Ms. Whitman opens the door, flooding the porch with creepy whitish-blue light and even creepier music. She’s dressed as Glinda the Good Witch, complete with a magic wand in hand.
“Hi, girls! Oh, you both look so good! Let me guess—a flapper,” she says, pointing at Laramie’s gold fringe dress and sequined headband. She stops as she assesses my costume. “I’m sorry, Alberta, I can’t figure it out.…”
“I’m Elliott,” I say with a shrug. I’m wearing a version of his professor clothes with khaki pants, a button-down, and a sweater vest, plus glasses with fake lenses. And carrying a messenger bag that’s holding one of his well-loved art books.
Ms. Whitman throws her head back and laughs. “I’m afraid to ask what he thinks.”
Elliott couldn’t help but laugh, too. Especially when he found out Dad and I had been planning it for weeks.
“They said they’ll try to stop by later,” I say.
“Is this a haunted house?” Laramie looks skeptically behind Ms. Whitman’s pink-and-silver ball gown.
“Not quite. Just made to look like one,” Edie’s mother says just as a terrifying scream plays over the recorded music.
Laramie stands extra close to me as we enter the B&B.
It takes me a minute to recognize the girl standing next to the snack table. She’s wearing ruby-red slippers, a blue gingham dress with a lace-trimmed petticoat.… I get to her pigtails before I realize it’s—
“Edie?”
She stuffs a piece of cheese in her mouth and waves as she chews.
“Oh my god,” I say, walking over. “Your outfit…”
I’ve never seen her in anything besides black, sometimes with silver or white mixed in. But she is full-on Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and all the primary colors and pigtails make her look like a completely different person. She’s still wearing lipstick, but it’s red like her slippers instead of black.
“I know, right?” She shrugs. “Everyone probably expects me to be a witch or the Grim Reaper or something. This is totally going to freak them out.” She gives my outfit a long look and says, “Are you supposed to be Elliott?”
I smile.
The three of us eat cheese and potato chips and drink punch, letting Ms. Whitman answer the door whenever trick-or-treaters stop by. I remember coming to the B&B for candy each year. Mrs. Harris would always exclaim over my outfit, even when it wasn’t very original.
Slowly, kids from school start to show up, including Oliver, Fletcher, and Jamie. They’re each dressed as a different superhero: Batman, Ant-Man, and Captain America. Oliver and Fletcher keep complaining and tugging at their masks, but Jamie looks totally comfortable hiding behind his.
Rashawn and Seth show up shortly after them, standing awkwardly in the doorway until Edie waves them over.
“Ooh, you invited Rashawn?” I tease her in a quiet voice.
She furiously blushes as we watch them walk our way. “Just as friends. I didn’t think he’d come. Gavin’s having a party, too, I guess. I figured he’d hang out with the eighth graders, but he said he’d stop by.”
“What’s up, Edie? Hey, Alberta. Hey, Laramie,” Rashawn says, nodding at us as they approach. Seth flips his hair out of his face and I think that counts as his greeting.
They’re not wearing costumes, because I guess eighth graders are too cool to wear them. But they don’t look embarrassed to be here, and I notice Rashawn nodding approvingly at the decorations around the B&B.
Some parents stop in to say hi to Edie’s mother when they drop off their kids for the party. The ones who are dressed in costumes usually stay, which thrills Ms. Whitman. At one point, I look up and see Mrs. Palmer standing in the foyer, hugging her. She’s dressed in a pink poodle skirt with a silk scarf tied around her neck. I nudge Edie, who looks over and grins.
I wonder how it feels for Mrs. Palmer to be back in the house she grew up in. My dads couldn’t have been more surprised when I told them what Edie and I found out about Mrs. Harris. I worried they might be mad at me for keeping it from them so long, but they told me they were proud of me for learning more about black history, and for returning the journals to the people who should have them. I told Denise when she video-called us one day to show us how Caleb was growing. She sounded proud, too, when she said I might be a budding journalist. That made me smile.
Edie and I walk over to say hi to Mrs. Palmer, but Edie is looking past her to the front door. I follow her gaze and can’t believe what I see: Nicolette and Shauna are standing in the doorway, dressed in street clothes and looking around the B&B.
Edie stalks up to them, the angriest Dorothy I’ve ever seen. “What are you doing here?”
“Happy Halloween to you, too,” Nicolette says with a tight smile.
“No, seriously, what are you doing here?”
“Well, I live next door, and I heard there was a party, so I thought I’d stop by and see what was up. Looks pretty creepy in here. Did you decorate?” The corner of her mouth turns up in a smirk.
Edie glares at her. “Real cute.”
Nicolette gives me the once-over, still smirking. “You know, Alberta, you could’ve just worn your regular clothes if you wanted to dress like a dork.”
Laramie walks up next to me then, staring hard at Nicolette. “Are you lost?”
“Oh, Laramie. Long time no see.” Her eyes move over Laramie’s costume. “Cool dress.”
“What do you want, Nicolette?”
She rolls her eyes. “Why is everyone acting like it’s such a big deal that I wanted to stop by my next-door neighbor’s party?”
“Because you’ve been terrible to all of us?” Edie says in a clear voice.
“Oh, come on, new girl. I wasn’t ever that bad to you.”
“Not at all,” Shauna murmurs, tossing her hair.
“Not to my face,” Edie replies. “I know the things you said about me. And you can think what you want, but you couldn’t hack it one day in Brooklyn. You couldn’t even hack it one day outside of Ewing Beach.”
“Please,” Nicolette says, her hand shooting to her hip. “I’m probably the most cultured person in this room. In this entire town.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, “but you are the meanest. What is your actual problem?”
“Right now? That I’m standing here listening to a bunch of seventh graders act like they’re better than me.”
I step closer to her. “No, the problem is that you’ve always acted like you’re better than everyone else. Especially me and my dads.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I hope they get stuck there. “Cry me a river, Alberta. You shouldn’t expect special treatment just because you’re different.”
“Special treatment? Since when is being polite to someone special treatment?” Laramie’s voice gets louder the more she talks. “Alberta is right. You’ve always been a jerk to her, and we should’ve called you on it a long time ago.”
“Aww, Laramie, that’s too bad. I was going to see if you wanted to go to Gavin’s house with us,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. “Remember him?”
“Not in a million years,” Laramie mutters.
I look at Nicolette. “You know, I may be different from you or most people here, but at least I’m a good person. I can’t change what I look like… and I don’t want to. But you… The sad part is that you’ve been so mean for so long, I don’t even think you know how to change.”
Everyone is quiet then. Shauna looks down at the floor. Edie, Laramie, and I stare at Nicolette, whose face is so red she’s practically the same color as Edie’s ruby slippers.
Just then, Ms. Whitman bounces over in her ball gown. “Welcome to the party, girls. Can I—”
“They were just leaving, Mom,” Edie says, walking toward Nicolette and Shauna until they start moving backward.
“But—”
“They have another party to go to.” She’s still walking, and Nicolette and Shauna are still backing up. Through the doorway and onto the
porch until Edie yells “Bye!” and slams the door in their faces.
“Girls,” Ms. Whitman says evenly, looking at all of us.
“I’ll explain later, Mom. Trust me, we did the right thing.”
“Oh my god,” Laramie says as we head back to the food table. “Did that just happen?”
I only now realize how hard my heart is pounding in my chest. And how much lighter I feel after finally telling Nicolette what I think of her. I feel better than I have in months.
“Alberta, you were amazing,” Edie says, handing me a glass of witch’s brew. The big batch is sitting in a steaming cauldron—but it’s really just ginger ale, juices, and sherbet with dry ice at the bottom.
“Totally amazing,” Laramie says. “We should’ve done that years ago.”
“You were both pretty amazing, too,” I say, my cheeks hot. “We made a good team.”
“Cheers to that,” Edie says, and we all clink our cups of witch’s brew before we drink them down.
“So, is this anything like your Halloween party in New York?” I ask, looking at all the people crammed into the B&B. I keep overhearing adults saying how nice it looks with the changes Ms. Whitman has made.
“Not really,” Edie says. “But nothing can compare to that.” She bites into a carrot stick and surveys the room. “I kept thinking maybe my dad would show up and surprise me tonight, since Halloween has always sort of been our thing.”
“Maybe he will. The night isn’t over.”
Edie shakes her head. “No, he’s in Brooklyn. He called from the party earlier, and everyone yelled hi to me in the background.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I say.
“No, it’s okay. I guess… even though I sort of wanted him to be here, it’s fine without him, you know? Like, I don’t think a Ewing Beach Halloween is supposed to be exactly the same as a Brooklyn Halloween. And my mom tried really hard to make this a good one.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind and you can go back to Brooklyn for Halloween next year,” I say, adjusting my fake glasses.
“Maybe.” Edie looks from me to Laramie to the guys, who are doing some kind of amateur superhero martial arts in the corner, and back to me again. “Or maybe I’ll be right here in Ewing Beach with you guys. It’s not so bad here.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s not so bad at all.”
Laramie grins. “Do we have to do a group hug now?”
“Let’s not go wild,” Edie says, laughing.
But I think back to what she said about it not being so bad here. Coming from Edie, I think that means she’s starting to like it. Which is good.
Because now I can’t imagine Ewing Beach without her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Middle-grade books have always held a special place in my heart. They’re the stories that inspired me to become a writer and the books I still think about decades later. I’m grateful to my editor, Alvina Ling, for welcoming my first book for younger readers and helping me find my inner twelve-year-old. Thank you to Ruqayyah Daud for your organization and insightful comments (and for laughing at my jokes). To the rest of the team at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, especially Victoria Stapleton, Alex Kelleher-Nagorski, Michelle Campbell, Christie Michel, Valerie Wong, Marisa Finkelstein, Kelley Frodel, and Marcie Lawrence: Thank you for always treating me and my books so well; I’m extremely grateful to work with you all. Thank you to Erin Robinson for another gorgeous work of art on my cover.
Thank you to Tina Dubois for pushing me to write the things that scare, thrill, and challenge me, and for supporting me through every stage; I am so unbelievably happy to know you. Thank you to Tamara Kawar for your enthusiasm and for sending my favorite emails. Thank you to my colleagues at Hamline University’s MFAC program for providing me with constant inspiration, insight, and wit—I am endlessly awed by your talent and compassion. Thank you to my friends for being such exceptional people, and especially Nina LaCour for reading an early draft of this book and responding with your trademark warmth and thoughtfulness. And thank you most of all to my family for making books and reading such a fundamental part of my childhood; I am forever grateful for what storytelling has brought to my life.
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers began publishing books in 1926.
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The Only Black Girls in Town Page 20