Stars So Sweet (17 page)

TOO MUCH CANDY CORN

G
LADYS WAS STILL ON CLOUD NINE
when she stepped off the train that evening with her dad. She had spent the afternoon back at his office in downtown Manhattan, and he had responded enthusiastically to her good job news—though he was even more excited when Gladys showed him the check Fiona had written to her.

“Six thousand dollars?!” he shrieked.

“Yep,” Gladys said. “A thousand for each review.”

“Well, interest rates aren't very high these days,” he said, “but still, that'll be a nice nest egg for your college fund.” He offered to hold the check in his own wallet for safekeeping, and Gladys had agreed. She'd also logged on to DumpMail from her dad's work computer to send Sandy a
message, letting him know how the meeting had gone. Although she would have rather told him in person, she knew that there wouldn't be time tonight since she was heading straight to the Halloween dance.

Charissa had invited Gladys, Parm, Rolanda, and Marti over to get ready for the dance together. The train Gladys and her dad were on arrived at East Dumpsford Station at 5:55, and the dance started at 6:30, so she didn't have much time. Luckily, her mom was waiting to pick them up, and her costume was already in the trunk.

Her mom had to drive more slowly than usual because of the kids trick-or-treating in the last of East Dumpsford's daylight, and with every second that passed, Gladys's nervousness about the dance mounted. She wished that Aunt Lydia had been there to help distract her, but her aunt was holding down the fort at the Gatsbys' house, giving out packets of plump dried pears that Mr. Eng's was now carrying on her recommendation.

“Have a great time!” Gladys's mom called as Gladys sprinted up Charissa's long driveway. Just as her parents were about to pull away, another car pulled up behind them. Parm jumped out, dressed in her soccer uniform and carrying her backpack, and raced up the driveway behind Gladys.

“Hey!” Gladys greeted her. “I was sure I'd be the last one here.”

“We had an away game in Oceanside,” Parm gasped, almost breathless. “Just got back.”

Up in Charissa's room, a Sasha McRay album was blaring and Rolanda and Marti were already in their matching black witch costumes accented with sparkling sequins. Charissa, still in her fluffy mauve bathrobe, was braiding Marti's thick red hair, and Rolanda was perched in front of Charissa's three-way mirror, applying makeup.

“Hey, girls!” Charissa snapped an elastic band in place around the base of Marti's braid. “Welcome to Dance Prep Central. Omigosh, I can't wait to see your costumes!”

Gladys was also eager to get a look at her costume, since her aunt had made some alterations to it while she was in the city. She tossed her bag onto Charissa's canopy bed and unzipped it, exposing bright orange fabric with black accents.

“You're dressing as a pumpkin?” Marti asked incredulously.

Rolanda looked up from her makeup. “Isn't that, like, a little kid's costume?”

Gladys had never liked those two much.

“It's not just a pumpkin,” she said. She pulled the costume free from its bag. Sewn onto the front, instead of the triangles of a jack-o'-lantern's eyes and nose, was a symbol she had learned all about at the Mathletes bake sale:
.

“I'm going as pumpkin pi,” she explained.

Marti stared. “I don't get it.”

“It's a math joke,” Rolanda said. “Or . . . a food joke?”

“It's both,” Charissa declared, “and I
love
it.” The other girls shrugged and went back to primping. “Parm, did you want to shower before you changed? There's a towel on that shelf.”

“No thanks,” Parm said, tossing her backpack onto the floor. “And anyway, I'm not changing.”

“Did you forget your costume?” Charissa asked.

“Nope,” Parm said. “I'm just not into dressing up. I think it's dumb.” She glanced quickly around the room. “No offense.”

Charissa looked horrified. “Parm, you've
got
to have a costume! It's Halloween!” She crossed the room and snatched her own witch outfit off its hanger on the closet door. “Here, wear mine,” she said.

“What? No way.” Parm shot Gladys a frantic look. “Gladys, back me up here.”

Gladys, who was in the process of pulling on a pair of green tights, feared that her friend had entered into a losing battle. “I dunno, Parm,” she said in a playful tone. “You may not have a choice. I once heard a very wise man say, ‘Whatever Charissa wants, Charissa gets.'”

“That's right!” Charissa cried. “And all I want for Halloween is for Parm to dress up and look beautiful
and have a great time at the dance. Come on—put that on, and I'll do your hair, too.”

“Charissa!” Marti whined. “You can't give her your costume. We're supposed to be the three witches from MacBook!”

“Macbeth,”
Rolanda corrected her. “The three witches from
Macbeth.
It's only one of
Shakespeare's
most famous plays!” She shook her head, braids swinging—but Gladys had to wonder whether Rolanda had been so knowledgeable about Shakespeare before she'd joined the Drama Club.

“There will still be three witches,” Charissa told Marti. “You, Rolanda, and Parm.”

“And what will you be?” Marti asked.

Charissa gazed around the room until her eyes rested on Parm again. “I'll be a soccer player,” she declared. “Parm, we'll switch. You'll wear my costume, and I'll wear your uniform.”

“My uniform's not a costume,” Parm said.

“Sure it is,” Charissa countered. “At least, for me it is. It's something I wouldn't wear unless I was dressing up as another person. And the whole point of wearing a costume is to feel what it's like to be in someone else's shoes, right?” She glanced down at Parm's muddy soccer cleats. “You'll need to lend me your shoes, too.”

“This is crazy,” Parm said. “
You're
crazy.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.” Charissa grinned. “Now come on, get changed.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Parm grumbled, but just the same, she kicked off her cleats and began to change her clothes. Luckily, she had some fresh socks and shin guards in her bag so Charissa didn't have to use her dirty ones.

Twenty minutes later, they all piled into Charissa's mother's SUV. Parm's eyes glittered with sparkly purple shadow, and her long hair was swept up into an elegant swirl. Charissa, meanwhile, had commandeered Parm's stretchy headband and two of her black under-eye stickers, as well as her uniform, and looked like a fierce soccer warrior.

Gladys tugged on the hem of her orange outfit and wondered if it was possible for a pumpkin to be filled with butterflies.

The sun was down by the time they reached the school, but light and loud music spilled out from the open gym doors. The girls tumbled out of the car and joined the stream of seventh- and eighth-graders making their way toward the entrance.

“Hey, it's witches!” a boy's voice called out. “Real original.”

Owen sauntered up to their group, flanked by two other boys Gladys knew from elementary school: Jake Wheeler and Ethan Slezak. Jake wore a furry tunic and Viking helmet, and Ethan was dressed as some sort of robot. Owen, though, was dressed simply in jeans and a black hoodie.

“We're not
just
witches,” Rolanda said sniffily. “We're the
three
witches from
Macbeth.
”

“Yeah!” Marti chimed in. “Bubble, bubble toil and trouble!”

“It's
double, double,
not bubble, bubble,” Rolanda hissed, but Owen and his entourage were already howling with laughter.

“You're one to laugh,” Parm snapped at Owen, “considering you didn't even bother to wear a costume!”

Owen stopped laughing and beckoned Jake and Ethan to move off with him. “Hey, save me a slow dance, will ya, Parm?” he called over his shoulder.

“Not on your life,” Parm muttered.

Charissa slung an arm around Parm's shoulders. “I knew you'd see the light about costumes,” she said. “Come on—let's get inside. Gladys has to meet up with her hot date.”

“Not a date!” Gladys reminded her, but she fell into step with the other girls anyway.

Giant pumpkins, fuzzy fake cobwebs, and orange-and-black streamers decorated the gym, and one side of the room was flanked with long tables holding cups of punch and bowls of chips and candy. A few kids were already dancing, but a lot more were milling around the refreshment tables or clustered by the doorway. Charissa had to push through them to clear a path for her friends.

Meanwhile, Gladys—whose heart was thumping now
in time to the bass pouring from the DJ's speakers—looked everywhere for Hamilton. They should have set a specific spot to meet. There were hundreds of kids here, almost all in costume. How was she supposed to pick him out?

“Gladys?”

She glanced up—and had to suppress a scream. Standing before her was a boy who looked like he'd been shot in the head and had half the flesh on his face eaten off by maggots.

But he was also wearing a beret.

“Hamilton?” she squeaked. “Oh my
goodness
! You're a . . .”

“Zombie,” he answered. “Specifically, Mr. Masterson, father of Grady, protagonist of
Zombietown, U.S.A.
What do you think?”

“Extremely. Terrifying,” Gladys told him truthfully. Hamilton grinned, and she was glad to see he at least hadn't gone as far as getting a set of fake bloody teeth.

“My mother knows a Broadway makeup artist,” he said. “She came over to help me get ready.”

“Wow—you took this really seriously,” Gladys said. “I got dressed in about five minutes.”

“And you look great!” Hamilton said quickly. “Pumpkin pi—really clever.”

“Thanks.”

They stood there awkwardly then, looking around. Gladys's friends had moved to the refreshment table,
and now she felt a sudden hankering for candy corn.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's get something to eat. Charissa's here, and I'll introduce you to Parm.”

Over the next hour, more students arrived at the gym, and the trickle of dancers out on the floor turned into a raging river of kids showing off their moves. Gladys wasn't big on dancing, but Hamilton insisted that they join the party. “After all, this may be the only school dance of my entire life!” he said. “It would be foolish not to take advantage.”

Gladys was relieved that at least no one was pairing off, so she was able to dance clumsily alongside Hamilton as part of a larger group that also included Charissa, Parm, Rolanda, and Marti. Elaine de la Vega—whose costume consisted of fake glasses and a laminated
P
RESS
badge—moved all around the gym snapping pictures. Gladys also kept catching glimpses of Owen and his buddies skirting the perimeter of their dance circle, but every few minutes Charissa shot Owen a death glare, and they backed away.

Their group was rehydrating with cups of punch (a disgusting “red” flavor, but still, Gladys was thirsty) when the DJ's voice crooned out over the speaker system. “We're gonna slow things down now,” she said. “This next dance is for all you couples out there.”

Hamilton cleared his throat. “Er, Gladys,” he started, “would you have any interest—”

“Yo, Parm!” Owen's voice seemed to carry over the
crowd as he ran toward their group at full tilt. Hamilton was barely able to jump out of the way before Owen's sneakers skidded to a stop right in front of Parm's pointy witch shoes. Breathing heavily, Owen knocked his hood back from his head. “Will you dance with me?”

Parm stared at him for a bewildered moment, then, drawing herself up to her full height, said, “Okay, fine.”