Chapter 2

wide awake

I go around behind it and look around. Still no one. Good.

Unless he already swung by and didn’t see me there so he left.

So maybe not so good.

I set down the extra blanket Mom had brought and shoved at me, and I stand nervously, watching through the alley between the kettle corn stand and the information booth. He’ll probably come back from one side of the kettle corn stand or the other. And this way I can pretend I’m simply enjoying the bonfire from a distance so I can feel the autumn air.

“There you are.”

The sudden voice from what sounds like right behind me would startle me right out of my skin, if not for it sounding like the taste of s’mores and hot cocoa.

“Sorry, I thought I was early,” I say, turning to look at him. I wonder if my heart’s racing because he snuck up on me, or because of his lips. Or his eyes. Or cheekbones. Or… I could go on.

“You are not late,” he says. He smiles, and I find it contagious.

Oh great… what do I say now? Um… pick something! Off the cuff! Don’t think too hard, just go for it!

“Um, those ears of yours are…” I swallow, trying to clear my throat unobtrusively. “They look amazing,” I conclude.

His smile sort of… shifts. It transforms before my eyes from being bright and inviting to being something… secret, intimate, honest.

“Thank you,” he says. He looks down and seems to look concerned suddenly. “Your hook?”

“Oh, I…” I reach to my belt and hit a whole lot of hip, side, lower back. And no hook. I look around, in case it migrated around my belt, but it’s definitely not there anymore. “I must have lost it sometime. It’s probably being kicked around on the dancefloor.”

“I can go find it,” he says. I’m momentarily dumbfounded. “I will be back shortly.”

I grab his elbow as he passes me. “Wait! You don’t need to!” He stops and looks back at me, and my mouth continues, even though my mind is completely wrapped up in his rich, green eyes. “It’ll probably be at the lost and found after the dance starts winding down, or it’ll be easily found once the dancers start leaving. Probably end up against the fountain. It’s fine. It was like five bucks.”

As I speak, his body relaxes, but his eyebrows still have a slight wrinkle between them. “If you are certain…”

“I’m certain that it’s fine and you don’t need to go look for it for me right now,” I assure him with a slight chuckle in my voice. “But I’m flattered and grateful for the intent.”

His eyebrows smooth out and he nods, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “Then I will trust your judgement.” He takes a step back toward me, without brushing my hand from his elbow. “You asked me to meet you.”

“Yeah,” I say, chuckling nervously. “About that,” I swallow, “I didn’t really… have a plan for this? I just… decided to go for it.” I remove my hand from his arm slowly and fold my arms, for lack of anything better to do with them.

“Then,” he says slowly, half-smile still in place, “there is nothing you require from me?”

“Well,” I say, nervousness starting to wrestle bravado for the chance to run things for a while. “Not require, necessarily.” I take my hat off and sit down. “But I would like to”—I ruffle my hair, hoping to rescue myself from too much hat hair—“talk with you,” I admit. Probably awkwardly. “You seem… interesting.”

He smiles and sits beside me. “Then talk we shall.” He looks me over. “Shall we start with your outfit?”

“Oh, yeah,” I chuckle. “I wasn’t planning on all the jewelry, but my mom and best friend sort of insisted. They’re both really big into costuming, theatre, the whole shebang.”

He nods. “And you took their suggestion, I venture to guess?”

“What’s a pirate without some booty, I’m sure Jake would probably say. Gotta bling it up if I’m gonna be feared on the high and savage seas.” I can’t say the last part without affecting a lazy ‘grizzled sea dog’ accent.

“Do you sail, then?” he asks. I kind of feel bad for sitting parallel to him, because it’s requiring him to keep looking to the side in order to hold a conversation with me.

“No, no,” I say, smiling. I shift my weight so I’m more facing diagonal to him. “I ride my bike around the forest sometimes, though. That’s about as close as I can really get around here.”

“Forest air is different from sea air,” he points out. How the heck is he so cute?

I laugh. “Yeah, yeah it is. So do you live somewhere near a sea, then? You’re not from around here, are you?” He has a slight touch of an accent to his voice, but I can’t place it.

He shakes his head. “I live in the forest… though at times I can smell the sea on the wind.”

I smile without replying and eventually realize that I’m being rude. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Your voice is so pleasant to listen to. You sound like a warm s’more.”

“A warm s’more?” he repeats, looking like he’s trying to not smile at how bizarre that was.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sounds remind me of flavors sometimes; it’s weird, I know.”

“Not at all. So long as my voice sounding like… a warm s’more… is a good thing.”

I nod enthusiastically. “Definitely a good thing. As clichéd as it is, I feel like I could listen to you read the dictionary and it would be great.”

He smiles and lowers his gaze, laughing as he shakes his head slightly. “You are… quite beyond what I expected to experience here.”

“Yeah?” I prompt. “Have you been to Hallodale for Witching Week before?”

He shakes his head. “This is my first visit.” He smiles and runs a hand through his hair, pulling the long middle section back like a horse’s mane and drawing it over one shoulder. “I’d like to say, though… hopefully not my last.”

“Oh, you’ll definitely have to come back next year. Allow me to insist.”

He laughs and it sounds like how it looks when sparkling cider plays with crushed ice in a tall glass. “Very well. If you insist.”

Well, I’m not going to be able to stop smiling anytime soon, so I might as well stop trying to school my expression.

“So,” I say. “Your ears are so… amazingly unique. I’ve never seen any like that before. What are you, if that’s all right to ask?”

He looks to the sky and shrugs. “I suppose ‘fairy’ may be a good word,” he says.

“I was thinking something like that. Or elf, or maybe faun.”

“Oh, no, not a faun. See?” He lifts a leg, pointing his toes toward the tops of the booths. Once again, I think of a ballet dancer. “No hooves.”

I laugh and nod. “I see. Nope, definitely regular feet.” I rub my mouth to try to stop smiling quite so widely, even if I can’t stop smiling altogether. “So… if you’re a fairy, where are your wings?”

“I didn’t think I would need them for tonight,” he says simply. “They are rather large. Cumbersome in a throng such as this.” He nods to the crowd of costumed people still dancing around the bonfire. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

I imagine trying to dance while worrying about a pair of wings flopping around behind me, and trying to not whack anyone in the face with them. I nod. “I agree entirely. Probably for the best, really. Besides, I think you look great even without them.”

He stammers momentarily, which is somehow the cutest thing he’s done yet. Which is not a low bar. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“So. I believe it’s your turn to pick a topic. Go ahead. Ask me anything. Although… I reserve the right to refuse to answer if it’s way too personal.”

Though, honestly, I feel like my only secret is the fact that I’m not straight, which might be the one thing I’m most hoping he asks about.

“Very well,” he says. He looks around and hums thoughtfully. “How does this kettle corn taste?”

“Oh, man,” I exclaim. “Best I’ve ever had, if it’s the same as last year. I can buy us some! The bags are huge, so they’re really best when shared.”

“I could not ask you,” he demures.

“Please, it’s my pleasure. You wait right here, and I’ll be right back.” I stand and run around to the other side of the kettle corn stand, hoping to not be noticed by anyone who knows me. I pull my wallet from my boot and order a bag of the classic. The cat-girl behind the counter hands it to me almost before I have my wallet and bank card put back away, and I thank her before fairly running back around to where ear-guy is waiting.

Man, I need something better to call him. But how to ask?

“Back! And boy, does it smell delicious!” I sit down beside him, this time facing him, and open the bag. He turns to face me, and dang is his expression adorable. Anticipation and wonder and a bit of awkwardness, or maybe I’m projecting.

I take out a small handful and offer the bag to him, shoving the kernels into my mouth less than gracefully. He follows my lead and tries some. His eyebrows climb up toward his hairline, making his forehead wrinkle in the most adorable way. “Incredible!” he says once he’s swallowed his mouthful.

“Right?” I agree as I take another small handful. “So. Ask me something else.”

“I… do not know what I could possibly ask,” he says.

“Fair,” I admit. I don’t really know what to ask, either. There are so many things I’m wondering about when it comes to him, but I can’t think of how to ask any of them. I look around. “…Do you feel like taking a walk?” I suggest. “Getting our feet moving? It might help to get our minds moving, too.”

“I would love to,” he says.

I stand and offer him the hand that isn’t holding the bag of kettle corn. He takes it and I realize with a slight shock exactly how cold my hands must be, because his are so warm.

“Could you hold this for me?” I ask him once he’s standing. He takes the bag from me, and I don my hat and gather up the blanket, draping it over my shoulders and around the back of my neck like a hugely oversized shawl. “There we go.”

I grab another handful of kernels and nod with my chin toward the treeline, not too far from where we are. We start walking together, and I keep an eye on him as he eats more kettle corn. He hums softly each time some goes into his mouth.

“So,” I say as the music from the bonfire starts to fade. “We could go through all the icebreaker questions we know. Do you wanna go first?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to ask.”

“Okay,” I say. “What… is… your… favorite color?” I look at him, then away so I don’t get caught staring. “I like green.”

He hums softly and chews a few kernels as he thinks. “Brown?” he says like it’s a question.

“Really?” I ask. “That’s one I’ve never heard, I must say. What sort of brown?”

“When the trees here shed their leaves,” he says, “and they slowly return to the earth…”

I chuckle softly. “Your favorite color is ‘dead leaves’?” I say, only slightly teasing him.

He laughs and ducks his head. “Is that strange?”

“No, no; I totally get it!” I assure him. “It just sounds sort of grim, if you think about it.”

“What sort of green is your favorite?” he asks.

I can’t say ‘exactly the color of your eyes, frankly.’ I can’t do it. That’s way too audacious. Yesterday, my favorite color was orange, like sunset on autumn leaves. Now it’s his eyes.

I hum, thinking of another way to describe his eyes. “Like… a warm, rich, dark… mossy green?”

“That is… a lot of words to describe a single color,” he says with the barest hint of a laugh in his voice.

I shrug, smiling. “Well, to be fair, it’s not one uniform shade. It’s like… a mixture of a few similar colors, plus some complementary hues as accents…” Thank you, AP Art History.

“A living color?” he guesses.

“That’s a great word for it, yeah.” I eat a few more kernels. “So. Next question is… What’s your favorite season? Or favorite sort of weather in general?”

He looks up. “I like looking at the stars…” I glance up and see a whole lot of dark grey. Pity. “But I also like… gentle rain.”

“I like thunderstorms,” I say. “There’s so much power, so much anticipation… And when the sky looks almost green, or the lightning looks purple…” I notice that I sound downright adoring. “It’s really amazing.”

“You have a… beautiful way of viewing the world. Some would see lightning as terrible and destructive, rather than… amazing.” He smiles sort of teasingly.

“Well, without forest fires, a bunch of trees wouldn’t ever get a chance to grow. Everything yields something, even the things that serve as something else’s end. Like the line from Closing Time by Semisonic. ‘Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.’ Sorry, I don’t sing a lot. I’d say there’s a frog in my throat, but that would be rude to frogs.”

“I see nothing to apologize for,” he says.

“You must not know the original, then,” I say, kind of chuckling.

“This is true,” he says, smiling. “I wish I did, though. If it has lines like that.”

We cross the gravel path that leads from the playground park and into the forest proper, forming a walking trail.

“What… weather do you like, aside from lightning?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’ve always really liked strong wind.”

I know, I know. Wow, really? The kid named Gale likes windstorms? Hey, I didn’t pick my name.

“I know windstorms are one of the most dangerous types of weather,” I continue, “what with tree branches falling on cars or power lines, things blowing around… sticks being speared through concrete, and so on, but there’s so much… Again, there’s so much power. And being inside, able to simply watch, knowing you’re safe, it lets you be able to… enjoy it more.”

He nods. “I enjoy the middle of the night. Better if the moon is hidden, revealing more stars. Though the moon is a form of majesty all its own.”

“I really like sunrises,” I say. “And sunsets. All of the colors in the sky, the satisfaction of a day well-spent, or a brand new day waiting to begin.” I take some more kettle corn, as does he. “I like sour flavors. Or tart, like a green apple, or a lemon…”

“I like… rich?”—I nod, and he continues as if he’d never paused—“flavors; earthy, such as nuts or mushrooms.”

We continue on that way, discussing our various likes and a few dislikes, finding similarities as well as differences. For example, we both love dancing, as well as watching others dance, but he enjoys singing for an audience, whereas I clam up as soon as I know someone is listening. Usually. I don’t know why I sang that bit of Closing Time for him. I don’t even sing in the shower unless I know everyone else is out of the house.

“Is it all performance?” he asks. “Or is it only singing that you dislike?”

“Well, you saw me dancing, but,” I shrug, smiling sort of crookedly, “that’s kind of a special case. When I was little, like five years old, Rain, my younger sister, was scared during the bonfire dance. She was like three. I don’t remember if it had been a costume that had scared her, or the music, or something else, but I started dancing with her, trying to distract her. It happened to be during ‘Monster Mash’ that we danced, and for days afterward, she would ask me for the ‘Mosha Mash’, whether she was scared of something or not. But every time she was scared, I would ask Mom to play ‘Monster Mash’, and Rain and I would dance.

“Then, the next year, as soon as it started playing, she danced with me again. And the adults around told us how cute it was, and that was the start of Rain’s love of performing. But since I was the only one who knew the steps, I couldn’t refuse to dance with her. And, over the years, we’ve added a few new moves, changed a few things up. But most of it is still what we did way back then.”

“It seems clear that you love your sister a great deal,” he says.

“Oh, with all my heart,” I confirm. “Back when I was teased for being adopted, even though I never told anyone that I was teased, she somehow knew, and every time I felt bad, she would chase me down and hug me as tightly as she could and tell me how much she loved me.”

“You are adopted?” he asks, looking over at me with a hint of curiosity in his expression.

“Yeah, I am,” I say. “I don’t really have many memories from before I was around five, though, so I’m not really sure when I was adopted. For example, I don’t really remember Rain being any smaller than she was during that first dance. I’ve never asked my folks about it, though, because, well, they’re my family. In every way that matters. So… so what does it matter when I was adopted, or why? It really doesn’t change anything. I’m healthy, my family loves me, and the teasing stopped after Mom found out about it and went to my teachers.”

He nods thoughtfully. “A loving family is… a treasure. Immeasurable.”

I look to see how much kettle corn is left, only to see the bag balled up, empty in his far hand. I’m really glad he liked it. I’m about to say as much when I look up at him and see that his entire expression reads like a tragedy.

I move my hand to cover his, holding it gently. Gently enough that he can pull away if he wants to.

He doesn’t pull away.

“Hey…” I say quietly.

He looks at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods, but his lips are pressed into a line, the lush pink paling from the pressure.

“Are families a difficult subject for you?” I guess.

He nods again and looks up at the sky. I follow his gaze and see only a hazy sliver of the waxing crescent moon peering through the veil of clouds.

“Then we’ll talk about something else,” I say. “Okay?”

He turns his attention to me and the weight of his gaze makes me look back at him.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Then he twists his hand and suddenly our fingers are lacing together, his skin soft against mine, his heat warming my chilled hand.

Holding his hand shouldn’t make me feel like this.

“Tell me… what you do?” he requests. “How you spend your time? What you fill your days with?”

I chuckle and nod. “Well, I wake up around five most mornings, so I can get through with the bathroom before Rain needs it…” I outline an average day, telling him about my teachers and my classes, talking about my manager and coworkers at the grocer’s, telling him about Jake.

I don’t tell him about Clark Woodford, though.

---

“Would you like to meet Jake?” I ask. I try to not make it sound like I have any desire one way or the other on the topic. “Fair warning, though: he usually doesn’t look as gruesome as he does tonight.”

“Would you like me to meet Jake?” he asks. He looks at me and I squeeze his hand a little nervously.

“It’s entirely up to you,” I say. “You’re the guest here.”

He looks in Jake’s direction and slowly nods. “If you are not against it, I think I would like to meet your friend.”

I nod and clear my throat. “Hey, Jake!” I call. He jerks slightly and whirls around to see me.

“Oh, there you are! I thought you’d be with Woodford, but when I found him and he said he hadn’t seen you since ‘Monster Mash’ I started thinking maybe…” He slows to a pause and looks at ear-guy. Whom I’m still holding hands with. “So who’s this?” he asks.

“A visitor,” I say, since I don’t know how else to introduce him. “We’ve been walking around, talking about some random stuff…”

“Right on,” Jake says. “Crowd not your speed?” he asks ear-guy.

“It is not unpleasant, but an evening stroll is always enjoyable.” He squeezes my hand slightly, then pulls his hand free. However, he shifts his weight slightly so he’s standing a bit closer to me. “You are Jake, then? I’ve heard many good things about you.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of his platonic life partner,” Jake says. Oh, man. He’s not… posturing, is he?

“Sorry for making you worry, if I did, Jake,” I say to try to ease some of the tension, even though it seems to all be from Jake’s side of the equation.

“Nah, it’s cool, man,” Jake says. “I’m thinking of heading home, though. Getting out of this costume. It’s getting pretty late, besides. You good?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably walk back with my folks.”

“Right on.” Jake steps forward and holds out a fist, which I tap my knuckles against. “Laters,” he says.

“Be safe,” I bid him.

“Same,” he says before he walks back through the alley and into the town center.

“Sorry,” I say quietly once Jake’s gone from view. “He’s pretty protective of me. And I, him. We’ve always been there for each other.”

“I am not offended,” he says easily. “I can see the love between you two is strong. He would only want the best for you.”

“Wow, you could see all that from that short, intensely awkward conversation?” I ask, chuckling dryly at myself.

“A strong connection is not all that hard to see, if one knows how to look.”

I wonder momentarily how I look to him. What kind of connection we have. Because it sure as heck feels strong to me.

“Hey,” I say, suddenly but softly. “Would you… like to dance?” Oh, what am I doing? Anyone would be able to see me, dancing with someone much taller than me, with facial features that would make Adonis jealous.

Instead of walking out of my closet on my own, carefully and methodically, I’m apparently going to dance out of it, with him.

And, in case the Monster Mash fooled you, I can’t really dance. Sure, I like dancing, but I’m not good at it.

“I thought that you…” He looks down at me and gently takes my hand in his again. “Do you not dislike dancing in public?”

“I could handle it tonight, I think.” I hold his hand securely. “Besides… Most folks would be focused on their own partners, wouldn’t they? I doubt anyone would pay attention to me.” Especially not when my dance partner looks like that. “Here,” I say, taking the empty, crumpled bag from him and putting it into a trash can, the kind surrounded by a mesh cage. Trash jails, I used to call them.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks, looking at the blanket around my shoulders. “I could lend you my cloak.”

I look down to eyeball said cloak, and see that it only hangs down to his calves. I make a rough estimate of our height difference and conclude that I probably wouldn’t step on it if I wore it. And if I had my hat off, it would disguise my costume fairly well. Plus, it has a hood, so it could also disguise me.

“Sure. Um… I should bring this blanket back to Mom, then. Probably leave the hat with her, too.”

“Would you like me to meet her, or shall I wait for you here?” he asks.

Oof, that’s a toughie. On the one hand, would ‘visitor I struck up a conversation with’ be enough to keep her from getting too curious? On the other, would it look too dishonest if I didn’t say anything and she happened to see me with him anyway?

I figure I’ll eventually have to explain whom I spent all evening with, whether that happens tonight or tomorrow. So it might as well be tonight, right? I’ll put his cloak on after I’ve explained everything to her, and then… hope for the best.

“You can come with me,” I say. I don’t want him to think I’m at all ashamed of him or anything. Nope, only ashamed at myself for being such a closeted coward.

Oh, but the smile he gives me when I tell him he can meet Mom, that’s… that’s worth it. Even if it outs me to introduce him, even if everything goes wrong, even if they kick me out or something… I mean, heck, maybe I can go with him when he leaves. …No, that’s ridiculous. Sure, I could drop out of school right now and still graduate, but I have a job, too. I couldn’t drop everything and disappear just because my folks find out I’m not-straight.

So I lead him around the backs of the booths until we find Mom and Dad sitting on their picnic blanket. They’re drinking champagne, it looks like. I slip my hand from his so I can bundle up the blanket and take my hat off. “Hey, Mom, Dad.”

“Having fun, kiddo?” Dad asks, nodding at ear-guy.

“Yeah,” I say. “Been telling this visitor about our town; this is his first time coming to Witching Week, so I figured I’d make sure he got the full effect. I’m gonna take him out on the dancefloor now, because it’s not a bonfire without dancing to whatever Halloween songs the deejay decides to play.”

“Too true,” Mom says as I set the blanket and hat down beside them. “Have fun,” she says to both of us before directing her attention to ear-guy. “And welcome to Hallodale, Neighbor.”

“Thank you, fair lady,” he says, making Mom giggle and hide her smile behind a hand. I suspect she may be slightly tipsy. Who uses ‘Neighbor’ like that? Other than Mister Rogers, I guess.

“Right, let’s go, then,” I say to him, pulling him by the elbow through the alley between the deejay booth and balloon animal stand. “Oh, wait.” I pull him back around and hop into the line for the balloon animals. “You should have some wings. What color would you like?”

“Green,” he says, hardly pausing to think about it at all.

“Green it is,” I say with a nod. There’s less of a line than I thought, since there are apparently a few groups waiting, rather than a bunch of individuals. We’re at the front in almost no time at all. I pull my wallet from my boot. “Can I get him a set of green fairy wings?”

“Absolutely,” the clown in the booth says with a wide grin. “Would you like large, medium, or small? The large is eight balloons, medium is six, and small is four, all including the shoulder straps.”

I look to ear-guy for his answer. He looks at me like he has no idea what to pick. “We’ll take the large,” I decide.

“Excellent choice. And you wanted green?”

“Yes, please,” I confirm.

“All right, then.” The clown picks out a few sample balloons, each inflated and tied off with only a few inches of air. “How about… Mint, Kelly, and Forest?”

“Looks great to me,” I say, looking back at him for his approval. He nods, smiling. “Let’s do it,” I say.

“Then if I could have you step over here…” The clown indicates a chair to the side and ear-guy takes off his cloak and hands it to me before sitting down.

I slip it on around my shoulders, smiling at him.

The clown starts inflating one of the mint-colored balloons and he nearly jumps, but he settles down as he realizes that it’s just the sound of a balloon being inflated. They work quickly, making him a shoulder harness in a few seconds, then starting on the wings. The top of each forewing is a long forest green balloon, with a curvy kelly green balloon forming each underside, and the hindwings are a single mint green balloon each. The clown shapes them and is done in what feels like easily less than five minutes.

“What do you think?” they ask as they urge him to stand and turn him by the shoulders to the full-length mirror near the chair.

“I think it looks great,” I say, pulling the hood onto my head. Ear-guy turns to me and nods, beaming.

“Thank you,” he says as the clown comes to the card machine and I run my card and enter my PIN.

“Anytime, handsome!” they say as they hand me my receipt, which I toss in the wastebasket that’s less than half-full, mostly of dead balloons. I return my card to my wallet and slide it back into my boot before taking ear-guy’s arm again.

“And now we dance!” I declare, dragging him (seemingly quite willingly) onto the dance floor. We weave through couples, dancing to a slow, haunting cover of Sweet Dreams that I think was done by Emily Browning? There have been so many covers of that song, and I love every single one I’ve heard.

Once we reach a decently crowded spot, I turn to face him. And then I stall out. I don’t do a lot of dancing, so I’ve never really learned how to do anything more complicated than a simple box step. Then he notices that I haven’t tied his cloak properly, and he knots the strips of fabric at my throat easily.

“There,” he says softly. “Now…” 

He puts my left hand on his right shoulder, and my right hand on his left elbow. Then he pulls me close, our chests not quite touching, his right hand on the small of my back, his left hand cupping the back of my right arm.

“Can you follow?” he asks softly.

I can sure as heck try. “Let’s see, shall we?” I say.

“I shall start slow, then,” he says with a slight smile. He steps slowly back with one foot and I follow forward with my own. I assume the steps will follow a left-right-left-right pattern, and that seems to work rather well for me. He’s certainly not doing a box step, that’s for sure, but his movements are so smooth, so sure, I can almost predict them.

We don’t stop moving when the song ends, nor do we change our pace to suit the new song. He doesn’t seem to be listening to any of the music, but rather guiding me through a dance he knows by heart, to a song only he hears. And, as long as I don’t try to suss out a pattern, I manage to follow it pretty well.

Once I feel like I have the hang of the dance, I stop looking down at his feet. I bring my focus up, and I’m instantly drawn into his eyes. The green is burnished almost bronze by the firelight, shifting colors as I watch, as we slowly rotate through the crowd. It’s almost hypnotizing, but the part that makes my heart skip is the expression on his face. He looks…

Okay, maybe it’s wishful thinking. But he looks like he’s as fascinated and enraptured by me as I am by him.

I swallow thickly. “What?” I ask, my voice quiet. “Is my eyeliner all smudged?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out sounding nervous.

He shakes his head slightly. “Your eyes are beauteous.”

I smile and can’t even look away through my embarrassment. He’s too enchanting. Whether he’s really in character or genuinely this charming, I adore it. “Thank you,” I say softly.

“You are welcome,” he responds, the words filling me with warmth. I mean, his cloak helps warm me too. And his hands. But the words, the way he looks at me, the fact that I’m dancing with him, in public, and nothing bad is happening…

As soon as I think it, he ups the tempo and I nearly stumble as I try to keep up. He gives me plenty of obvious cues, though, so I can eventually get back into the feel of it. And once I do, I realize I went back to watching his feet. “Sorry,” I practically whisper.

“Think nothing of it,” he says. Dancing seems to come as easily to him as walking does. “Though, perhaps…” He pulls me closer by the small of my back, right up against him. I gasp silently, and my lungs inhaling presses my chest against his front. “Feel how I move… Watch me, not my feet…”

And, somehow, that does make it easier. Or maybe I’m learning how to dance well because I’m dancing with a ridiculously handsome guy who is wearing balloon fairy wings. I have no idea what music is playing; all I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears. I can’t tell if there are still other couples dancing; I can only see him.

“Look at you,” he says, voice softer and warmer than his cloak. “Dancing masterfully.”

“I have a good partner,” I say breathlessly. My mind had meant dance partner, but my mouth had insisted on simply partner, and now my ears are in a frenzy, yelling at my brain about how good it sounds to think of him as my partner.

“You flatter me,” he says.

Seemingly out of nowhere, I can suddenly hear the music. It’s fading from “Poor Jack” into the part of the Finale where Jack and Sally sing together, reprising “Sally’s Song.” I can’t help but join in, though I miss the first few words. My voice isn’t nearly as amazing as Danny Elfman’s, but I think I do a decent enough job of it, considering I sing it really quietly.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to join you by your side, where we can gaze into the stars, and sit together, now and forever, for it is plain, as anyone can see…”

And that’s when I get choked up and stop singing, even though the remaining lyrics float around me, around us, teasingly close. Because not only is it way too early to be serenading him about us being simply meant to be, but it also always gets me that Jack sings to her using her theme, rather than any of his own. And he has plenty. He picks her leitmotif, and that just gets me, every single time. Because by using her song, he says, ‘I heard you, and I understand, and I want you to know that I heard and understand you. And I feel the same for you as you do for me.’

Or, maybe, I put way too much thought into a musical that was released over twenty-five years ago.

“You sing beautifully,” he says as the music fades away.

I smile. “I sing along to Nightmare every time I watch it.”

“I have never watched…” he says, trailing off.

“What, seriously? Oh, man, it’s a must. You’re going to have to promise me you’ll watch it before next year, and then come back.”

“And if I do not?” he asks with a crooked smile.

I gasp with mock offense. “Then I’ll have to wrangle you back to my house and watch it with you.” I imagine doing so and swallow. “Shame you have to leave, huh? I’m guessing you need to leave tonight? Or are you staying in town?”

“I had… expected to only stay one night,” he admits. He looks away and chews momentarily on his full lower lip. “Though, perhaps… I may not need to leave quite as early as predicted?”

“We could sneak you into my room and we could watch Nightmare together on my laptop. I own it on DVD, and no one would be surprised if I were watching it. It’s sort of a ritual for me, watching it at the end of Halloween night.”

His smile makes my stomach do flips. “I am… rather skilled in stealth,” he says.

I make a quick glance toward the deejay booth and see Mom and Dad, still sitting there, sharing a simple kiss. I look around more, searching for sparkles of reflected firelight, and see Rain with some of her friends from Drama Club in line for some hot cider and/or cocoa.

“Can you meet me behind the library? Over there,” I say, looking to the north, where the public library stands, tall and dignified, recently remodeled to add another floor, but with the original flavor still there, all pillars and red brick and panelled windows. “I’m gonna tell my parents I’m heading home to get started on my movie, and I’ll find you there.” I untie his cloak and remove it from my shoulders, and he takes it from me carefully.

“I will there,” he says, “eagerly await your return.” He drapes his cloak over his arm, fairy wings still on his back, and smiles at me.

Yup. All of my innards are trying out for the circus, doing flips and cartwheels and trapeze artistry. I consider pulling him down to kiss his cheek, but I’m not disguised at all anymore. So I take his hand and squeeze it, instead.

He squeezes back.

“Go on; I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I say, pulling my hand free, even though it nearly hurts to do so. He does, unfortunately, and I stand there, in the middle of the dancing crowd, watching him go until I feel like I can take a full breath of air into my lungs again. Then I make my way to Mom and Dad, practicing my excuses in my head.

I hope my cheeks aren’t too red to be blamed on the chilly autumn air.