13 on Halloween (Shadow Series #1)

by Laura A. H. Elliott

  “This is perfect.” Ally holds out something shiny with beads on it and sheer fabric at the legs and way, way too big for me.

  “Perfect for what?”

  “You could be a belly dancer?”

  I take a few steps closer to Ally. My mom has a belly dancing outfit? Really? What the heck is that all about.

  “It’s awesome.” Ally jingles a bracelet with what looks like coins hanging from it and puts the other one on over her shirt. A golden snake twists in circles around Ally’s arm.

  I can’t take my eyes off it. Snakes have gotten a bad wrap. They’re so misunderstood.

  “Here, you put it on.” Ally holds the golden snake bracelet out in front of me and I grab it. The metal gives me chills, the whole place gives me chills. I slide the snake up over my elbow and it fits perfectly.

  “Have you packed away your summer clothes already?” Ally says.

  I don’t do as good a job as her or my mom every year of organizing and putting things away. I just sort of mush them all together in a plastic bag. I know hers are in sparkling containers from the Container Store or Pottery Barn or something.

  “Yeah, but easy to get to, down in my closet,” I say.

  “Perfect. Because I don’t think this top will fit you.” And she pulls out this amazing, what looks like a bra, like a double-D bra, but it has all this gold sequins all over it and seems like it’s stitched with gold thread. It sparkles even in the light of the single light bulb shining down from the rafters of the attic. We laugh our butts off.

  I want big boobs so bad. I know that if I had big boobs that would make me an instant peacock because nobody but Adrianne has them, yet.

  Just as I grab a hold of the gold-sequined, sparkly bra, the garage door rumbles open. Its squeaks and creaks rumble through the attic floor. My brothers are home. And through the muffled sound of the rafters Mitch screams, “ROXANNE!” He yells my name over and over. I hate that name. My name is Roxie. He knows it. I’m awesome because I have an x in my name. Nobody has on x in their name, at least it’s rare.

  Ally’s eyes go wide. “What are you going to do?”

  I run. Ally’s right behind me. We run down the green-carpeted steps then over the cold, concrete garage floor and into the warmth of the house. “Roxanne? Where have you been?” Mitch eyes my snake bracelet. “You going trick-or-treating?”

  I keep quiet. Ally takes a few steps closer to me when Mitch does. He’s super lanky in that rock-star way, except his clothes scream disco.

  “Brian? Come here,” Mitch says. Brian flies into the kitchen. His freckles float over his red, normally pale, face. His wanna-be-Bieber hair no more of a mess than always. “What’s going on?”

  “You want us to trick-or-treat with you girls tonight?” Mitch says, looking at Ally like he’s been on a desert island for a while and she’s the first girl he’s seen in a century.

  “Naw, we’re not going out until later anyway,” I lie, wanting to get physically ill at the fact that he thinks we still want to go trick-or-treating. We are so beyond that now.

  “Mom said your birthday cake is in the refrigerator, so when you feel like singing Happy Birthday to yourself feel free,” Mitch says, slinking out of the kitchen. I follow him. Mitch walks upstairs to his bedroom, which means he’s plugged into his video games and music for the rest of the night. But, Brian’s a bigger problem, camped out in front of the TV until dawn. Peacocks don’t have brothers like Mitch and Brian. It’s that simple.

  “I have no idea how in the heck I’ll ever get rid of them,” I say.

  “What should we do?” Ally asks.

  “I can just sort of say I invited people at the last minute. Mitch probably won’t even know they’re here.” Besides, in my mind I’d just love it if I had a party and my brothers got in trouble for not being able to take care of me. I didn’t need taking care of, I’d be thirTEEN. I can take care of myself.

  Chapter 3

  For once in my life I’m happy I have dodo brothers. Honestly, they have no clue what’s going on. They’re both in their little dodo worlds. Mitch is upstairs slaying fake beasts and conquering fake worlds and probably getting a big old boner. Brian is downstairs watching Hangover for the millionth time. The unrated version, which Mom and Dad say I can’t watch but I know by osmosis because Brian watches TV so freaking loud.

  “Do you think the big spider here?” Ally says standing in the foyer with the biggest spider I’ve ever seen jimmied up next to the wall, kind of tucked in the corner. I laugh to myself seeing Ally, I mean, Katy Perry holding a gigantic spider.

  “OMG. I love it. That fit in your backpack?” I say from the top of Dad’s ladder.

  “Yup, I just blew it up and attached the legs.” Legs that look like boas. It’s the peacock of spiders. Made to be seen. So totally cool.

  I unscrew the last regular bulb out of the hallway chandelier and screw in the last black light bulb. I wobble a little when I reach over to tighten it.

  “No, it should go here,” I say, climbing down the ladder. I float the spider beside the front door so people confront it when they put their first foot in the door. I’m through with being tame.

  “You sure? It’s kinda cool in the corner. And, it won’t get wet,” Ally says.

  I turn my head and take a look outside. Blech. Rain. “Ok. How about here in the creepy corner.” I say creepy corner in my best Halloween voice.

  “Creepy corner,” Ally says even creepier, shoving a few of the spider legs in my face.

  We giggle and tie the spider up.

  “Turn on the light,” Ally says, all excited.

  I flip the switch.

  “Check it out,” Ally says smiling, her teeth shine with a weird bluish glow and she nods in the spider’s direction. Its black parts blacker. Its white parts creepier, like they see right through me.

  There’s a knock at the door. My stomach falls to my knees. We haven’t finished decorating and I haven’t even put on any makeup. Makeup is big. Because I never get to wear it to school and Halloween is the perfect time to start. The night I become a teenager. I don’t have any so Ally brought hers over. I guess makeup is pretty expensive. That’s why mom says I can’t wear it. Not until I can afford to buy it myself.

  Ally wrinkles up her face when she peers through the peek-hole. “Relax, it’s just a bunch of kids,” she says. I look down the hall. No bros anywhere. Clueless. One in a Video Game Comma. One in a TV Comma. Maybe this is going to be easier than I think.

  “Trick-or-treat,” the kids say with plenty of trick to it.

  “Cute. Look, Roxie, it’s Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White,” Ally says.

  Most fairy tales start with a dodo girl who turns into a peacock. Only there isn’t any specific fairy tale about exactly that. This is my moment. And the closest thing to a fairy tale I’ll ever know. Every peacock in the land is going to be here in an hour and, I still need a shower. My palms get all sweaty.

  I hand Ally the plastic jack-o-lantern candy bucket and she takes out three pieces and puts one in each of the kids’ very cute, handmade orange sacks. One is decorated with a white, felt ghost; one with a big, black spider; and one with a black witch flying across a full moon. The bags don’t really go with the whole fairy-tale look. The bags were probably a Bluebird project. I know no one knows what Bluebirds are, but I was one. Before I became a Camp Fire Girl. Bluebirds earned beads which I think are cooler than badges and we didn’t sell cookies. My town of Oakdale wasn’t into Girl Scouts at all.

  When Ally closes the front door the spider that we just hung up in the corner, kitty corner from the front door, is all wiggly and its legs kind of spread a little. It looks alive. My heart races and I jump, wondering why in the world I ever wanted to have this party in the first place, wondering why I need to be a peacock.

  And while Ally and I watch the fairy tale princesses walk back to the street through the front door sidelight windows, I realize it really all came down to the fishing trip my dad
and brothers went on. Mom and I stayed home because girls don’t do things like fish and camp, even if they really want to. I begged to go. Begged.

  But the cabin was in Canada and Mom never liked Canada because Canada meant fishing and she never liked fishing and because she didn’t like Canada and fishing––she said the cabin wasn’t a proper cabin anyway and she always ended up doing the dishes and cleaning fish and something about they could do that themselves––she thought I wouldn’t like Canada and fishing either.

  Anyway, my brothers came home with big smiles and a bunch of fish and even more stories about brushes with danger, all laughing and joking. They sprung “funny” jokes on me, ones I didn’t get, non-stop. And when I sat there with my mouth hanging open trying to piece together what my brothers were talking about, they called me Codamouchy Head. I’m not kidding. And no, Codamouchy Head doesn’t mean anything good. I think you can tell from reading it. I think you can tell that the name isn’t something you call someone that you like, even a little. And I knew that my brothers didn’t like me at all. The first time they called me Codamouchy Head. And so that was the beginning of me not being in a pack. I was in a family but I wasn’t in a pack.

  And I really want to be in a pack. Because it’s one of the laws of nature that animals have a better chance of surviving if they have a pack. And I need a pack for high school. Heck, I need a pack in eighth grade. Because things are starting to get a little weird. You know, not like the normal stuff that kids do to each other. Now we’re are all wondering about big kid stuff, starting to do big-kid things.

  I want to be a peacock because my parents always eat these soft-boiled eggs for breakfast. Honestly, I can’t watch. Yuck. And when I do watch them stick their spoons into the sticky, icky orange and white runny goo they slurp into their mouths it’s kind of, well, wild. And I get to thinking about wild things and eating things raw and what wild animals do. What’s in their nature. And I stare at the stainless steel cup holders that cradle the soft boiled eggs, which hold the eggs up on one end so Mom and Dad have an easier time cutting the top of the egg off with this weird steely slicer. The cutter and the stainless steeliness of everything makes me cringe.

  The way they met was super proper. They met in the church choir. I’m forced to go to church but they don’t force me to sing in the choir, and as a little girl I used to think that the minute I sang in the church choir I’d meet the boy of my dreams. Even though I didn’t really spend much time thinking about him. He was sort of this fuzzy idea of perfection and I’d know him when I saw him. But as tame as their love story began, there was one thing about Mom that was very wild. Her belly dancing outfit.

  It makes me think that she has a sparkly, wild streak. A whole side of her I’ll never know. And even though she and I don’t talk much and even though I might not be as smart as the daughter of her dreams, I know she’ll be there for me if I need her. I just know it. Because when she talks about me being born she never dwells on the fact that I came into this world at the ungodly hour of 3 AM, no, the only thing she says is that she was so excited she couldn’t sleep all night because she finally had a baby girl. It was one of the most exciting nights of her life. And it was the one time I knew that girls are special. At least to Mom.

  I never really needed Mom to be there for me for anything major, but I know that if things get really bad and something so epic drives me to do something totally insane, well, I’ll go to Ally first, but then I’ll go to my mom, because she’ll always be there for me. Always. Even at 3 AM. Even though we don’t talk very much now.

  In elementary school I’d go over to Ally’s house and her dad would say things in ways that I really understood. Different than my parents. He wasn’t a stainless-steely, soft egg eater. One time, way back in the third grade, Ally had trouble with some kids at school and a rumor they started. The peacocks thought her hair was fuzzy and wild and they told everyone in the third grade, and I think the fourth grade too, not to go near Ally because she had lice. I didn’t believe them. I was the only friend who stood by Ally’s fuzzy, wild side and it wasn’t like that was the first time we became best friends but it’s one of those things that you can point to when you know your friendship’s even deeper, wilder, better than you ever thought.

  That day, Mr. Bellisaros, Ally’s dad, saw that Ally had been crying when we walked home from school. She asked him what lice were. And I told him the story and he backed up a little bit. I’ll never forget how he backed up just a little bit like he was ready to rear up on his hind legs. Like wild animals do. Not in the super scary way like he was about to attack but in the concerned way like parents do, and he said, “Ally, its not the size of the dog in the fight, its the size of the fight in the dog.” And I loved that he had said that because I understood it. It wasn’t about getting even or what she should have, could have, would have done to have averted humiliation. It was like, bad stuff happens and you can get through it if you have fight in you.

  Dogs have it easy because girls can be the alpha and even if you are the omega chances are you live in a pack and that pack will help you when you need it. And so do wolves, for that matter, cause they’re really dogs. I spent my whole little girlhood afraid of them because my parents didn’t like them. They weren’t dog people is what Mr. Bellisaros, Ally’s dad, said when he tried to explain it away like it’s all OK. Like he did with everything. And I didn’t know what he meant by that but I think I kinda do now. There’s people who like warm fuzzy things around them and people who eat soft-boiled eggs out of stainless steel holders. It’s simple. Like dogs and wolves. There’s Alphas and Omegas.

  Girls can be alphas. My parents don’t believe that either. But I do. I have to. Female lions hunt in prides. The girls do all the hunting. The boys would die without them. And I’m going to tell my parents that the next time they bring home paint swatches for The Boys Den. Because girls need dens too.

  “Roxie? Roxie are you ok?” Ally is shaking me now.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.” The beady spider eyes stare down at me. Chills pour over me. In a matter of minutes, I’ll be having my first party. Evah.

  “It’s like you’re in some weird trance. We’ve got to get you ready,” Ally says, sticking a few more extra-scary ghosts on the living room windows. Ally and I take the stairs up to my room three at a time and I slam right into Mitch’s chest. I have absolutely no idea when it happened but Mitch is buff. Like overnight.

  “Damn.” Mitch says, clenching his right rib. “You’re strong for a Codamouchy Head.”

  Really? He had to insult me in front of Ally. Then he backs up and gives Ally the once over with this weird look, like he’s hungry and in pain.

  “Coda-what?” Ally says.

  “Long, stupid story,” I say.

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Mitch says noticing Ally. Acknowledging her. Speaking to her, which he’s never done ever before.

  “Her name is Allyson, she’s only been my best friend forever, Mitch.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Mitch says leaping off the top stair. When he lands, he shakes the house. “Brian, let’s go,” he says.

  “Go where?” I don’t really care but I ask anyway. They’re leaving and that’s a good thing. I can’t wait for them to leave.

  “A Codamouchy-free zone,” Mitch says eyeing Ally in that weird way again. I take Ally by the hand and we run down the hall to my room and slam the door behind us.

  “Can you believe it?” I say.

  “What?”

  “They’re leaving. It’s perfect. I won’t have to worry about them screwing up my party.”

  “Hey, how old is Mitch now?”

  “He’s a senior.”

  Senior just sort of hung in the air for a minute. One more year and he’ll be out of my life forever.

  Ally walks to my full-length mirror. When I was little we used to play pretend in front of it. We would play like we were sisters––Ally has an older sister and two older brothers––and we’d
pretend we weren’t regular sisters, we were fairy sisters and a big, bad fairy was after us wanting to destroy the most beautiful fairy sisters in all the land, which was us of course. And so we would sit on the floor and stare into the mirror. But we never had the look that Ally had right then. A wide-eyed one, sort of blank. Wondering.

  Ally fixes her bangs, gives her super-short skirt a tug and stands sideways. You know a person long enough, you know what they’re thinking. I know she’s wondering why she ate so much at lunch. She always throws one-half of her sandwich away and today, she threw away more. I don’t really know what to say to Ally about it. I just sort of don’t say anything. We never thought we looked fat when we were little. But now, Ally stops and stares at mirrors and in front of store windows when we’re out and she always turns sideways.