“Mr. Brookfield, I have the best idea!” I yell, running into the house. Claire and I find him sitting in his armchair reading a thick book with a dark, spooky cover.

“Yes, Remy?”

“You will be the voice of Seagate Halloween! You know how everyone dresses up and we have the parade and everything?”

“Of course!”

“Well, your scream will start the whole thing. Kind of like a fanfare on a trumpet or a whistle.” I put my hands on my hips. “What do you think?”

“I’m in!” He winks. “Isn’t that what all the young people say these days?”

Claire and I crack up, and Bennett and Calvin do too. They’re hanging over the railing listening to our whole conversation. It’s surprising that Mr. Brookfield didn’t need much convincing, but maybe he’s been waiting for this all along.

Claire tells him all about her idea to show scary movies during the Seagate Sunday night movies.

“I’ll talk to Mrs. Paisley,” I tell him.

“We’ll go together,” Mr. Brookfield says. “I’ve known her for years.”

“She’s always at Breakfast by the Boardwalk in the morning,” I say, even though he probably already knows that. “Let’s meet her there tomorrow. Claire, you come too.”

“I’m in,” she says, laughing.

In the end, I don’t invite Claire to the sleepover, but I think it’s okay, because she said she was excited for a Claire-Grandpa date. They were going to Frederick’s Fish and then seeing a movie at Seagate Cinema after. I think Claire likes time alone with her grandfather. She hasn’t really said it out loud, but I can tell.

I walk home more quickly than I think I’ve ever walked on Seagate. It’s as if my excitement is carrying me and making me walk faster. I can’t wait for Seagate Halloween. I can’t wait for Mr. Brookfield to scream and for all of Seagate to hear it. Everyone will want to know his story. And he’ll be so happy to tell it. His past will become a part of his present and his future, and he’ll finally be the celebrity he was meant to be.

The only thing I am still trying to figure out is Bennett. What should I say to him? On the one hand, I think he already knows. I mean, I know he knows, because Claire told him, but I don’t know what he thinks about it. And things are still okay with us. And maybe I shouldn’t make anything muddy, since I don’t even know what my feelings really mean. But on the other hand, I feel like I’m bursting with feelings, like I’m carrying balloons under my shirt and I have to let them out.

I run through the door and say, “Mom, Micayla’s sleeping over!”

My mom comes out from the kitchen and smiles, unsurprised, and I realize she already knows. I guess Micayla’s mom told her. And my mom seems so happy, and I’m relieved that this fight—the longest one of our friendship—is over.

“Do you think you’re going to want pizza? Or should I make baked ziti? Or what?” my mom asks. She has her painting apron on, and there’s a speck of purple paint on her cheek.

“Let’s see when Micayla gets here. She just went home to grab her stuff.”

I run up to my room and straighten up. Even though Micayla has been here a million times, I feel like tonight is different. It’s the beginning of our friendship after the Fight. We have so much to talk about—Seagate Schoolhouse and Mason and Bennett and the dogs.

I look around my room, and for the first time in my whole life, I want to change the decor. I want to take down my old posters, the ones of sunsets and puppies and old-fashioned ice cream parlors. I want to spruce things up. Maybe Mom and I can redecorate—paint over this lavender and make the room a cool sea green or something. Or maybe Mom and I can paint a mural. Mom will have to do all the hard painting, but I can help a little bit.

I want to take out my old gingham beanbag chairs and put in something cool—a director’s chair like Mr. Brookfield has, or maybe even some kind of indoor chaise longue.

I don’t know what’s come over me. Maybe it’s that I’m so excited for the future that I want to get it started right away. I’m looking forward to all the possibilities, and I want to be ready for them. I don’t want to hang on to old pieces of the past just because they’re comfortable and they’ve always been there.

I want to start fresh and embrace what’s coming.

“Remy!” I hear someone yelling from downstairs, so I throw the last of my dirty laundry into the hamper and run down. Micayla’s on the porch, grinning.

“Let’s get sandwiches at Pastrami on Rye and then have a picnic on the beach behind your house,” Micayla says. “We haven’t been to the deli since June!”

“I can’t believe it,” I say, grabbing my bag from the foyer table. “Mom, do you want anything from the deli?”

“Ooh,” Mom says, walking in, this time with some yellow paint above her eyebrow. When I say she gets into a painting, I really mean it. “I’d love turkey with coleslaw and Russian dressing.”

“You got it.” She hands me money and I give her a hug, and soon Micayla and I are off on our walk—like the old days, but even better.

“You’re never going to believe who my teacher is,” Micayla says.

“Who?”

“Paul. Atticus’s owner.”

“I thought he was a college professor?” I ask. “And that he’s working on his dissertation, or whatever it’s called.”

“He was. He is. But he’s taking a year off and staying on Seagate, and he got a job teaching sixth-grade English.” She shakes her head. “But guess why he’s staying.”

“Um?” I look at her and try to think of the craziest reason ever. “He needs Sundae Best all year long?”

“He’s dating Andi! Rascal’s owner’s daughter. Remember?”

I think back to earlier in the summer. We don’t see the owners as much anymore, since one of us just runs into each house to pick up the dog. We never really stay to chat.

“Oh yeah, the yoga one? And her mom had hip surgery?” It’s all coming back to me now.

“Yeah, they started talking when they picked up their dogs from us on Dog Beach. The dogs brought them together!” Micayla says, all excited. “Or I guess we brought them together!”

“Andi’s staying all year too? To teach yoga?” I ask.

“And to help her mom,” Micayla reminds me. “And because she’s in loooove.”

We both start laughing and decide that we’re starving and we need to race to Pastrami on Rye.

This is going to be the best sleepover ever.