by Kristin Rae
I keep my expression blank. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Denial is the surest sign.”
“That would only count if I was denying that I like him. Moron.” I reach for a chip and dunk it in the green salsa.
“So you’re not denying that you like him. Interesting.”
I clench my teeth. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly brilliant, you mean.” He moves a handful of chips to a small plate and sprinkles more salt on them. “I know things, Maddie. There’s something going on there.”
I consider this for a moment so I don’t appear too defensive, but I just don’t see it. Besides, what possible future could I have with a guy who’s so different from me? “We’re friends, Rider, that’s all. And if you say something to embarrass me, I swear—”
“What could you do to me that would even be a threat? I don’t live in the same house anymore.”
“Rider, please,” I say, working up the pouty face I’ve mastered through the years. He’s never been able to go against it.
“Okay.” His shoulders fall. “But soon I’m going to be saying ‘I told you so.’ At least he had a strong handshake. He can’t be too bad.”
“Oh, is that the measure of a good man? If he can nearly break your hand when you meet him?”
“Of course it is. And you don’t need to be dating a wussy who can’t protect you.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the seat. “He’s not even close to my type.”
“What type is that?” Rider laughs, balling a fist under his chin and holding his head high and proper-like. “A thesssspian?”
Before I can kick him again, Jesse returns with our drinks. As soon as he’s finished passing them out, a man from the booth next to us says in a flustered tone, “Excuse me, can we get some service around here?”
Holding the drink tray flat against his side and under an arm, Jesse says, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll go get your server right away.”
“Wow!” the man exclaims. “Your English has gotten good.”
I can only see half of Jesse’s face over the booth, but his eyebrows press together in confusion. My family and I take turns widening eyes with each other, unable to avoid eavesdropping.
Jesse’s silence prompts the man to continue. “You’re the kid that mowed our lawn last summer.”
A hard line appears along Jesse’s jaw, then disappears. “No, sir. That was someone else.”
I wish I could see this guy. From his congested voice, I picture him fat and balding with a comb-over and thick, bottle-cap glasses that distort the shape of his eyes.
“I cannot get over your perfect English!” The man proceeds to tell Jesse his address. “Remember? We have two giant mimosas in the front yard.”
We? This guy actually landed a wife?
“No, sir,” Jesse says, maintaining his outward composure. “The only yard I mow is my own. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get your server for you. Have a good night.”
His eyes are cast to the ground as he passes us and walks out of sight.
“Could have sworn it was him,” the man continues, talking to someone else at his table. “Looked the same.”
“And now you told him where we live, so he’s gonna bring his gang friends over in the middle of the night to rob us,” a woman’s voice replies.
We all straighten in our seats, including Rider, looking at each other like, Did that really just happen?
My dad’s face darkens as he stares into the basket of chips. His best friend growing up was from Chile, and apparently my grandfather never approved of the friendship. Dad’s pretty sensitive about it, even still, and I can tell he’s contemplating if it’s his place to say something. But what can he do, really? Asking someone to apologize doesn’t create genuine regret.
Our waiter comes by to take our order, and recommends we share a couple pounds of mixed fajitas with all the fixings, their signature entrée. And when Jesse delivers the sizzling tray to us ten minutes later, it’s obvious his mood has been dimmed by the ignorance at the next table. I make a mental note to talk to him about it when I see him tomorrow night at the costume party, or maybe the next time he brings me home. Though it’s probably going to be another one of those things he won’t talk about, further proof that what Rider says is so far off base. If you like someone, even just as friends, you share stuff about yourself, open up.
What do I know about Jesse Morales except that his dad wants him to work here to improve his Spanish, he plays baseball, and he drives a truck the color of a bird’s egg?
You know that he used to dance.
That settles it, then. Tomorrow night at the party, I’m getting him alone and making him talk.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As a rule, I try not to brag, but I’m super proud of my costume for the Halloween party. I found an old pair of cowboy boots at a thrift store, and after several rounds of sanitation, I Mod Podged red glitter all over them. Ruby boots! Add a white shirt with short, puffed sleeves, a blue-and-white checkered dress I found in the costume closet at the playhouse, two braids with ribbons, and voilà! Texas Dorothy. I’m even going to carry around my phone and lip gloss and other such necessities in a little basket along with a tiny plush dog. It’s about the size of a rat, but it’s all I could find.
The party is a big to-do at Red’s uncle’s ranch, as it has been for years. I’m told parents have their own grown-up party inside the house, complete with a high-stakes costume contest, while the kids play capture the flag in the cow pasture, take hayrides through a haunted trail, and sit around by a bonfire, roasting marshmallows and telling scary stories. It sounds extremely country, but I’m secretly looking forward to it.
Ma’s still throwing together a last-minute outfit—she didn’t really want to go, but Dad thought it would be a good opportunity to meet people since they haven’t done much besides a dinner or two with Angela and Jesse’s parents—so Rider and I head out first in his Camaro.
I know nothing about cars, but I do know that his is a sweet ride and I want to be seen getting out of it at the ranch. It’s the most beautiful deep blue, with white racing stripes on the cowl. Our parents bought it for him when he turned seventeen, back when we still had money. I’ll be seventeen next Valentine’s Day, and I’ve already been told how much I’ll be getting toward a car of my own. . . . It’s not enough for me to buy a Camaro. I’ll be lucky if I end up with something made after I was born.
“So who am I going to meet tonight?” Rider asks as he pulls the car onto the highway. The ranch is about ten miles north, according to the navigation on my phone.
“My friend Sarah and her boyfriend, Ryan, will be there for sure. She won’t tell me what they’re going as, but she’s really excited about it.”
“Doesn’t do me any good if she has a boyfriend. Next.”
I punch his shoulder and the car swerves a little bit, which I’m mostly sure he did on purpose.
“Be nice, I’m driving,” he says, sticking out his tongue. “Next? And don’t roll your eyes.”
“Too late.” He knows me well. I clear my throat and continue down the list of people I know will be there. “Well, you’ll think Angela’s pretty hot. She’s Jesse’s sister and the closest thing I have to a best friend. Super tall with nearly black hair, green eyes, naturally tan.”
He nods. “Yes, yes, this night just might be worth the price of my Jedi costume.”
“But she’s a sophomore,” I add. “In high school.”
“Aw, come on!” Rider groans. “Shouldn’t have expected you to know any cool senior girls.”
My mouth drops open and I overexaggerate my gasp.
“I only meant because you’re still new,” he explains, halfheartedly. “So is Jesse going to be there?”
“Oh, um . . . maybe.”
I asked him back when I first heard about it, but he wasn’t sure if he was going to be hunting this weekend. I can’t really see Jesse donning a costume, anyway, with
his negative attitude toward anything theatrical. If he does come, he’ll probably cheat and wear his baseball uniform or something lame.
“Well, it would be nice to know at least one person there,” he says.
“You do, idiot.” I nudge his arm, carefully this time.
“Plus, I have to make sure his intentions are honorable with my little sister,” he says with a devilish snicker.
I know he’s just trying to get a rise out of me, but suddenly I want him to turn the car around and take me back home. I never once said anything to him or anyone about liking Jesse—because I don’t—and now Rider’s gone and made it a huge thing in his head, which is starting to become a thing in my head. And this thing is sure to become an even bigger thing the second he opens his mouth at the party, then everyone is going to be talking about the same thing. He’s going to screw up what I have going here. It’s what brothers do best.
We park among the other cars in a front pasture of the ranch just as the sun dips behind the tops of the trees. Rider and I walk toward the action near the giant red barn to the left of the house. One by one, a ghost, Superman, a sexy nurse, a vampire, and a sailor climb up onto a trailer piled with mounds of hay.
Wait. A sailor?
I glance around near the bonfire and find a handful of guys, all wearing service dress blues, or “crackerjacks,” white hats and all. Boys dressed as sailors! It’s one of the hottest sights I’ve ever seen. The only thing that could top it is if they were actual sailors and not kids from my school.
My feet quicken their pace; I’m anxious to meet these guys with obvious good taste—you can learn a lot about someone’s hidden personality on Halloween. My eyes take in all of the gloriousness. The tie, the striped square collar that hangs down over the back, the dark pants that flare at the bottom, tight on the thighs. Those thighs.
I stop abruptly and Rider runs into me. “What?” he asks.
That dark silhouette against the fire. The stance. The posture. The way the hat sits tilted ever so slightly forward on his head. Straight out of the movies.
I think I might hyperventilate. This is the best costume party ever.
The sailor turns to Captain Jack Sparrow next to him and they do a complicated handshake finger-snap thing.
No. No way.
I really am going to hyperventilate.
Rider nudges me forward and before I know it, I’m standing face-to-face with Jesse Morales, in full sailor garb. The golden sunlight splashing on his face combined with the orange glow of the fire reflecting in his eyes. His legs in those tight pants. I die.
He’s gorgeous.
My brain.
Can’t. Look. Away.
So glad he didn’t go hunting.
“It’s Dorothy,” Jesse says, keeping my gaze locked on his with that evil smirk.
Rider shakes his hand before subtly nudging me with his elbow. I blink back to reality. It’s just Jesse. I see him every day.
Not dressed like that, you don’t.
Red, or Captain Jack, snatches the basket from my hands and pulls out the toy dog. “You call this thing Toto? It’s a hamster.” He attempts to tie it up within his long dreadlocks.
I take it back and place my fingers over its ears. “Shh. He’s sensitive.”
Jesse laughs, and I get a tingling sensation down the back of my neck.
But that’s just stupid.
I distract myself by turning away from him and introducing Rider to the people around us who I actually know. It doesn’t take long for all the girls on the property to smell the presence of a college man. He’s whisked away to play horseshoes with four cheerleaders, vampire number two, and Barbie—senior girls I’ve only passed in the halls at school. I don’t expect to see him again until it’s time to leave.
Screams followed by laughter echo through the trees from the hayride. I fight against a shiver just as Angela and Tiffany walk up in matching pink poodle skirts and saddle shoes. Tiffany cinches her high ponytail, as she always does, and I tease her for coordinating her costume around her usual hairstyle.
“Holy whoa,” Tiffany exclaims, ignoring my remark. “Is Red wearing eyeliner?”
“I thought you were into the Frank Sinatra types now,” Angela says, crossing her arms low over her stomach. “We joined the Teens for Classic Movies Club and everything.”
My heart leaps, I’m ecstatic they still want to make the club a real thing. We’ve discussed meeting once or twice a month at the Moraleses’ to screen old movies, maybe even advertising it at school to see who else is interested.
“Please. Be realistic. There are no Franks these days.” Tiffany keeps her eyes trained on Red, at the other side of the fire, roasting a marshmallow on a stick. “You’ve seen those pirate movies. You tell me that eyeliner on guys isn’t hot.” She licks her lips. “You know you want to talk to him.”
“It’s just Red,” Angela huffs. She follows Tiffany’s gaze and swallows. “I talk to him all the time.”
I clear my throat. “Well, the makeup works in pirate movies, but not for real-life, everyday wear,” I say, fixing Tiffany’s skirt so the poodle isn’t hidden in a fold.
“But this isn’t a real day,” she protests. “It’s Halloween. Anything goes on Halloween.”
Red chooses this exact moment to head our way, so Tiffany leans in close to Angela and quickly says, “If you’re not going to go for it, I am.”
“Do whatever you want,” she shoots back.
A few charms dangling from his wig jingle like bells. I’ll admit, the dark eyes shadowed under the hat . . . it’s not a bad look. Though it doesn’t beat a sailor.
“Hey, kid,” Red says to Angela, who doesn’t return the smile. “And Tiffany Barrett, nice costume.”
I refrain from pointing out that Angela is dressed exactly the same.
“Yours is better,” Tiffany says, running a hand along the fabric hanging from the belt at Red’s waist.
The hayride comes back and everyone climbs down, giggling and making fun of each other for being scared.
Tiffany hooks onto Red’s arm, pointing to the trailer pulled by an enormous green truck. “Take me on the hayride?”
He laughs but doesn’t push her away. I can’t tell in the fading light, but he might be blushing the tiniest bit on the tips of his cheeks.
I’m hyperaware of Angela’s tense posture, even as she sits down at the picnic table near the fire.
“Next riders,” someone shouts, “load up!”
“Okay, let’s go,” Red says, leading Tiffany away. “Anyone else coming?” he asks before they get too far.
“You should go,” Jesse says, suddenly next to me. The tiny scar on his cheek is the first place my eyes go every time I look at him now. “Mr. Lyle and his neighbors put a lot of work into it. It’s cheesy but something to do. You always like the hayrides, Angela.”
She grabs a skewer and threads a few marshmallows onto it, then holds them over the fire. “I’ll go later.”
“Well, I’m not going by myself,” I say. “I’ll wait.”
“Mmmm, just go now.” Angela doesn’t look up from her dessert, which is now burning. She blows out the flame and pokes at the charred black crust. “I don’t know how long I want to stay. I’m tired.”
“I’ll take you,” Jesse says, extending his arm toward me. For a second I think he’s waiting for me to take his hand, but he’s reaching for my basket to leave it with Angela.
I’m ashamed to say, I’m a little disappointed.
Getting up into the trailer is quite the feat. It’s not a flat trailer sensibly lined with rows of neatly packed hay bales; it’s a four-sided pit filled with mounds of loose hay. Red helps pull me up over the back gate while Jesse shoves me from behind. And by “behind” I mean my actual behind. His hands are on my butt. Well, close enough to freak me out.
When I make it to the top, my glittery boots sink into the hay so I sort of fling myself off to the side, making room for Jesse to climb up after me. I prepa
re for uncontrollable sneezing, but so far I’m allergy-free tonight. Red plunks down next to Tiffany on the other side of a mound, where I lose visual, and another couple is getting awfully friendly up near the front. I do a double take and realize that it’s Sarah and Ryan dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone.
I fight a smile and twist my body so I’m facing the back. I won’t be able to see what’s coming, but this way I can experience the frights after everyone else has already reacted to them, hopefully avoiding looking like a total wimp.
The truck takes off, and the trailer lurches. To keep from sliding, I brace myself with my hands, one of them clutching a wad of hay, the other . . . mostly Jesse’s leg.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, turning my face from him.
He just laughs, and we’re pulled under the dark canopy of pines. The deeper we go into the woods, the more I dread what’s coming. Tiffany lets out a yelp at nothing—probably Red—but I jump anyway. Thanks to a string of orange-and-purple lights over our heads, I’m not completely blind, but I still find myself nestling farther into the hay, out of the chill in the breeze, and maybe a smidge closer to Jesse . . . for protection.
No. I scoot away. Rider is in my head. I am not attracted to Jesse like that. He’s not what I want.
Even if he is wearing dress blues right this minute. It’s like he reached into my brain and extracted the very thing I’d want to see someone in tonight.
The girls behind me scream, and I sit upright, stifling a cry of my own when we pass two figures with wolf heads and claws, snarling and growling in front of a strobe light. More screaming follows and skeletons hang from low branches. Glowing ghosts weave in and out of the trees all around us. Flashing red eyes over there, now over there. A howl that may or may not be part of a sound-effects track carries through the air. A raggedy child under a spotlight clutching a teddy bear. Most of it isn’t particularly violent, just extremely creepy.
I shut my eyes and the illuminated images are burned into my mind, swirling around all together.
“Are you actually scared?” Jesse asks quietly, breath warm on my neck. “It’s cheesy, right?”