The Leaving Season

by Cat Jordan

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need some witches too. Every haunted house has to have a witch.”

  Listening to them gently bicker about costumes and makeup reminded me that this year I wouldn’t be celebrating Halloween like I normally did: with Nate, handing out candy at his parents’ house. Maybe this was the year to try something new.

  “Hey, I’ll be a witch,” I heard myself say. The girls turned to me.

  “You will?” Katrina asked. When I nodded, she picked up her pen and began jotting notes. “Awesome!”

  I felt Haley’s inquisitive eyes on me. “Really? You never do the haunted house.”

  “This year is different, you know? I want to try something new.”

  A grin spread across Haley’s face. She looked as if I’d told her she’d won the lottery. “You are going to have so much fun. I promise!”

  “Oh yeah! We have the best time,” Debra said. “We scare all the kids—”

  “And their parents too!” Katrina added. “Remember that guy last year? Totally flipped out when Haley jumped out of the closet. I thought he was having a heart attack.”

  For the rest of the lunch period, we talked about costumes and hairstyles, how to apply wounds, whether to buy or rent a cape, and so on. Debra and Haley were going to be zombies, shambling the grounds in tattered clothes and mud-streaked shoes, while I would take Haley’s place as the witch in the closet, jumping out at unsuspecting guests.

  The more Katrina told me about my assignment, the more I began to sweat the details. Was this really my thing? Could I pull it off? Or would I embarrass myself and my friends? Just as I opened my mouth, ready to take it back, to tell them I’d changed my mind, Katrina said, “Our last haunted house together!”

  And Haley added, “Our last Halloween together!”

  I glanced around the table at the three of them, my best girlfriends. Of course I could do this. The bell rang, but we were still engrossed in the haunted house.

  Haley turned to me as we walked out. “I’ll show you how to lunge. You might want to start doing some squats to prepare yourself.”

  “Yeah, it’s a long night,” Debra said.

  “But so worth it,” Katrina said with a grin. “This will be awesome!”

  “Whoo-hoo!” Haley said and then she looked at me and lifted my hand to high-five hers. “That’s right. Whoo-hoo!”

  Putting together a witch’s costume was a lot harder than I’d imagined, but fortunately Emma could earn a badge for helping me sew, although I probably spent more time teaching her how to sew than she actually sewed. She also had lots of ideas for how I should scream and say Boo!

  “You can practice on me,” she offered.

  “Don’t you want to be surprised at the haunted house?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t like surprises like that.” She wagged her finger at me. “And don’t be too scary.”

  I swallowed my laugh and made a solemn promise. “Not too scary. Got it.”

  By the time Halloween rolled around, I thought I was pretty well prepared. I had a crazy black wig with streaks of white in it, a pointed hat that came down past my ears, and a heavy velvet cape I’d borrowed from Katrina. A black dress from Debra over high-heeled boots finished the outfit, but the look wasn’t complete until I’d hollowed out my cheeks with green-tinted makeup and added gray lips.

  Lee texted me just as I was touching up a fake mole on my chin: trick r treat?

  I quickly texted him back with a photo of the mole.

  His response: needs more hair

  Laughing, I wrote him: ewww

  Gotta see this. Where?

  I sent him the address, adding: u can bring liza

  Maybe

  Maybe he’d come? Or maybe he’d bring Liza? Before I had a chance to text him back, my phone exploded with a flurry of calls from the girls. Katrina was on her way, picking each of us up so we could arrive together at the haunted house and “bond” on the ride over. More likely, as Debra put it, she just didn’t want any of us to be late.

  Debra’s zombie makeup was fantastic, as was Haley’s. They’d followed an online tutorial for just the right amount of undead and they’d shredded some old jeans and flannel shirts, which they wore over torn T-shirts. Both of them looked liked they’d died during the Nirvana grunge era. Katrina was a vampire, and she’d sprayed and teased her hair until it was an airy red nest.

  To put us in the mood, Haley led us all in singing “This Is Halloween,” which was the only Halloween-themed song we knew besides “Thriller.” By the time we arrived, we were shouting “Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!” at the top of our lungs and sweating off our carefully applied makeup.

  “Oh my god, there’s already a line!” Debra said as Katrina pulled up. True enough, a long line of kids and their parents snaked from the front entrance down the sidewalk. “There must be fifty people here and it’s not even dark yet.”

  I started to get nervous, seeing all those kids. Would I be scary enough? Too scary? I felt Haley by my side, felt her squeeze my arm. “I’m so glad you came,” she whispered. “This will be a blast.”

  An image popped into my mind of the little kids coming to Nate’s house on Halloween night. While his parents went out with his brother and sisters, we stayed home to hand out candy and make out on the couch.

  I felt a little wistful seeing these kids in their costumes. This would be a different experience, for sure, but I was ready for it. I wanted it. I squeezed her back. “Me too!”

  The wind gusted, sending dry leaves skittering across our path—nature’s own special effect. As we got closer to the house, we could hear man-made creaks and groans; wisps of dry ice gave the path a creepy vibe and made the air feel crisp.

  Inside, strands of fake spiderwebs hung from the rafters and fake black spiders ate fake black flies. The hallway was pitch-dark in places, lit only by electric candles in pumpkins. Haley giggled beside me, and her nervous laughter was contagious.

  “This is amazing!” she whispered loudly. “Do you love it?”

  “I love it!”

  “Hi!” Katrina’s face appeared between our shoulders and we screamed and then collapsed into fits of giggles again. “You guys go back there.” She pointed to the other end of the hallway where there was a door underneath the stairs. “When you hear people coming, jump out and scream!”

  Haley grabbed my hand and we ran down to the staircase, throwing ourselves through the small doorway. There was barely enough room for both of us to be there, let alone one with a tall, pointed hat.

  We huddled inside like we were playing hide-and-seek. Haley kept peeking out the door. “What are you going to say?” she asked me.

  “I think I’ll just scream. What about you?”

  “Braiiiiins!” She half closed her eyes and reached an arm through the door. We heard a small boy yelp. Haley’s eyes widened and she snatched her hand back. “Sorry!”

  “Oh my god! You scarred him for life!”

  “He shouldn’t be there, then!”

  We fell over onto each other, laughing like kids.

  “Shhh! Here comes another.” Haley shoved me toward the door. “Go, your turn!”

  “Me? Why me? I thought we were doing this together!”

  “Go, go!”

  I took a breath and lunged out the door, screaming and raising my arms over my head. Two boys about Emma’s age yelled and fell backward. I quickly retreated and Haley closed the door.

  “You did it!”

  “I did it! Oh my god!”

  “Did it feel good?”

  “It felt awesome!”

  Haley laughed. “Sometimes it’s fun to just scream.”

  I remembered Lee screaming at the pond last week. Fun, cathartic, whatever you wanted to call it, it felt good to let loose.

  Haley squealed and hugged me. “I’m so glad you came out with us tonight.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We like hanging out with you.”


  I felt my mouth open. “You do?” It was hard to take her seriously with her pale zombie makeup and fake open neck wounds, but I knew what she meant.

  “Well, don’t get a big head about it,” she teased me with a sly smile.

  “That’s not my head, that’s my hat!” I said, and we both started laughing again.

  Haley whispered-sang, “I am the one hiding under your stairs . . .”

  “Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair . . .”

  “This is Halloween, this is Halloween . . .” Our voices grew louder, filling the small closet. “Halloween, Halloween!”

  Haley flung open the door and we threw ourselves out into the hallway with our arms over our heads, falling on top of a small group of kids and parents, who ran away laughing and screaming.

  All except one: Lee. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his mouth agape and his eyes crinkling with amusement. His gaze traveled from my hat to my boots and then took in Haley beside me. We stood facing each other for a long moment; screams and shouts echoed in the old house and feet stomped on creaky floorboards.

  I looked at Lee, raised my fingers like claws, and said, “Boo!”

  Taking my cue, Haley’s arms shot out in front of her and she reached for Lee’s head. “Braiiiiins!”

  His face split into a grin and he roared with laughter. “Not much of a meal,” he said. “More like a snack.”

  Haley didn’t break character, groaning and swaying, limp fingers swiping the air around Lee. “Unhhhhhhh . . .”

  “Nice hat,” he said, bobbing his chin at me. “You should wear one more often.”

  But like Haley, I tried to stay in character, remaining as witchlike as I could. “I’ll get you, my pretty!”

  “That mole . . .” Lee pointed to a spot on his chin. “Yeah, right there. Get that looked at, huh?”

  I tried not to smile, but it was hard not to when Lee was doing his best to make me laugh. Fortunately another group was coming down the hallway, so I pushed him away with both hands. “And your little dog too!”

  He glanced back at me, grinning again, and I was glad the hideous green makeup covered my blush. I let Haley pull me back into the closet to reset for the next group, but my thoughts lingered on Lee. I was irrationally happy to have made him laugh.

  I readied myself to lunge, elbows tensed like springs, when another thought popped into my head: I didn’t see Liza.

  “Boo!”

  CHAPTER fourteen

  When my sister Allison was thirteen, she had a brief infatuation with boho-chic: gypsy blouses and long floral skirts, scuffed cowboy boots over leggings, huge sunglasses and layers of hair. But her interest waned when her friends teased her about looking like a homeless Mary-Kate Olsen. Soon all of her embroidered blouses and handkerchief skirts were relegated to the back of her closet.

  I was reminded of this phase of my sister’s life when I was searching for an outfit the week after Halloween. It had been fun dressing up, stepping out of my fashion comfort zone, and frankly, nothing inspired me in my half of the closet. My usual jeans-shirt-sneakers attire, although comfortable and reliable, felt dull. Each time my hands reached for a top, my brain rejected it: boring, predictable, safe.

  My eyes were drawn to Allison’s cream-colored top with three-quarter sleeves that flared just below the elbows. The heart-shaped neckline was embroidered in peach and jade green, and it plunged much deeper than my usual T-shirts did. I twirled in front of the vanity mirror, admiring how the loose sleeves fluttered in the breeze. The embroidered edging drew the eye in and down while the neckline hinted at cleavage that, well, wasn’t there.

  I like this. I liked the way the crinkly cotton felt on my shoulders, how the bottom hem fell just at my hips. I reached farther into the closet and found a skirt with layers of filmy crepe and chiffon. Was it too pretty for me? Too ornate? I rolled the waistband over twice to make the skirt a little shorter. It paired perfectly with the blouse. I added short leather boots and stepped back in front of the mirror.

  Still good, but there was one thing out of place. I reached back and pulled the elastic out of my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders and down my back. It had been so long since I’d worn it down, without even a barrette to hold any of it away from my face. But a severe ponytail was not what this outfit called for.

  With a new-to-me outfit and the loan of my mother’s car, the day ahead held such promise—until I hit school. Moments after the second bell rang, one of the secretaries from the principal’s office interrupted the roll call, handing Ms. Delaney a green piece of paper. Green meant it was official, something that needed attention right away. Ms. Delaney read the note and then her eyes glanced up, finding me. She crooked her finger and I rose automatically.

  Under her breath, she said, “Mr. Z needs to see you in his office now.” She showed me the paper. ASAP was written in black ink. “Take this in case anyone stops you for being out of class.”

  I took the paper uncertainly. I’d never been called to admin for anything in my entire life.

  Mr. Z welcomed me warmly, his tone a major contrast to the official order in my hand. “Come in, Middie. I’m glad you could make it,” he called.

  There was a choice?

  The last time I’d been in his office had been the day we all heard about Nate. My gaze found the couch I’d sat on then, the corner of the desk I’d wept over. I felt a shudder roll through my spine—Why am I here? Did something else happen?

  “Please sit down, Middie. I just want to take a few minutes to catch up.”

  I lowered myself into the only empty chair in the office and perched on its edge.

  Mr. Z clasped his hands together on top of a pile of papers and books on his desk and his chin grazed the tops of his fingers. “Has everything been . . . okay? Have things been . . . getting better?” His eyebrows lifted hopefully.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Middie, you haven’t been in class regularly.”

  He sounded just like Haley. “Sure I have.”

  “Actually, you haven’t. And it seems you haven’t turned in some assignments as well.”

  That can’t be. I was going to classes, doing my homework. Wasn’t I? I tried to think back to the last time I was in front of my computer. A day? Two?

  “Your SAT prep coach said you’ve missed some after-school sessions too,” he went on. “And your college applications? Are they getting done?”

  Getting done. As if little writing gnomes were sneaking in at night to take care of everything for me. I frowned, irritated by the question.

  No, not the question, I realized, but the way it was being asked. “Mr. Z, can I go back to class now?” I rose from the chair. I was done.

  “In a minute, Middie, in a minute.”

  I sighed very loudly, but he paid no mind.

  “You didn’t attend the grief counseling sessions we offered after Nate’s death, did you?” he asked.

  I shook my head no.

  He chose his words carefully. “Are you receiving counseling . . . elsewhere?”

  “No,” I replied in a flat voice. “I’m not.”

  “I see . . . Do you not believe it could be . . . of benefit to you?” He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, magnifying his eyes and lashes and a few old-person skin tags.

  “I don’t think I need it.”

  “That’s exactly when it’s most helpful.”

  I edged away from the desk. I was not interested in seeing a counselor, in being “therapized,” in hearing someone say all the stupid trite things that people in mourning were told. The things people said to me every day.

  How I needed time to heal. How I needed to accept the death of my loved one and learn how to go on living. How, in time—

  “Everything will be fine,” Mr. Z said in a tone he probably thought was soothing. “You just need some time. . . .”

  Whatever he said after that was drowned out by the pulse pounding at my temples. I was tired of being placate
d by my family and teachers. I was tired of hearing them speaking in saccharine tones.

  “Everything will not be fine!” I said more loudly than I’d intended. “Nate is dead and nothing is going to bring him back.”

  “Middie—”

  “Mr. Z, you just don’t understand. No one does. I . . . I . . .” My stomach felt queasy and my head spun. I didn’t want to be here, having this conversation. I rushed out of his office, out of the high school, and headed straight for my mother’s car in the parking lot. Hot tears stung my eyes, and it was hard to see as I drove. I wiped my sister’s pretty blouse across my eyes, smearing mascara all over the fluttery sleeves.

  I found Lee at his house, at the garage in back, head buried in the engine of the Mustang. Nate’s Mustang. I thought about composing myself before I caught his attention but changed my mind. He’d seen me—all of me, warts and all; raccoon eyes were barely a blip on the radar. “Hey.”

  He glanced up from under the hood and his eyes narrowed. “You’re crying?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right.”

  I liked that he left it at that. He didn’t pry. Didn’t try to soothe me.

  He gestured to the toolbox sitting on the concrete step next to the door where I was standing. “Grab me a crescent wrench, would you?”

  I stared down into the toolbox, at the collection of metal and rubber and had no idea what I was looking for, but at least I had a task. I hitched up my skirt and bent down. “What’s a crescent wrench?”

  “It looks kind of like . . . Pac-Man on a stick.”

  I tried to picture the little yellow moon-shaped character that scarfed up all the dots while evading multicolored ghosties. I searched the toolbox for anything resembling Pac-Man.

  “Ms. Pac-Man was better.” Lee’s voice echoed under the hood. “She had a bow in her hair.”

  “Got it!” The wrench was round on the outside, flat inside the “mouth.” I handed it to Lee, who used it on . . . the carburetor? The radiator? I knew nothing about cars.

  He wiped his fingers on the front of a T-shirt that was streaked with oil and grease and hung loosely outside his pants, emphasizing his lean frame. I know what he looks like under that shirt, I thought. I felt my face flush immediately and I looked away, staring instead at the cluttered walls behind me. The work space was disorganized and dirty, a far cry from all of Nate’s meticulously kept boxes at his home; he’d obviously not had much of an influence on his best friend.