“Well, we’re too old to trick-or-treat,” Ruby says firmly.

I’m not exactly sure I agree, but I decide to go along with it. “Then we can hand out candy and stuff and have a sleepover.”

A grin spreads over Fina’s face. “Totally,” she says. “I’m in.”

Since I am still giving Mom the cold shoulder, I wait after school until Dad gets home to ask permission for my Halloween sleepover. But annoyingly, he just tells me I have to ask Mom.

“Sure you can,” Mom says brightly. “But you’ll have to clean your room. And set the table for dinner, please. Which friends are you having?”

“Fina,” I say, shuffling over to the silverware drawer. “The one from California, whose mom works at Hampstead. And Ruby. She’s new at school, too.”

“Not Edie?” Mom asks, her voice all sweet and innocent.

“No, Mom,” I say. “Edie and I aren’t friends. She’s not a very nice girl.”

Mom looks up from the stove, brow creasing. “Really? But her father is so lovely!”

“You don’t even know her dad,” I protest. “You met him once, for like a minute.”

“Actually,” Mom says, drawing out the word. Act-u-a-lly. “Arnold called me this morning. He wants to meet with me to hear my ideas for his new house. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Congratulations, hon,” Dad says, brushing past me on his way to the fridge. “A client like that will do great things for your portfolio.”

“I know!” Mom squeals. She actually squeals. “We have a meeting set up next week. I have a lot to do before that, though. And it’s only a preliminary interview.”

“You’ll knock his socks off,” Dad says. I look at Boomer and stick out my tongue like I’m gagging. He thumps his tail appreciatively.

As it turns out, I’m not the only one with the bright idea to have a Halloween party. The next day at lunch, Edie and the Graces go around handing out invitations to a party Edie is throwing. It seems like they hand out about a thousand.

When they get to our table, Edie stops and looks at me. For a second, I wonder if she knows about my mom meeting with her dad.

Then, “Something’s different about you,” she says, studying my face. In my lap, my hands clench together. Does she know about my vitiligo somehow?

“What do you want, Edie?” Fina asks.

“You’re wearing makeup,” says Edie, eyes still fixed on me. “Are you trying to look good for someone? Oh, my god. Do you have a crush or something?”

My hands loosen in relief. I look down at the fat stack of invitations in her hand. “I’m really not the one trying too hard,” I say smoothly.

She scoffs. “Jealous much? Sorry, I seem to have misplaced your invitations. Oh, well.”