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He looks away shyly and I wonder if it’s because of how close I am. Then he walks away and Carter changes the music.
“So we’re doing this?” he asks, sounding giddy. “We’re actually going to dance together, no drama?”
I look at Presley and Presley looks at me.
“It’s not your fault that my dad got fired,” he finally admits with a grumpy tone, looking away again. “He brought it on himself.”
Carter grins like the cat that got the cream and then winks at me. He really did speak to him just like he promised.
“And I shouldn’t have told everybody your business.” He’s still going. I could get used to this.
Carter slaps his friend on the back. “So we all good?”
I nod. “We’re good.”
“Then let’s do this shit.”
Presley rolls his eyes, his face unchanging, but this is progress. I doubt we will ever be friends, but we can at least do this without wanting to constantly maim each other.
Presley and I don’t speak to each other at all. Which is fine by me. It’s weird, but as the week goes on, I get used to it. According to Asher, he’s not the most talkative of guys and I wonder if that has anything to do with his home life.
Carter and I sneak around for kisses, they’re few and far in between but we manage it. It’s not like we go out of our way to kiss, it just happens sometimes. Despite the fact we decided that while we’re dancing together we shouldn’t complicate things. If we were to fall out or expect too much of each other, this entire thing could fall apart.
Still, I like to think that Carter is fast becoming a friend that I kiss sometimes. Though he hasn’t let me look at his penis, I really want to. I wonder if I’ll ever see one this big again in my lifetime.
I scream with surprise and fright when I turn away from Stanley who is looking over my shoulder like he’s seen a ghost.
“Mr. Oaks.” Carter grins, flashing white teeth between black lips, fake blood dripping out of the corners. I guess we definitely won’t be kissing tonight. He’s wearing a headless man costume. So his costume is super tall but it looks like he’s holding his head in his hand. So clever.
“That’s just weird,” Stanley grumbles as Carter approaches.
“I’m here for the fairy maiden,” he declares like a knight instead of a headless monster.
“You’re supposed to sound like you’re gargling blood,” I inform him with a scrunch of my nose.
He tries again, choking around the words, “I am here for the fairy maiden.”
“Much better.” I pat his cheek, getting blood on my shimmering hand.
I chose to be a dark fairy. Lane helped make the costume. It’s black, silver, and white with huge wings that fold inwards with the pull of a chord.
Asher did my hair in two braids with dark purple ribbon, and Alice sat and watched while I did my makeup. Asher dressed as a dead bride on her wedding night, meaning white lingerie and fake blood. Alice is Beetlejuice because it’s Alice.
They both look amazing but they both already went ahead without me, having made plans to meet other friends before joining them at a party. I was working to help Stanley lock his shop and the junkyard down so it wouldn’t get pranked. Apparently, last year kids covered all his shit with silly string. Little fucktards. Kind of funny though. I might do it myself but then I’ll probably have to help with clean up tomorrow.
“You look so hot,” Carter comments, making me twirl, and Stanley makes a snarling noise at him. “I meant beautiful, magical, charming. Not hot. Did I say hot? She definitely does not look hot, Mr. Oaks.”
“Back by ten.”
“Actually, Lane and I agreed midnight,” I say and pat his cheek, leaving a residue of fake blood and powdered glitter.
He snarls again like before, sounding more animal than human.
“You totally should have dressed as a wolf; you sound just like one.”
“Get out,” he barks playfully and shoves me towards the door as trick-or-treaters press the creepy spider bell by the door.
They all scream when they see Carter, which I find hilarious.
When I reach the end of the pathway from the house, I notice Carter isn’t beside me. When I look back, Stanley is throwing him away and Carter runs for his life.
“Your dad is insane,” he declares.
“Not my dad.”
“Whatever. He’s mental.”
“What did he say?”
“That he’d chop my dick off if I even thought about touching you.” His hand slides down my back to my rear which is hidden under black lace and tulle. “Like this basically.”
“Stop,” I hiss, then laugh as I skip ahead. So glad I wore black boots and not heels. Lane really went all out. I kind of love living here and helping Stanley in his body shop, and taking Curlyfry on long walks, and being part of something in school.
