Fire with Fire

I DON’T THINK I EVER UNDERSTOOD THE POWER OF A Halloween costume before tonight. Probably because I never had a very good one.

When I was a kid, my mom made my costumes herself. Other kids would buy theirs at the drugstore, the kind that came with a mask and a plastic suit to put on over your clothes. Those kids would run around, breaking sticks as Superman or shooting pretend webs out of their wrists like Spider-Man.

Mom wouldn’t allow it. “There’s no creativity in that,” she’d say.

Really, she wanted to make them herself because my grandmother had made costumes for Mom and Aunt Bette when they were little. My grandmother was a very accomplished seamstress. We still have a bunch of her quilts in the attic in a cedar chest. It’s crazy to know that something so perfect could be made by hand. Mom liked that tradition. “When you grow up and have a little boy or a little girl, you’ll do the same for them,” she’d tell me, usually with tears in her eyes.

It was hard to argue with that.

So at the beginning of every October I’d tell Mom what I wanted to be for Halloween that year—a princess, a gypsy, a bat. We’d draw up plans together with colored pencils, and then we’d go to the fabric store to get supplies.

The only problem was that Mom wasn’t very good at sewing. In fact, Halloween was the only time of year when she’d take her sewing machine out of the box. She’d taken a class in high school, but that was about it. And though the whole thing started out as a fun endeavor, by the week before Halloween she’d be upstairs in the attic, working through the night. Usually she had to go back to the fabric store a few times because she’d cut the material wrong or run out of supplies because she kept starting over.

The end result was never what I’d imagined. The seams were always off. Some places the thing would fit me tight; some places it would be too loose. Lots of times it wasn’t clear what I was supposed to be. Like my dragon costume. People thought I was some kind of beanstalk. I never had that feeling of actually becoming someone else.

Not like tonight.

I was so happy when Kat invited me out with her. I was already having nightmares of having to spend the night in complete darkness, not answering the door, because Aunt Bette didn’t buy candy for the trick-or-treaters.

So I’m in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on my costume, which means adding as many safety pins as I can before Kat pulls up and beeps the horn for me.

I went through an old trunk in the attic, full of Aunt Bette’s things. Inside, there was a pair of skinny leather pants. The tag was for an Italian brand, I bet from when she was twenty-one and living in Milan. She had a great pair of black stiletto heels, too, and a tight, lacy tank. Everything fit perfectly. All dressed up, I looked like a hot biker chick.

I teased out my hair so it looked wild and dramatic, and used a crimper that was underneath the sink in our guest bathroom to add a few wavy sections. I braided a few strands and clipped in some fake pink streaks.

Last I put on heavy eye makeup from Aunt Bette’s vanity. Black eyeliner, sparkly shadow, and layers and layers of mascara. I’ll probably need to borrow some turpentine from Aunt Bette to get it off.

I stand in front of the mirror. I don’t look like Mary tonight. I don’t even feel like Mary tonight, if that makes any sense. Everything’s completely, utterly different. I feel lit up from the inside. I feel . . . alive.

When I turn around, Aunt Bette is behind me.

I gasp. “How . . . how long were you standing there?”

“Not more than a minute,” Aunt Bette says. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She cocks her head and then takes a step toward me. With a shaky hand she reaches out and touches the leather. “My pants.”

I look down and realize that I didn’t ask her permission for borrowing her clothes. I say, “I’m sorry. I should have asked first. I can take all this off if you mind.”

“It’s not that, it’s not that . . .”

“Don’t worry. I won’t take candy from strangers. Unless they’ve got Kit Kats.”

Aunt Bette doesn’t even crack a smile at my joke. Instead she says dazedly, “The line between the living and the dead is blurred on Halloween.”

I nod, as if I’m taking her seriously, but what I really think is . . . Aunt Bette needs to quit reading those weird books. She sounds like a witch! And she’s been looking more and more like one too. Her hair is so unkempt and wiry, her eyes sunken and dark. If I were a trick-or-treater and she came to the door, I’d probably run. It’s crazy, to think she was once a cool, fun girl who’d wear leather pants from Italy.

It’s a mean thought, and I immediately feel bad for thinking it. Aunt Bette’s so lonely; her life is so sad. She never visits with friends or gets a night away from the house.

She’s like how I used to be.

That’s when I wonder . . . did something happen to Aunt Bette? Something traumatic that I don’t know about, that made her into this person? Maybe it was a fight with my mom? Maybe she never wanted us to leave Jar Island?

I don’t know what it is, but I step forward and I hug her. I haven’t done that once since coming back here. Aunt Bette has never been big on physical displays of affection, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need one every so often.

Her whole body goes rigid. She’s so alone, who knows the last time she got a hug from anyone? “It’s all right, Aunt Bette,” I say, and then Aunt Bette melts, her head drops, and I feel her squeeze me back, tenderly. I can see in the mirror that her eyes are closed.

Kat’s car horn sounds from outside. I peel away from Aunt Bette and tell her, “Love you. Don’t wait up!” before bounding down the stairs.

“Holy shit. Look at you!” Kat says, flicking her cigarette butt out of the driver’s-side window.

“I guess we’re opposites tonight,” I say with a laugh as I climb into her car, because Kat’s got a nun’s outfit on. It’s a full habit that covers everything but her hands and her face, and a heavy wooden cross around her neck. Kat isn’t wearing any makeup. I’ve never noticed before, but she has amazing skin and a couple of teeny-tiny freckles.

“I’m an evil nun,” she clarifies. She twists in her seat and looks me up and down. “You look hot, girl.”

“I do?” I feel like clapping like a little kid, but I restrain myself.

Kat gives me a look like I’m crazy. “Hell, yeah, you do. Good thing Sister DeBrassio brought you a chastity belt.”

I stick my tongue out, buckle my seat belt, and crank Kat’s car radio up as loud as it will go. She’s got a wild band on, and I start thrashing my head around, rocking in my seat.

“Dear Lord, please shine your light down on this clunker and keep it running tonight.” Kat makes the sign of the cross, lights herself a new cigarette, and then peels out so fast her tires squeal and smoke. “It’s still early!” she yells above the music. “Let’s stop by my friend Ricky’s house and bum some of his booze before we go to the maze.”

I nod and keep dancing. I’ve never hung out with anyone besides Kat and Lillia since I came back here. And I’ve never drunk before, not even one sip. I can tell it’s going to be a crazy night. Not bad crazy, either, thank goodness. Crazy wonderful.

I’m sitting on the couch in this guy Ricky’s basement. It’s dark and smoky, and the TV is on. It’s some horror movie. I’ve got a beer in my hand, but I’m not drinking it. It smells funny, like yeast.

Next to me, Kat is straddling the sofa armrest, swigging from her beer till the last drop. “I’m out,” she announces. “Ricky, help me bring down some more beers.” She leans in close to me and whispers, “He’s cute, right?”

I nod. Ricky has these sparkly brown eyes and thick black lashes. “Very.”

“Why did I ever waste time with a tool like Alex Lind?”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer her question. Alex and Ricky are very different guys. I come up with Alex Lind seems nice, but before I have a chance to say it, Kat and Ricky head up the stairs. I watch them go, and then turn back to Kat’s brother, Pat, who’s watching them too. He’s in a grimreaper costume, sprawled out on a La-Z-Boy, a glass bong between his legs.

I hope Kat comes back soon. I feel out of place and kind of awkward here, and the excitement I felt earlier on is starting to fade away. On the couch with me there’s a guy wearing a monster mask, and he’s breathing heavily through the rubber.

I turn and watch the TV. A guy is chasing a girl with an ax, and when he finally catches up to her, I can’t help but let out a shriek. Kat’s brother finally looks away from the stairs and laughs. “You scared?” he asks me.

“I don’t like horror movies,” I say, holding the beer bottle to my lips but not actually drinking.

“How do you know Kat?” Pat asks me.

“Um, we’re friends from school.”

“I thought Kat didn’t have any friends at school,” the guy in the monster mask says, and Pat snickers.

“She does,” I say, annoyed. “She has me.”

Pat’s grin slips away and he gives me a look, one of respect. He holds up his bong. “You want a hit, Mary?”

I shake my head. “Oh, no, thank you,” I say. The guy in the monster mask snorts. I worry for a second he’s laughing at me, because I sounded too polite and straightlaced for Pat’s weed-smoking invitation.

Then I realize he’s just watching the movie, the girl getting chopped in half. I’m about to cover my eyes when I notice how fake it all looks. The blood like ketchup, the guts like spaghetti. I laugh too.

There wasn’t a haunted maze when I used to live on the island. It started after I moved away. The same entertainment company that puts on the carnival in the summertime runs it. They’ve leased a big field on the rural side of T-Town, where some people still have farms.

“Well, that blows,” Kat says, when a parking attendant waves us away from the entrance. The lot is full. We have to drive about six blocks before we can find an open spot. The maze opens two weeks before Halloween, but according to Kat, most people wait until tonight to go.

Kat and I walk together. There are a ton of people out, either walking toward the maze or heading back to their cars. Absolutely everyone’s in costume. There’s a lot of energy. The closer we get to the maze, the more screaming you hear coming from inside it.

The maze is as big as a football field. They make the whole thing out of hay bales, stacking them ten feet high so you can’t see over the tops. The company set up a few big stadium lights so people won’t trip over each other, but there aren’t enough to light the place up. There’s a PA system that’s playing spooky organ music. We’re not even inside yet and there are already people in scary costumes wandering around trying to freak people out.

I link my arm through Kat’s. She feels strong and solid next to me. “I’m scared!”

Kat looks at me with a surprised smile. “You stick with me, kid,” she says, patting me on my head.

We get in line. You have to sign a waiver to enter the maze, promising you won’t sue if you have a heart attack.

“I wonder what kind of costume Alex is wearing,” Kat says, out of the blue. I shrug my shoulders. “Probably something lame.”

“I hope Lillia’s thing with the kids went okay,” I say.

“I’m sure it was fine. Cho’s as type A as they come. I guarantee she didn’t leave anything to chance.”

“Maybe we’ll see her tonight. Maybe she’ll want to hang out with us. You know, if Rennie’s still being mean to her.”

“Yeah,” Kat says, but she sounds doubtful. I don’t know why. I feel like Lillia’s made a real effort to stay friends with us. Way more than I expected back in September.

“I’m sure she’ll at least say hi,” I say, and knock into her playfully. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. I spin around and come face-to-face with a cute boy. Well, at least I think he’s cute, based on what I can see through his mummy bandages.

“Hey,” he says to me, “aren’t you in my English class?”

“I don’t think so.”

He rubs his chin and looks at me skeptically, like I might be lying to him. “You sure? I could have sworn that you were.”

I shake my head. “I have Mrs. Dockerty, third period.”

He frowns. “Oh. I’ve got Mr. Frissel.”

“Honest mistake!” I chirp, and turn back around. Kat’s moved a few steps ahead in the line, so I hurry to catch up with her.

Kat cocks her head toward me. “Why didn’t you keep talking to him? Go back and give him your digits!”

I shake my head. “He thought I was someone else.”

Kat looks at me, slack jaw. “He was flirting with you, dummy! That English class garbage was the icebreaker, the opening line to get a convo going. Hello!”

“What?” I turn around and the mummy boy is standing in a circle of his friends, looking at me, but his eyes quickly go to the ground. I spin back to Kat and whisper, “Oh my gosh!”

Kat laughs. “Innocent little Mary. Do you see what I’ve been talking about now? You’ve gotta put yourself out there more. Who knows? You could have a boyfriend by Christmas.”

The thought makes me warm inside. Me? A boyfriend?

“You need to quit with this whole meek routine. This bumbling shy shit. You’re not twelve years old anymore. You’re seventeen!” Her eyes go to my chest. “Look. You’ve got boobs. And guys love boobs!”

“Quit it!” I say, laughing, and wrap my arms around myself.

Kat shakes her head. “I won’t quit it. Own the fact that you’re a smoking hot girl who any guy would want.” I open my mouth to say something like No guys want me!, but Kat shoots me a look, so I keep my mouth shut.

But really. They don’t. At least they never have before.

Or maybe it’s that I’ve never even tried to get a boy to notice me. A boy who wasn’t Reeve Tabatsky.

It takes me until we reach the front of the line to work up the courage to glance over at mummy boy again. He’s still looking at me, and this time he doesn’t play it off like he’s not. He gives me a sweet smile.

I manage to give him one back before I totally lose my nerve.

But it’s something!

There are two huge strobe lights going at the very entrance of the maze, flashing so fast it makes it nearly impossible to see what’s right beyond the first bales of hay. We take a couple of steps inside, to the first big intersection. You can go left or right, or keep heading straight.

Kat grabs my hand. “You’re freezing.” She pulls me along with her to the left. “Now, stick close to me. Suckers are going to jump—”

Right then two ghouls leap from the shadows. I scream and start laughing, while Kat practically leaps into my arms.

“Personal space, asshole!” she screams at the ghouls.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. “Do you want to go back through the entrance?”

She gives me a face like I’m being stupid. “They caught me by surprise, is all. Come on. This shit is going to get tiring real fast. And the sooner we get to the end, the sooner we can hook back up with Ricky and the guys.”

I pat her on the back. “O-kay, Sister Katherine.”

We only take a few steps before I feel someone come up alongside us as if she were part of our group. Kat notices her too, and we both turn and look. This is an older woman, but she’s dressed up like a little girl in a blue dress, white lace-trimmed socks, and black velvet buckle shoes. She’s carrying around a doll covered in fake blood, and she holds it up to us. “My dolly’s sick!” she cries in a weird, whiny voice. “Help my dolly!”

Kat lets out a shriek I didn’t know she was capable of, high and shrill and raw. She drops my hand and takes off running.

“Kat!” I’m laughing so hard. “Kat!”

I push my way in the direction Kat ran off, but it’s hard with all the other people in the maze. I take a left, then a right, and head straight into a wall. I walk backward out, and someone taps me on the shoulder. “Kat?” I say, but it’s just a psychotic farmer wearing bloodstained overalls and carrying a pitchfork. I mean, another one of the workers.

He spins me around, and when I take a step forward, I realize I have zero idea where I’ve come from and where to go next.

“This way, you guys!” a girl’s voice calls out.

It’s not Kat. It’s Lillia.

I stumble in the direction of her voice, but it’s hard to tell exactly where she is, with the music and the other people screaming and laughing.

I take a couple of turns, but I don’t hear Lillia again. It’s dizzying, and the flashing strobe lights are starting to give me a headache. I shout, “Kat? Kat?”

Another ghoul jumps out at me, and this time I scream. He grabs my arm and tries to keep me from getting away from him. I shake him free and quicken my pace down a long maze alley. I need to find Kat. I don’t want to go through this thing alone. It’s definitely way scarier when you’re by yourself. And Kat’s probably having a heart attack right now, for all I know.

I take another left and walk for a few feet until I hit a dead-end hay wall. I shake out my hands and try to calm myself down. Am I ever going to get out of here?

Then I turn around and run right into Reeve Tabatsky.

I mean that literally. I run right smack into his chest. The force sends me stumbling backward a step. Reeve’s crutches clatter down on the ground, and he totally loses his balance with his bum leg. Thankfully the maze alley we are in is narrow, and one of the hay walls breaks his fall and keeps him from hitting the ground.

“Shit,” he says.

“I . . . I didn’t see you,” I say.

“Are you okay?”

It takes me by total surprise, Reeve asking me this. My cheeks heat up bright, but I lean down and pick up his crutches for him so he won’t see it.

“Don’t worry about me,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth super fast and nervous. I can’t believe I’m finally face-to-face with Reeve, having an actual normal conversation with him. After all these years, here we are. I straighten up and ask him, “How’s your leg?” Reeve doesn’t take the crutches from me, so I lean them against the hay wall for when he’s ready.

He says, “It’s fine,” but I don’t believe him. He looks like he’s in serious pain. I can see it all over his face. His teeth clench as he bends over to check his black soft cast and adjust the Velcro straps.

“Should, um, I get someone to help you?” I take a step back and give him some room. I hope I haven’t messed up any of the progress he’s made in the pool.

“No, don’t,” he says, quiet. Reeve pushes a hand through his hair, composing himself. He says with a groan, “It’s my own fault for coming to this stupid maze anyway.” He reaches for his crutches, slides them under his arms.

I can tell he’s about to walk away from me, but I don’t want him to. I’m not ready for this moment to be over. Not yet. It’s like when we rode the ferry together. I’d wish and wish and wish the ride could last a little bit longer. Even a minute longer.

I reach out and touch his arm. His shirt is so unbelievably soft, and I feel his bicep underneath. It’s big and tight and cut, probably from the weeks he’s spent on crutches. I say, “I’m sorry you got hurt at the dance.” And despite everything Reeve did to me, it feels good to apologize. Because I truly did not mean for him to be hurt so bad that his whole life might be screwed up forever.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Shit happens, you know?”

“Yup,” I say, nodding, because it is true. “Shit happens.” It happens to all of us.

There’s an awkward second, where neither of us knows what to say. Reeve rustles his hand through his hair. “I should go find my friends. Hope you make it out of here alive.” He positions his crutches and goes to take a step forward, but I shift my body so he can’t. It gives me a surge of adrenaline.

“It’s, um, been a long time, huh?” The words get kind of caught up in my throat.

Reeve’s head falls slightly to the side. “Yeah . . .”

The wind picks up and blows my hair around. I tuck as much as I can behind my ears. “I’ve always wondered if you ever thought about what happened.” Reeve lets out an awkward laugh and then blinks a few times. I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or blindsided. “If you felt bad about what you did.”

And then I wait, because it’s the perfect opening. I’m giving him the best shot to apologize to me, to finally take responsibility for his actions. To make things right between us, once and for all.

Reeve’s eyes narrow in confusion. He’s trying to place me.

Which throws me off. Sure, I’m wearing a Halloween costume, but it’s weird. It took him five seconds to call me Big Easy at the dance. Does he really not recognize me now?

“Calling a girl Big Easy because she’s fat—do you not know what that does to a person?” Reeve’s whole body stiffens, and he stares at me hard, this time with cold eyes. I feel him peeling back the layers I’ve got on. The makeup, the leather pants, the crazy hair, until I’m stripped clean to the bone. I’m shaking. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. “You were such a bully back then. Aren’t you sorry? Even a little bit?”

He wets his lips and growls, “Go fuck yourself.”

I can feel myself start to crumple and I worry my legs might give out. Reeve pushes past me and down the long corridor.

“I’m sorry,” I call after him. I don’t even know why. But I immediately hate myself for saying it. Because those are the words I deserve to hear. Not him. Only I’ll never get an apology from Reeve, because he isn’t sorry.

Not one little bit.

And then I feel it coming. A tidal wave. A tsunami. The surge inside of me. Anger, sadness. Like on homecoming night. I close my eyes, but I don’t see darkness. I see the hay maze lighting up, walls of fire penning in all these people.

Oh God, oh God.

I have to get out of here before I explode.