But there are other changes. Whenever Boomer and I walk through the village, we see new signs of fall spreading across Lanternwood. The air always seems to taste slightly of cinnamon, and the trees are red, yellow, and gold, like fireworks frozen just as they burst in the air. Huge piles of leaves start appearing on the sides of the road, and Boomer makes it his job to run through every single one.

The trees in the orchard are crammed with apples, and the café hosts apple bobbing competitions every afternoon. Gloria and Ruth seem to be competing to see who can pack the most pumpkins on their porch, while ghosts made from torn white sheets appear in the trees, and fake cemeteries sprout up in people’s front yards. Even Mom, who doesn’t really like stuff like that, buys a big orange wreath crawling with plastic spiders and a doormat that says BOO!

One day toward the end of the month, Fina, Ruby, and I are sitting at our usual table at lunch. Fina hasn’t said much since we sat down. She keeps twirling her spaghetti around and around with her fork.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Hmm?” she says, her head snapping up. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just a little homesick, I guess.”

“What’s October like in California?” Ruby asks.

“Well, it doesn’t get cold. Not really. And my family back there is getting ready for Día de los Muertos.”

“What’s that?” Ruby and I ask together.

“It means Day of the Dead. It’s a Mexican celebration,” Fina explains. “It goes for three days, but it starts on All Hallows Eve, when the spirits of the dead can come back to visit the people they’ve left behind.”

Ruby’s eyes widen. “So you celebrate death?”

She shakes her head. “We celebrate the lives of people who are gone. We keep their spirits alive by remembering them.”

“I like that,” I say, imagining how much I would give to be able to spend just one day a year with Gram.

“Not all Mexican people celebrate it, but my grandmother has her whole life,” Fina says. “So my family always goes to San Diego to stay with her and visit my grandfather’s grave. Abuelita makes a big altar for him with marigolds and pictures and his favorite foods, and she and my dad and my aunts all tell stories about him. But this year . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You guys could come over to my house,” I say.

Since I’ve been trying to avoid home as much as possible, I haven’t invited either of them over to Morning Glory Cottage yet. But Fina has been so good about taking my mind off my vitiligo. The least I can do is help her feel better about not being with her family. And besides, I think she’ll like all the spooky village decorations.