Donnie drew in a sharp breath, the curved line of his jaw flexing as he clenched it shut. He shoved to his feet. “You’re on a fast track to pushing everyone away, you know. And then you’re going to be alone, and whose fault would that be?”
Donnie stomped up onto his porch and threw open the screen door, leaving me kneeling on the ground by myself. My chest rose and fell rapidly, mostly out of shock than anything else. Donnie and I never fought. Not like that. Not that that constituted as a fight, but we hardly ever raised our voices with each other.
You’re going to be alone, and whose fault would that be?
Eventually it would happen, but not yet, not now.
Except it was happening now. Lucas hadn’t shown up today. Donnie had walked away from me. I was in the cold grass by myself, with nothing but the company of lumpy, orange pumpkins. I bit down on my lower lip, not hard enough to elicit true pain, but hard enough to keep the tears at bay.
Dad had never been any good at pushing people away, so he’d left. I, on the other hand, seemed to be too good at pushing people away, but I could never bring myself to fully pull back from everyone. To be able to leave it all behind.
Being truly alone frightened me too much, but Donnie was right. I was on the fast track to being all by myself.
And instead of reversing off the path, I continued head-first.
I ran my fingers over the flat of my nails, freshly painted its usual dark color and especially smooth, the simple fidget doing little to calm my nerves. Gram never liked it when I had my nails painted for parties—probably because the only color I owned was Midnight Black—but I always painted them in between. It made me feel more put-together, the cool polish on my nails so soothing, grounding.
I went to first period Thursday morning with no espresso, for the first time in a long time. Donnie was punishing me, no doubt, wanting to show me what life would be like if I continued on my path of shoving people away. I didn’t know how to tell him I couldn’t help myself—everything had reached a boiling point and spilled over.
Donnie sat stonily beside me, the assigned seating chart forcing us to still be by each other. That didn’t lessen his cold shoulder, though.
Mr. Miller was going on and on about Halloween, talking about the pep rally tomorrow, about the Boo-Bash on Saturday, but I zoned out, tracing a sentence in Spanish with my pencil. Most of my classes were having a Halloween party in honor of the holiday, asking students to bring snacks or candy. I hadn’t signed up for anything, even though Gram would just die to make Halloween-themed treats. I could see it now—she’d make a cookies-and-cream pudding, with crushed cookies on top looking like dirt and a zombie hand sticking out of it.
Maybe I should’ve asked her to make treats. But I didn’t feel like carting around cookies and pudding and pretending Halloween was so fun. I didn’t want to celebrate.
The costume theme today was Throwback Thursday—wear something from the decades. Donnie had gone with the 80s, wearing a brightly colored jogging suit he’d found at the thrift store, and he’d styled his curly black hair in a way that poofed on top.
He tried his hardest to appear focused on the worksheet in front of him, but I watched as his pencil pretended to scribble, faint gray lines ghosting along paper. I reached over and wrote on the corner of his worksheet, writing in Spanish, lo siento.
I’m sorry.
He wasted no time scrubbing his eraser across where I’d written. Apology not accepted, apparently.
I sat back in my seat, listening to Mr. Miller go on about everything to do with the holiday that I couldn’t wait to get over with. Donnie and I would go back to normal, the parties would start to die down, and Lucas and me…well, there would be no Lucas and me.
Everything would go back to the way it’d been before, except the letter, which still sat unopened at the bottom of my backpack.
You’re going to be alone, and whose fault would that be?
Mine. Completely and totally mine.
Gram had shut herself in the costume room when I got home, and she’d been in there for a good part of the afternoon. She said she wanted to “spend some alone time with her fabric.”
I clearly didn’t get my sanity from her side of the family.
I sat on the living room couch with a notebook folded over in my lap, idly doodling as I listened to the TV. The hum of the voices oddly comforted me in the quietness of the apartment, especially because it filled my thoughts. I didn’t focus on the fact that I had nothing to do. No homework to finish, no friends to text—nothing. So, instead of letting my thoughts get away from me, I doodled. Stupid things. Witch hats, trees with hanging apples, puffy little clouds. Just drew whatever came to me.
“Blaire?” Gram’s voice came sudden, much louder than the voices on the TV, causing me to jump. “Can you run to Mrs. Avery’s house and pick up our pitcher? She found it the other day—the one we were missing? She said she’d have it washed and ready. I’d go, but I’m working on the last alterations on a certain piece.”
I glanced up from my notebook. “Do we need it now?”
“I need it for the Bash, and I want to get all our ducks in a row. Leaving things to the last minute makes me nervous—you know that.” Her eyes fell to the notebook in my lap. “Working on anything fun?”
“Just goofing off.”
Just keeping my mind off how everything sucks.
She hesitated, as if she hated that she was interrupting me. “You could grab the pitcher tomorrow if you wanted. I can see if Mrs. Avery can give it to Lucas—”
“It’s totally fine, Gram,” I said, flipping my notebook closed and pushing to my feet. “Her house isn’t far. I’ll be right back.”
Hallow wasn’t a big town, the Avery house only a few blocks from the apartment. The warmth from the previous few days had vanished, leaving the air a little frosty. The walk gave me ample time to admire the color-changing trees, the fall decorations. I traveled past a few kids raking leaves into a big pile, no doubt to jump in them later. I couldn’t help but smile.
People had gone all out in terms of Halloween setups this year. Spiderwebs hung from trees, ghosts and witches strung up by pieces of string. Someone had even dug up a fake grave in their front yard—at least, I hoped it was a fake grave.
Mom and Dad used to go all out with decorations. Our entire house had been decked out with Halloween adornments, as well as leaves and other fall-themed things. Mom had had an obsession for those little scarecrow dolls and had liked to put them up everywhere. On the fireplace mantel, on the kitchen table—practically any flat surface in the house.
Dad used to always grumble and groan about them, saying they invaded his space, but I think he’d secretly liked them too. I’d never thought to ask.
I could still remember our last Halloween together. We’d spent the hour and a half passing out candy to little kids and then the rest of the night watching movies together. I’d told them it was the lamest thing ever—me being home on Halloween with my parents. I’d wanted to go to the Halloween Bash, hang out with Donnie, flirt with Lucas, but they’d loved the idea of us staying in together more.
I’d never admitted to them that I secretly loved it. Loved cuddling on the couch eating chocolate-covered popcorn, teasing about the quality of the movies. I’d never told either of them how much those moments had meant to me.