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OLIVE
* * *
“Who are you supposed to be? A mariachi monk?”
Ignacio’s at my front door dressed in a brown robe and a straw sombrero. He’s sporting this ridiculously large handlebar mustache and the most dazzling glint in his eyes.
He sweeps his robe open with a dramatic swoosh to reveal a beige tunic cinched at the waist with a black utility belt from which hangs a toy lightsaber.
“I’m Obi Juan Kenobi.”
I’m cracking up. “That’s so perfect.”
“What are you going as? The white queen from Narnia?” He gestures to my white off-the-shoulder gown. It’s a tacky wedding/prom dress I found at a thrift store. Purple tag fifty percent sale. And bonus—it has pockets.
“Not a queen,” I say, putting on the wireless headphones I covered in wig hair. “A Druish princess.”
I pick up my plastic space blaster to complete the look.
“From Spaceballs?”
“Ding ding ding. Mariachi Jedi wins a prize.”
“I think we both do. This is the fandom pairing we never knew we needed.”
“Indeed.”
“I almost went as Emo Kylo Ren, but then I saw the hat.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t help it.”
“It’s the mustache that does it for me. Such a turn on.”
“You look amazing. Do those headphones work?”
“Yep.”
I show him the playlist set up on my Spotify app and lock up, shoving my keys, phone, and wallet into the deep pockets of my gown. When we pile into his SUV, he refuses to take off the hat, so he has to tilt the seat back to make room for the brim.
“You’re sure you want to go?” he asks. “It’s not too late to back out.”
I’ll admit, when he first suggested we attend Aaron’s party, I thought he’d lost his mind. But upon further consideration, I decided who cares if he lost his mind? I’m going to make Aaron and Eyebrows regret the day they crossed me. I’ll eat my weight in whatever food they serve and get my mezuzah back.
If I’m being honest, though—I just want an excuse to go out with Ignacio. Or Obi Juan, as I should call him for the rest of the night.
“I’m all dressed up and hungry,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
We head out, taking surface streets to get to Aaron’s house. The familiar streets begin to cause a lump in my tummy as we get closer. Somehow, Ignacio is keenly perceptive, and leans his hand across the console to comfort me.
“Are you okay? I can turn around.”
“And miss seeing Aaron’s face when he sees how awesome we are? Not a chance.”
He squeezes my hand reassuringly, but in turning his head, his sombrero gets caught in the seatbelt and he swerves a little, the tires barely skimming the lane divider bumps. He rights the car without incident, but that small mistake is enough to catch the interest of a motorcycle cop. The whoop whoop of the siren precedes the blue and red lights. They’re almost blinding in the mirrors.
Ignacio curses under his breath and pulls over. The police officer does a double take when he sees us in our costumes, but quickly recovers and requests license and registration.
What Ignacio does next both mortifies and slays me. He waves his hand sideways and says, “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”
My jaw hits the floorboard and I just want to disappear into thin air. The officer frowns, bending down to get a better look inside the car.
