading to another fence. You’re gonna have to jump it, because there’s no way their security guy is going to let you through. As soon as you see it, go down the side—the, uh . . . right side, and you should be out of his view. And that’s how you get to Munchkin Town.”
He scratches his face and nods his head once, his duty done.
“Do you mind if I ask how you know this?” I say, and he looks me up and down, eyes narrowing on my robes.
“’Cause I seen it! That’s why,” he explains with a snort. “Me and my friends did just that back in high school, jumped the fence, and we went around and rang all the doorbells. And all those little people came running with all their little children, waving their hands in the air and carrying on or whatever. They never found us.”
That makes Rhys and Grayson laugh, which honestly, just kind of makes me mad . . . and embarrassed. What am I doing here with these people looking for this stupid and offensive legend?
I guess it’s not the big reaction that the man expected from his audience, because he looks irritated now too.
“Go see it for yourselves or not. I don’t care.” He rolls up his window then and peels off. One of the porch lights in the gated community next to us flicks on, and we all scurry over closer to the golf course and the darkness.
“That was awesome!” Rhys declares in a whisper-yell, and Nico high-fives him.
I shake my head. “I don’t know . . . he’s probably just a resident messing with us or something. That story sounded . . . far-fetched.”
“That guy doesn’t live here!” Grayson laughs.
“And why not?” I ask, my voice sharp.
He shrugs. “You can just tell.”
I know exactly what he’s getting at, and I’m ready to give him a lecture and call someone an asshole again. But I know that won’t go over well, yelling at Nico’s best friend. And it makes me feel sick, letting his ignorant comment slide, but I clench my fists and force myself to stay quiet again. I don’t like who I’m starting to be with this group, swallowing down his microagressions. And it’s made even worse by the fact that I’m standing here in Ravenclaw robes. They feel overwhelmingly itchy all of a sudden. I don’t want to think about what it means that I have to be a dialed-down version of myself around them.
We debate it a bit, but it’s clear that it’s four against one. And before I know it, we’re following the guy’s directions down the almost pitch-black road. We reach the turnoff he described in about ten minutes, and just like he said, there’s a second gate there, made of layered rocks.
“Who’s going to go first?” Grayson whispers as we creep around to the side that’s lined with tall oak trees. But Rhys is already scrambling up the wall, one arm dangerously outstretched with a phone, so he can get his footage.
“Well, okay then,” Grayson says, following after him.
This is one of those moments when I’m very much aware that I’m surrounded by white people. Like when we spend Thanksgiving with my mom’s family and there’s orange juice in the yams and crushed saltine crackers on top of the mac and cheese. Or anytime “Sweet Caroline” is played.
Because they all see absolutely nothing wrong with jumping over this fence in the middle of the night. They completely ignore the no trespassing and security system signs. They don’t worry about what could happen if we’re caught, if someone sees a figure and gets nervous in the dark, if that someone has a gun.
“You guys . . . I’m not sure—”
“Let me guess: you think we should all go home and sit in a circle and talk about some social justice warrior shit.” Poppy cuts me off, scowling. “Well, go ahead. No one’s begging you to stay, Miss Goody Two-shoes.”
“Hey, Poppy . . . ,” Nico says with his hand up.
“Hey nothing,” she snaps back at him. “You better wake up, Nico, and remember who the fuck you’re really with.”
My mouth falls open as those words hit me in the gut, and that makes Poppy’s face twist into a grin, satisfied. With that, she starts climbing up the rocks after the other two with surprising speed.
Nico turns to me, eyes wide and mouth twitching like he’s about to say something, but then he just looks at the ground and shakes his head.
“I think I’m just gonna go home.”
His head pops up. “No. Please don’t do that,” he says, taking a step toward me. “I want you to—”
I don’t get to hear the end of that beautiful sentence, because it’s interrupted by a blaring alarm that pierces through the quiet night.
“Fuck!” Nico shouts, and I can hear the sound of leaves rustling as he sprints away, but my legs are cemented to the ground. I can’t run. I can’t do anything. Because this is exactly what I was worried about, and my heart is making my whole body shake as I race through the possibilities of what could happen next.
“Tessa, over here,” Nico whispers, making me jump. He pulls me by the waist back behind a dark hedge, and I whip around fast, startled. And then we’re facing each other, so tight that our hipbones are pressed together. His are definitely bonier than mine, but I don’t even care—like, I forget to be embarrassed. Because I’m close enough to count every last one of his eyelashes and his arm is on mine and it’s sensory overload. My heart continues to pound in my chest, but it’s a different feeling now—no longer fear. I feel like fireworks are going off in my stomach and exploding all around my body. He’s looking right into my eyes and his lips pull into a small smile.
And then it starts raining. Seriously! Raining! For real water falling down from the sky, and this must be a miracle or something, because it never rains here. This is just for us. This is the universe reading my list and granting me a wish. Number six.
“Tessa . . . ,” he murmurs, filling the small space between us. I’ve never heard my name sound so perfect. I want to record it, so I can play it for others and say, “There, that is my name.” “Your hair . . . it looks like there’s, uh, diamonds in it. With the raindrops? It’s . . . you’re so beautiful.”
If there were fireworks before, there’s freaking space shuttles being launched now.
But I can’t help but ask. “What about Poppy?”
He shakes his head, keeping his dark brown eyes on mine. “Poppy and I . . . we haven’t been great lately. Like I said, we aren’t, um, exclusive . . . you know?”
What does that mean? my head screams. Because yeah—I’ve formulated this whole plan in disregard of Poppy. Girls like Poppy already have their own love stories. Is it really the end of the world if I get this, just this one time? I felt like it was okay. But . . . I don’t know. It was really a lot easier to rationalize this happening when it wasn’t actually happening.
And then his hand reaches up to my cheek and his head begins to lower down to mine. And all of those thoughts are gone, because now my head is full with shouts of It’s happening! It’s really happening!
Before our lips touch, though, bright red lights flash across our faces, followed by the whoop whoop of a siren. We both jump apart when a portly man in a white-and-black uniform appears next to the bushes.
“You two are gonna have to come with me.”