Go f**k yourself. That’s what I came back here for?

That’s what I deserve, after everything?

After a few minutes of sobbing, I hear Lillia’s voice. At first I

think she’s calling out for me. But then I realize she’s screaming at Reeve. I stay low and use the car for cover, peering through the windows. I end up spotting them a few rows away. Lillia and Reeve, toe-to-toe. I can’t hear what she’s saying, so I stay crouched down and scurry from car to car, trying to get closer to them.

“You know what? I’m glad you broke your stupid leg. I’m glad you can’t play football and that no college wants you on their team anymore. You deserve everything you’re getting, because you’re a bad person.”

Oh, Lillia. You are a true friend.

She walks away from Reeve. I watch closely for his reaction. To see what kind of jerky thing he’ll yell after Lillia. He doesn’t do anything. He just stands there, watching her go. And most shockingly of all, he wipes his eyes on his sleeves. It’s another punch to the gut. Reeve couldn’t care less about

seeing me and the nasty thing he said; he didn’t even care enough to apologize. But Lillia Cho calls him a bad person and he’s in tears.

Reeve likes her.

He might even be in love with her. I hate that I’m jealous, but I am. I really, really am. It’s sick. I’m sick.

I want to go home but I can’t. Not when I’m upset like this. Not after how weird Aunt Bette was acting earlier. I can’t bear to hear her say, I told you so, Mary. Not when I still feel like I could explode at any second. I stand up, wipe the dirt from myself, and head straight into the woods.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The boys are throwing around a football, using the tombstones as markers. Someone put on Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” and Rennie and Ash and some other girls are putting on a show, doing the zombie dance. A few weeks ago I would have been front and center, right by Rennie’s side. Now it’s me alone on a blanket sipping Ash’s “witch’s brew”—basically rum punch with cinnamon sticks and oranges and cider. It’s so sweet; I’ve been drinking it like it’s Kool-Aid. That, and I have nothing else to do but drink.

Reeve’s sprawled out in the center of the other blanket, his legs stretched in front of him. He’s surrounded by junior girls in slutty costumes. Slutty cavegirl, slutty mouse, slutty Pocahontas. They’re practically feeding him grapes. I can’t believe I ever in a million years felt bad for him. He’s horrible, a monster. For him to talk to Mary that way, after all he’s done to her . . . it makes me want to puke. I’m glad I said something to him in the parking lot. It felt good to give him a piece of my mind.

The song changes, and Rennie comes running up to Reeve, making room for herself on the blanket and edging the other girls out. “Do you need anything?” she asks. “We have snacks and stuff.”

“Is there any beer?” he asks. Rennie’s head bobs up and down and she scampers over to the cooler. Ugh. It makes me sick to see her wait on him hand and foot. Puke puke puke.

She brings him a beer and he looks at it and goes, “Is there no Bud Light?”

“‘Is there no Bud Light?’” I mimic to myself. I call out, “Reeve, how about you get your lazy butt off the ground and go look for yourself? Last I checked, you’re not a paraplegic! It’s a broken left fibula!”

Reeve whips his head around and throws me the meanest look ever. Like I care. “Shut your mouth, Cho,” he says warningly.

I’m about to take a sip of my witch’s brew, but before I do, I say back, “No, you shut yours.” He thinks he can push around whoever he wants. Well, he’s not pushing me around. He should know that by now.

Suddenly Alex plops down next to me, breathing hard from running around. “Did you see that play?” he asks me, blocking Reeve from my view. “I almost made it all the way down to the end zone. Beat three guys with my spin moves before I got tackled.”

I sigh. Sweet, dear Alex. Alex who made sure there were enough cupcakes for the little kids, and he never ever did anything to hurt me. He shows up for me every time. Sighing again, I let my head droop onto his shoulder. “You are so nice,” I whisper.

“Are you drunk?” Alex asks me, a little amused and a little concerned and mostly surprised.

“Yes. No. Okay, yes.”

“You never drink,” he says.

“I did,” I say, sitting up and looking at him. It takes a couple of seconds for him to come into focus. “One time I did and it was the worst, worst mistake of my life. Sometimes I think . . . sometimes I think I’ll never be the same.” My eyes keep closing on their own. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. My eyes are sleepy.”

Alex takes the thermos out of my hands and puts my head back on his shoulder. “Are you cold?”

I shake my head. I’m not. The punch is very warmth inducing. Plus I put an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over my leotard. It’s still ballerina-ish, though, like I got back from rehearsal.

“Warmth inducing?” Alex says.

I clap my hand over my mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. I tilt my head up and look at his face. His eyes are so nice.

“So nice,” I say, touching his glasses.

“Thanks,” he says solemnly.

I shiver, and Alex shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. “Feel free to lean against me,” he says. So I do. I let my weight fall against him, so relaxed. Boneless, almost. He puts his arms around me, and I feel safe, like the safest I’ve ever felt. It’s the exact opposite of that bad time.

We watch as PJ kicks the football high into the air. “Field goal!” he crows.

Derek goes, “No, dude, the end zone is the Zane plot.” He points to a collection of moss-covered white stone crosses, dead center in the cemetery.

The Zanes. That must be Mary’s family. I didn’t realize they were old-school Jar Islanders.

They argue back and forth, and I say to Alex, “I can’t believe that next Friday’s the last football game. Are you upset you guys aren’t going to playoffs?”

“No way. The season could’ve been over when Reeve got hurt, but we turned it around. I’m proud of what we pulled off. And you know what, it’s awesome Lee got to play so much this season. He’s really come into his own. I bet you next year the Gulls make it all the way to state.”

“You’re such a good guy,” I say, nodding. I glance over at Reeve. He’s struggling to his feet, balancing on one crutch. Rennie says to him, “Where are you going?”

His face is red. “Home. This sucks.”

Rennie makes a pouty face, but he isn’t even looking at her. He’s already leaving, swinging away on his crutches. “Reevie, just stay a little longer,” she pleads. “I’ll drive you home in a bit.”

I call out, “Byeeee! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” and then laugh hysterically.

He ignores me and lurches off into the night. As soon as he’s gone, Rennie comes over and gets in my face. She hisses, “Are you serious right now?”

Before I can say yes, I am totally 1,000 percent serious right now, Alex says, “Dude, she’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“I do too!” I say, poking him in the chest.

Rennie’s face is flushed as she says, “I don’t care if she’s drunk. She’s being a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” I mutter.

Rennie blinks. “Excuse me?”

I sit up straight. “You bailed on the Fall Fest and then you made it so no one else would help me.”

Her eyes practically glow red. “Don’t you dare put that on me. If you can’t handle being in charge of something, it’s not my responsibility to bail you out, Lillia.”

I’m not her responsibility? Her words ring in my ears, over and over.

My voice shakes as I say, “Gosh, I’ve heard that one before. Stupid me, I thought friends were there for each other. This is the second time now you’ve been nowhere to be found when I needed you most.” I watch the realization dawn on her face, that I actually took it there. Back to that night at the rental, with Mike and Ian. The thing we were never, ever supposed to talk about again.

“We are so done,” she breathes. Then she turns on her heel and runs off in the direction Reeve went.

Alex puts his hand on my shoulder. I’d forgotten he was still there. “You guys will make up tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to make up,” I say, fighting back tears. “We are done.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

What feels like hours later, I stumble out of the woods and onto a residential street. I’m not sure what time it is, or even how long I’ve been out walking. The moon is still high in the sky, and there’s no sign of dawn.

From the look of the houses, quaint cottages on tiny plots of grassy marshland, I think I might have gotten all the way to Canobie Bluffs, which means I’m on the complete other side of Jar Island from where I live. It’s going to be a long walk back to Middlebury. And the thought of doing the big hill in these heels, well, it makes me want to cry all over again. But I can’t, even if I want to. I don’t have any tears left.

The only thing I have to be grateful for is that I didn’t hurt anyone. I . . . I couldn’t live with myself if I had. The energy I felt tonight, it was like homecoming times a hundred. Even now it’s not all gone. I can still feel some of it inside me, simmering, like the ocean at low tide.

I’m walking in the middle of the street, wishing I could close my eyes, snap my fingers, and be in my bed. It’s quiet out in the neighborhood. The trick-or-treaters are long gone. Nothing but the last of the summer locusts that haven’t died and the occasional car a few streets away. Nearly all the houses have their lights off. You can tell the ones that are empty summer rentals—they don’t have pumpkins or mums or any fall decorations. Everyone else is asleep, so it must be late.

I walk for a few blocks. Then a car turns down the street and catches me in its headlights. It slows down as it passes me. Then stops.

I can’t see who’s inside; the glass is tinted. The window reflects my face, the punked-up, tearstained Halloween version of myself. Luckily the tears haven’t done much damage to my makeup. If anything, they make me look even tougher. But it’s completely fake, because I’m not tough. I’m not strong. I’m an epic mess.

The driver’s-side window dips down.

“Hey, punk rocker.” It’s the boy. The boy from the maze line. His mummy bandages are off, unrolled in a pile on his passenger seat. Now he’s in a long-sleeved jar island high cross country T-shirt and jeans. Without the bandages I can tell for sure: He’s cute. He’s black, light-skinned, light eyes, dimples. He’s lean and tall, too tall for his car. His knees nearly touch the steering wheel, even though he’s got his seat all the way back.

He might even be taller than Reeve.

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” He takes the heels from my hands and places them carefully in his backseat. He throws his mummy bandages back there too. I walk around the front of the car, eclipsing one headlight and then the next. He reaches across and opens the door for me, like a gentleman.

“My name’s David.” He clears his throat. “David Washington.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“What’s yours?”

I turn toward the window, so I don’t have to look at him. “Elizabeth” is what I say. It just comes out, and I’m glad. I don’t want to tell this guy anything about me. He might be friendly with Reeve, for all I know.

Tensely he asks, “Did you get lots of Halloween candy tonight, Elizabeth?”

“Nope,” I say with a sigh, and unclip one of my hot-pink extensions from my scalp. “In fact, my Halloween was the exact opposite of sweet.”

“Well, let’s fix that right now.” He points down at the cup holders in his console, which are both packed full of goodies. “Pick anything you want.”

I can’t remember the last time I ate candy. But why should I even care about getting fat again? It’s not like Reeve is ever going to look at me.

I pick out a lollipop for myself, then slowly unwrap it. The bulb is bright pink. I put it in my mouth, and it tastes so so sweet it’s almost sour. David gives me a funny look. “I haven’t had candy in forever,” I explain. And then, because that doesn’t make much sense, I add, “I used to be fat.” He laughs, as if I’m making a joke. I twirl the lollipop in my mouth, let it dissolve. “It’s true. And I used to get teased all the time. Bullied, actually.”

David looks slightly uncomfortable at that. I wonder if maybe he’s bullied people, in his lifetime.

I turn and face him. “Do you think I’m pretty? My friend thought you were flirting with me at the maze.”

David looks taken aback. He doesn’t know what to make of me, which I’m okay with. Tonight I can be whatever I want. “Yeah. You’re pretty. Real pretty.”

“Well, I don’t look like myself tonight,” I tell him, with more urgency than I intend. “I don’t wear this much makeup.”

He shakes his head. “But that’s the point of Halloween, right? To wear a disguise?”

I realize that I have been wearing a disguise. I might not look like the sad little fat girl anymore, but that’s definitely who’s underneath it all.