THE LOBBY was stuffy and hot, and everyone pulled at their sweaty costumes ineffectually as we were divided into groups and assigned neighborhoods. It was a good turnout—plenty of Spider-Man costumes and witches, a female Ghostbuster flirting with a sexy nurse, a few bunnies and pirates, and a werewolf who kept pulling his rubber mask off to gulp in a few precious mouthfuls of oxygen. Abby and I had raided a thrift store for our go-go outfits, and Sasha flounced confidently around in a Frank N. Furter costume consisting of a corset, feather boa, and fishnet stockings.
The Pride group at the university had a pretty large member base, even with its limited resources and support from the administration. It was still surprising to see so many of “us” in one place, even though it was my third such meeting. My high school GSA of twelve students and sometimes their friends was a joke in comparison, and this wasn’t even a large chapter, according to some of the members who had been a part of larger ones.
“Group Five: Corey Nguyen,” I winced at the hard N-G combo but turned obediently toward Michaela, the group’s vice president, as she called out my group. “Aleksander Bobrik, Abby Ingram, Valerie Mason, and Layla Turner, you’re taking Front Street to Bay.” She handed Abby the card, since she was closest. On it was a miniscule map with our domain helpfully highlighted and a short script of what to say on the back.
Valerie was the aforementioned sexy nurse. She had short brown hair that curled around her ears in a classic bob, and big green eyes that made her look perpetually startled. Her face was flushed as she waved good-bye to the Ghostbuster, who was assigned to a different group. Layla joined us shortly after, wearing a Star Trek uniform.
“Hi?” Layla said shyly, tugging ineffectually at the hem of her dress. It was nearly short enough to expose her underwear. “I’m Layla?” Everything that came out of her mouth sounded like a question, a higher pitch at the end than at the beginning. It was endearing.
“Come on, we’ve got to get down to Front Street before the big kids come out,” Valerie said impatiently, taking charge of our group. “If we can get most of our area covered before the teenagers start making their rounds, people won’t lock their doors when they see us coming.”
Despite her bossy nature and perpetually startled eyes, Valerie was an instantly likeable person. She walked with an easy confidence I envied, and was not shy to say exactly what was on her mind. She made clever decisions, like commandeering a lost shopping cart from a ditch to put our donations in. She walked down the center of the street while we paired off—Abby with me and Sasha leading tentative Layla—and covered both sides of Front Street.
It was surprisingly fun to go trick-or-treating again. I hadn’t gone since I’d started high school, when it suddenly became uncool to ask for candy from strangers. Instead everyone had gone to parties, like the disaster of a party my senior year when I’d nearly been forced out of the closet—or into it, rather, with Lisa Zimmerman, in a game of seven minutes in heaven.
Abby and I took turns giving the little spiel on the back of the card; “Trick or treat! We’re students from McMinn University and we’re collecting donations of nonperishable food items for the food bank in lieu of candy tonight.”
Between bouts of kindergartners and toddlers out for the first time, our timing was indeed perfect. We managed to get caught behind one such group, a couple of adorable three- and four-year-olds with harried-looking parents, and each house we hit was happy to give us whatever was in their pantry. In no time our plastic pumpkins were full of canned beans, Campbell’s soup, boxes of Kraft Dinner, and packets of ramen noodles. Some of them also insisted on giving us candy as well, as a reward for our hard work.
People were generous after looking into the excited upturned faces of tiny superheroes and princesses. Every three houses or so I’d make a run to Valerie, who was walking along the street with the cart, to empty one of the pumpkins.
“You guys are doing much better than Q&A over there,” she told me on my fifth or sixth deposit, nodding toward Sasha and Layla across the street. I didn’t ask what she meant; she was making fun of Layla’s voice.
“Let’s reconvene at the end of the block,” I said and hurried up the next driveway to meet Abby at the door. “Trick or treat! We’re students from McMinn….”
At the end of the street we switched partners, and the distributions of donations evened out. We’d lost our welcome wagon of preschoolers when we turned the corner, and so we were the first faces of the night for many people. With the street change so too did the demographic, and suddenly we were out of grandmother territory and into the run-down rental properties of bachelors and university students. Still, we managed to convince the occupants to fork over their boxes of Kraft Dinner, their cans of tuna, their untouched bags of dry pasta. Guilt is a powerful motivator.
When it was Layla’s turn to speak, she read her lines from the card in her shaking hands, “Trick or treat? We’re students from McMinn University? And we’re collecting donations of nonperishable food items for the food bank in lieu of candy tonight?”
“Let’s cut McMinn out of it,” I suggested to a terrified Layla three houses into our new partnership. “We both look young enough to be high school students. We can work with that.”
And I was right. We got more donations than ever when we started saying instead, “We’re students collecting donations of nonperishable food items,” shortening the spiel by a third.
Layla grew more confident with every house. “Would you like to help our cause?” slipped out unbidden at one house, impromptu rather than scripted. She beamed for the next three houses.
By the end of the street, Layla and I had collected more food than Sasha and Abby. I mean, it wasn’t a competition. But we totally won.
We took turns pushing the heavy shopping cart back to our starting point, the lobby of the university library. It was much fuller than I expected. Valerie was singing and whooping as we passed curious third- and fourth-graders coming out for the second shift of trick-or-treating.
“We are the best team!” she sung loudly and to no particular tune. “We’ve got the most food! We’re helping people and everything is great!”
Abby raised her eyebrows at me as we pushed the cart together, and I shrugged helplessly. When we got back to the home base and our food was weighed, our group was briefly at the top of the list. We were given red markers to fill in the donation thermometer, our group’s addition bringing it three tick marks closer to the end goal. The coloring went on until the next group came in with an even bigger payload, and we shuffled off to eat the candy we’d been given by the lovely supportive grandmas on Front Street.
“Grape or lemon?” I asked Valerie, sitting down beside her and holding up two lollipops. She smiled and took the yellow one.
“Thanks.”
“You’re very innovative,” I told her, watching as Abby bartered with Sasha for a mini-Snickers. “The shopping cart idea was great. We should return it to the Walmart after.”
Valerie shrugged, twisting her lollipop back and forth so that it clicked between her teeth. “I’m not all that good at people. It’s easier if I take charge and stay separate.” She looked off into the distance, staring at nothing.
“You could’ve taken a turn,” I said, feeling bad that she’d been on cart duty the whole night. “I should’ve asked.”
Valerie smiled and her eyes caught mine. “That’s sweet,” she said. “But I like being the lone wolf. You don’t have to worry about me.” She stood up and stretched.
“It’s in my nature,” I said. “I’m a worrier.”
Valerie nodded vaguely. “I’m going to return the cart and head home. It’s on my way,” she added when I opened my mouth to object to her doing it alone. “Thanks for the candy.” And then she was gone out the front doors into the crisp night.