by Elise Bryant
“Sure.”
Her voice sounds . . . weird. Like, she’s not as excited as me about the trip. I start to feel anxious, but I tell myself that I’m probably just imagining it.
As if conjured by Caroline herself, the Halloween conversation comes up the next day at school.
“Yo, Tessa!” Grayson calls as I walk up. “You coming with us to Munchkin Town on Halloween?”
“What?” I ask. “Like The Wizard of Oz?”
“Oh, cut the PC crap, Grayson!” Poppy laughs. “Just call it what everyone used to before they got scared of hurting precious feelings. Midget Town.”
My eyes bug out, momentarily stunned.
Nico must read my face, because he holds up his hands. “Yeah, that’s not okay to say, is it, Tessa?”
“Why are you asking her? Is she some kind of woke expert?” Poppy asks, as if I can’t hear her. She tightens her grip on his arm.
“Because Tessa is in tune with stuff like that. She knows what’s up,” he says, grinning at me. I notice that he pulls his arm away from her to scratch his back but then doesn’t put it back in Poppy’s reach. “That word’s offensive, right, Tessa?”
I’m not sure if I know all the “stuff like that,” but this one, at least, seems straightforward. “I think, uh, ‘little person’ is the accepted term? Definitely not . . . that. Or munchkin either.” Nico nods emphatically, like I just said something wise. “What does that mean anyway? You guys are going to . . . this town?”
Poppy shakes her head and gives me a tight smile. “There’s nothing wrong with saying it.”
“Actually, Tessa, you might know where it is!” Rhys says, sitting up from his spot on the grass. “You live in the Virginia Country Club, right? I remember Weiner lives somewhere over there.”
“I live in Bixby Knolls, not the country club.” It’s just a couple miles, but it’s a huge difference.
“Ah dammit, I was hoping you could get us in!”
“But what is it exactly?”
They all turn to gape at me, as if I just asked something stupidly obvious.
“You don’t know what Midget Town is?” Poppy asks.
“Don’t call it that,” Nico says, his lips curled up in annoyance, and Poppy scowls so hard it looks like she’s going to break her face. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but it seems like they’re moving toward one of their off-again moments. “And I always forget you’re not from Long Beach, Tessa, because you, like, fit in so well here. Little Person Town—yeah . . . that’s going to take some getting used to. Well, anyway, whatever we call it—it’s this Long Beach urban legend. I think I first heard it when I was in fifth grade, maybe?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Poppy agrees. “Or maybe even earlier. Remember that one girl, Lily Mueller? She used to tell everyone that her aunt lived there and she would see all the . . . whatever—munchkins when she went to visit on Thanksgiving.”
I fight the urge to correct her use of the word. “Okay, but what is it?”
“A town of munchkins, obviously,” she says with an eye roll.
“Little people,” I mutter. I can’t help it. “Or you, know, just people. We can call them that if it isn’t, uh, essential to this story. Because that’s what they are.”
“Oh, but it kinda is,” Grayson says.
Rhys nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, like, that’s the whole point. Okay, so, Tessa, the story is this: Way back like two hundred years ago when they were filming The Wizard of Oz . . .”
“It wasn’t that long ago, man,” Nico laughs. “Don’t you, like, study this in your film classes?”
“Whatever,” he continues on, standing up and pacing now, excited to tell a story. “The deal is this: When they were filming The Wizard of Oz, they needed special housing, or some shit, for the people who played the Munchkins. Because there were a whole lot of them, and they couldn’t just live in the normal places for the rest of the cast, right? So they built this whole community in Long Beach, where there was more land. And it still exists, passed down from generation to generation, and there are little doorways and little windows. But see, they’re real secretive and don’t want people bugging them, so there’s this fence around it, blocking all of it from public view.”
All of this sounds very improbable, but I decide to focus in on the obvious issue here. “If they don’t want people to bother them, then why would you guys go there?”
“For the experience!” Poppy says, leaving out a “duh,” but it’s still very much present in her tone.
“Yeah, and I’m going to film it for my channel,” Rhys says. “It’ll get alllllllll the views!”
“We just thought it would be fun, you know, to find this place finally. After hearing about it for all these years. We can just hop the fence real quick and take a look around—maybe take a few drinks and hang out on Signal Hill after?” Nico says. “And the only semigood party going on is at Brett Kwan’s, and it’ll mostly just be music and theater kids being their normal pretentious selves and showing off their esoteric costumes. No offense, Grayson.”
“None taken.”
“Anyway, will you come with us, Tessa?” Nico asks.
“I don’t know. . . .” I can hear Caroline screaming in my head because this isn’t a Ferris wheel or anything, but it’s definitely happily-ever-after-plan adjacent. I should be taking any opportunity to hang out with Nico, yeah—except trespassing and searching for some offensive urban legend with Nico and his girlfriend isn’t exactly what I had pictured for the next act in our love story.
“Come on,” Nico insists, tapping my foot with his across the grass. “I really want you to come. It’ll be fun.”
I, not we. I really want you to come. The words warm up my whole body, and I can feel a big ol’ dopey smile spread across my face. I purposely don’t look at Poppy, because I have a feeling she’s giving me a massive stink face, and I don’t want that to ruin how good I feel about the “I” and the “really.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Wooo!” Nico cheers, and actually pumps his fist in the air. I for real almost faint.
Poppy must not be too mad, though, because she comes up and grabs my arm after we’ve all split up and are heading our separate ways for conservatory. And not in a bitch, you better stop trying to steal my kinda boyfriend way, but an affectionate squeeze, like we’ve been friends for years.
“I’m really glad you’re coming, Tessa. You know, it’s really nice to have another girl around here to break up this whole sausage fest.” She sounds so genuine that I wonder if maybe I’ve been reading her wrong this whole time. Like, maybe I’m trying to make her a villain because that makes all of this easier in my brain and keeps me from looking at my own actions too closely.
“It’ll be fun.” I smile. “I’m excited.”
“And don’t forget your costume. We’re really big on costumes,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t want you to feel left out.”
I almost feel bad for what I’m trying to do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I start Halloween night off squeezed into a booth with Sam, Lenore, Theodore, and Lavon at a place on Atlantic called Bake-N-Broil. It’s the kind of diner that’s probably been around forever and is mostly popular with the over-sixty-five, card-carrying AARP members set. We definitely stand out. But the burgers and French fries are good, and for dessert we order giant slices of pie, accompanied by scoops of vanilla ice cream. I watch as Sam takes small, thoughtful bites, and I can almost feel his hands itching for his notebook to write down all the intricacies of the flavor profile.
Lenore insists she doesn’t want any pie but then sneaks bites of everyone else’s. And Theodore and Lavon take turns feeding each other the French silk pie they ordered, sharing one fork. It’s adorable.
“Oh, you two are so cute, and it’s making me feel like my godmama Arlene, who lives alone in Torrance with her five cats,” Lenore says. “No one told me this was going to be a date night!” Theodore smirks and snu
ggles in closer to Lavon. “Okay, since Tessa is ditching me for her soon-to-be boyfriend, Sam, you’re gonna have to be my bae tonight. What do you say, boo boo?” She scoots in close to him, fitting her shoulder under his arm and rubbing his cheeks. Sam blushes and awkwardly pats her arm. I roll my eyes involuntarily.
“You good?” Lenore asks me, arching her eyebrow.
“Yeah. Just nervous about tonight, is all.”
She nods but still looks at me curiously.
“You could always skip all that and stay with us,” Sam suggests, pushing his clean plate away from him. I want to say yes. It would be so much easier to go to his house. All the tightness in my body would release, and I could just have fun—like we did dancing with Miles. Like we always do. But I think about the happily ever after plan and how I feel like the sun is warming my whole body when Nico looks at me with his sleepy smile. That will be fun too.
“That does sound tempting, but I want to go. The semester is halfway over, and you know, I need to do anything that may jump-start my writing—”
“I still don’t get this rationale,” Lavon cuts in. They were all happy to fill him in on the plan before we even got our waters. “Listen, if you would like to explore the very enticing specimen that is Nico Lucchese, just admit that. No need for pretenses.”
“Enticing specimen, huh?” Theodore says, whipping his neck round and giving Lavon a look of mock outrage.
My neck flames. “That’s not it!”
“Girl, it’s partially it, and that’s okay,” Lenore says. “Most artists have used their own sexual awakenings as inspiration for their creations. I mean, there’s the rococo art movement. And, like, Frank Ocean. Own it!”
“Why does everyone keep trying to make this a sex thing?” I shout, barely audible over Lenore, Theodore, and Lavon’s laughter. All the white-hairs are starting to turn around and stare.
“What’s Miles doing tonight?” Sam asks, rubbing the side of his pink face. I want to kiss him in gratitude for changing the subject. Well, not actually kiss him.
“He loves passing out candy, so probably that.” I grin, remembering last year. “Actually, last Halloween he got obsessed with toilet papering someone’s house after he saw it in a movie, but he didn’t get more than a few sheets up before my parents caught him. Maybe he’s going to try that again.”
Sam laughs. “We could help him out with that. Steer him in Mrs. Hutchinson’s direction.”
“Oh my god. Please do not do that.”
He shrugs his shoulders dramatically, as if to say, We’ll see, and then gives me a big one-dimple smile. “But seriously, does he like scary movies? Maybe he can join our marathon.”
I’m about to shoot him down, because, yeah, Sam is a nice guy and may be down with that, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them want to spend their Saturday night hanging out with Miles. But before I can say anything, Lenore jumps up in her seat. “For sure! Miles is the best. Actually, he can be my bae tonight.”
That doesn’t cause me to roll my eyes, but it does make them a little watery.
I meet up with Nico and everyone outside the golf course at ten. The tall lights on the green aren’t turned on, and at first I don’t see them. I start to second-guess showing up here alone. But then their four figures appear out of the fog that hangs over the damp, dark grass.
The first thing I notice is that none of them have on costumes.
“What are you wearing?” Rhys asks.
I’m wearing Ravenclaw robes that I haven’t put on since sixth grade, but they somehow made it through the move. I ran home to get them after leaving the diner. It’s not my best costume, but I thought it would do. And it would be a little nod to Nico and the conversation we had on his bed. Now all it is is a glaring reminder of how juvenile and uncool I am.
“You come straight from trick-or-treating?” Grayson asks. “You and Weiner?”
What the hell? I want to ask Poppy, but when I see her satisfied smirk, I know exactly what’s going on. But I mean, can I blame her?
“I thought we were wearing costumes,” I say quietly, looking Poppy right in the eye.
“I love it,” Nico says with a smile. He tugs on the kelly-green rolled-up beanie perched on the top of his head. “Green for Slytherin,” he adds with a wink.
There—so much for your sneaky shit, Poppy. And I’m glad I’m wearing the robe anyway, because it’s actually cold tonight. The dry heat that’s been hanging over Long Beach since we moved here suddenly dropped as if instructed to by the holiday. It feels like a real fall night, with puffs of hot air escaping out of our mouths when we speak. Poppy snuggles under Nico’s fleece-lined bomber jacket, and I look away.
“All right, let’s go find Munchkin Town!” Rhys announces, and I realize he’s talking into his phone, taking on his vlogger persona.
It’s not just that he’s yelling it (which probably isn’t best for this supposedly covert operation), but it’s the word he used. Again. Yeah, it’s not as bad as the other M-word Poppy was throwing around before, but it’s still offensive and insensitive—like the R-word and how people just drop that like it’s nothing. It irritates me how they say it so easily, urban legend or not. I wonder if they say other words as freely too . . . when I’m not there.
“We decided that we’re going to keep calling it that,” Poppy says matter-of-factly. “Sorry, Tessa.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can think about them too much. “Well, you’ll just sound like assholes then.”
Grayson laughs, and Rhys jumps and calls out, “Oh!” (Probably for the enjoyment of his followers.)
Maybe I should have gone to Sam’s instead.
“Hey, let’s just agree to disagree?” Nico says, standing in between us. Even though it’s dark, I can see Poppy’s face is beet red. And it’s not from embarrassment. No, she’s just pissed. “We don’t have to call it anything really,” Nico goes on. “The mission is to locate it, not label it, right?”
“Whatever,” Poppy spits out, pushing past both of us and walking ahead with Grayson. She pushes Rhys’s phone out of her face when he tries to capture her on video.
I wonder if their status has changed since we last talked, because Nico doesn’t chase after her or try to smooth things over. Instead, he stays next to me.
“Don’t worry about her,” he says, waving her off. He leans in close, so only I can hear. “And for the record, I agree with you.” And then he winks. Again. The winks are like freaking breadcrumbs, stringing me along a path that I know I should probably turn back from. But the winks . . . and just everything—they aren’t only in my head. Girlfriend or not.
The tension surprisingly diffuses from there, Grayson and Poppy walking ahead and me, Rhys, and Nico following behind. I realize Rhys has two phones—one for his IG stories and one for his vlog—and he alternates between them seamlessly, sometimes even using both at the same time.
After skirting the golf course for a bit, we finally come upon a wrought iron and brick gate surrounding a neighborhood of huge houses, and Rhys crouches down and explains to his followers that we’ve finally found it.
But Nico interrupts his celebratory dance. “Nah, man, that’s just a normal gated community. My dad’s golfing buddy lives in there.” He looks at me sheepishly and then hurriedly adds, “A community for people of average height.”
“Well, then where are we going exactly?” Poppy asks, annoyed, as Rhys quickly types an explanation on his stories. “How many gated neighborhoods can there be back here?”
I can’t help but agree with her, as much as it pains me. “Did anyone check a map?”
“It wouldn’t be on a map,” Grayson says, shaking his head. “If they’re trying to stay on the DL, why would they put their place on a map?”
“There must be something else back here,” Nico says, and starts to look around. The golf course is on one side, and the gate is on the other, with only a dark paved road ahead. There’s no sidewalk or streetlights on it anymore, an
d it’s hard to tell how long it goes on . . . or what could be back there.
“We need to just keep walking,” Grayson insists. “And don’t turn your flashlight on, Rhys, because that’s just going to give us away. I don’t care about your video quality.”
I’m pretty sure this is how horror movies start. And you know who dies first in those.
Suddenly a pair of headlights swings into the darkness, as if turning a corner. And we don’t talk about it—we all just scatter across the road. Poppy, Nico, and I end up barely behind a bush next to the gate, and Rhys and Nico are standing at the edge of the course. With our ineffective hiding spots, it’s no wonder that the car slows and then idles. It’s a black BMW with dark tinted windows. But the driver’s-side window lowers, and a thirty-something man with cornrows and an orange pumpkin T-shirt leans out, his elbow gripping the door.
He looks right at me, Nico, and Poppy and asks, his voice deep and gravelly, “You kids looking for Munchkin Town?”
“Oh, shit!” Rhys yelps, and runs over to the door, both his phones out and recording.
“Yes, we are, sir,” Nico says, eyes wide.
“Well, you’re on the right track, but you still got a ways to go. Walk down this road some more.” He points to where he just came from. “And eventually you’ll see an unmarked road leading to another fence. You’re gonna have to jump it, because there’s no way their security guy is going to let you through. As soon as you see it, go down the side—the, uh . . . right side, and you should be out of his view. And that’s how you get to Munchkin Town.”
He scratches his face and nods his head once, his duty done.
“Do you mind if I ask how you know this?” I say, and he looks me up and down, eyes narrowing on my robes.
“’Cause I seen it! That’s why,” he explains with a snort. “Me and my friends did just that back in high school, jumped the fence, and we went around and rang all the doorbells. And all those little people came running with all their little children, waving their hands in the air and carrying on or whatever. They never found us.”