Emma and the others had helped pile up the gym’s bleachers and replace them with multitiered platforms containing round, black-velvet banquettes; crooked gravestones that served as high tables; burbling witches’ cauldrons full of spiced apple cider and steaming hot chocolate; and wax figures of zombies, mummies, aliens, and werewolves. They’d set flickering, intricately carved pumpkins on each table, fixed gnarled-tree decals to the walls, and hung spiderwebs from the chairs. Waitresses floated past with trays of vials filled with eerie red liquid—which was actually POM Wonderful—marked with labels like DANCING ELIXIR and KISSING CURE-ALL. And at the end of the room was a craggy haunted mansion. Greenish lights flashed through the windows, and a group of girls let out shrill squeals from inside.

Suddenly Madeline clamped down on Emma’s arm. “Oh my God.”

She tried to steer Emma in the other direction, but it was too late. Emma had already seen what was bothering her. Garrett sat in a banquette just a few feet away. He wore a velveteen tunic, a frilly shirt underneath, and a horned Viking helmet. A blunt-tipped sword rested on the table.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Hi, girls!” Nisha trilled, leaping up from the seat next to Garrett and waving happily. Her black hair had been arranged in two braids, she wore a snugly fitted corset dress, and there was a similar horned helmet sitting atop her head. She and Garrett matched.

“What the—” Charlotte said in a low voice. “Tell me he didn’t bring her.”

I wanted to puke. Nisha? That was a pretty big step down after dating me. Or Charlotte, for that matter.

Garrett looked up and saw Emma, too. His face clouded. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Nisha babbled for the both of them, inviting them to sit and complimenting their costumes when they didn’t move. Then she eyed Emma. “Sutton, did you come here all alone?” she asked in a simpering voice, sounding absolutely delighted.

“Come on,” Madeline urged, tugging on Emma’s arm. They snaked across the dance floor, which was already sticky with spilled soda, past the DJ booth, where a few groupies leaned against the table, and into the girls’ locker room. Harsh fluorescent lights shone overhead. The faint odor of sweaty socks and spilled shampoo lingered in the air.

Madeline sat down on one of the benches and took Emma’s hands. “Are you okay? Do you want to leave?”

Music thumped outside. Emma searched Madeline’s face, realizing Madeline thought she was upset. She wasn’t, not exactly—more like confused. Did Nisha like Garrett? Was that why she hated Sutton?

Emma brushed her hair off her face. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just . . . weird.”