Rimming the fun attractions were familiar cars parked in a line, trunks open, festive with colorful construction paper, and streamers, and balloons, and, most importantly, economy bags of candy that each child would help empty. This part was Trunk or Treat. Because, as Jameer mentioned, “the ‘trick’ in ‘Trick or Treat’ doesn’t seem very godly.”

Since the only thing anyone might get out of my trunk was tetanus, an orange-vested volunteer directed me to the side lot with the other nonparticipating cars. Killing my engine, I spotted my fellow Purity Pledgers lounging by the wheelchair ramp. Everyone except Kiera.

Jameer, dressed as—I didn’t know what he was, he was in a robe—met me by my ride.

“Where is she?” I said.

“Inside, with her parents.”

Okay, I was staying. Next question. “What are you?”

“Job.”

I blinked rapidly.

“He’s a guy from the Bible. Don’t worry about it. What about you?”

I popped the lapels on my ebony suit, pushed my shades higher on my nose, and did my best Will Smith impression. “I make this look good.”

And he didn’t have a clue.

I said, “Men in Black? Agent J?”

Really, I didn’t have a costume. Hadn’t had one since I was nine. I had a black suit, and sunglasses, so . . .

Jameer said, “It’s science fiction, right?”

“Yeah, real funny and— What’s wrong?”

His frown, though. “They won’t like it if you’re dressed like something from a science fiction movie.”

“Why not?” As strange as all this Halloween-as-Harvest-Fest stuff was to me, I understood. Church grounds, don’t dress the kids like monsters or devils or ghouls. But what was wrong with a freaking Will Smith character? Me and Dad watched all his movies when I was a kid because for a long time he was the only Black Guy Hero, and Dad wanted me watching men who looked like us doing positive things. Will Smith fought monsters in I Am Legend and aliens in that super-old one, Independence Day. How could that possibly be a bad thing?

Jameer gave our immediate vicinity the I’mma-tell-you-a-secret inspection, twisting all the way around until he was sure nobody but me would hear him. “Pastor got on this thing a couple of years ago about how Hollywood is run by heathens and Satan and all the movies are coded with ways to make families turn their back on God. Like with everything he says, the congregation falls in line. Folks still go to the movies and keep their Netflix accounts, but they don’t bring any of it up around here.”

“What happens if you don’t fall in line?”

“Some adult might pull you aside and lecture you.” He shuffled his feet. “If it gets back to Pastor, it might be worse.”

“Worse how?”

He chewed his lip, and his hands slid up and down his robe, like to wipe off something dirty. “If anyone asks, say you’re a preacher. It’ll be easier for you.”

Jameer’s advice on how to make things easier at First Missionary House of the Lord was creepier than any tiny monster, ghost, or demon wandering door-to-door in other parts of town. Creepier still, I’m not sure if Jameer really recognized that.