Chapters (84)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- About the Author
- HALLOWEEN
- Seven Weeks Before Halloween
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- HALLOWEEN
- Six Weeks Before Halloween
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- HALLOWEEN
- Five Weeks Before Halloween
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- HALLOWEEN
- NINE
- TEN
- HALLOWEEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- Twenty-Five Days Until Halloween
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- HALLOWEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- HALLOWEEN
- Eighteen Days Until Halloween
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- HALLOWEEN
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- Eleven Days Until Halloween
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- Eight Days Until Halloween
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- HALLOWEEN
- THIRTY
- Four Days Until Halloween
- THIRTY-ONE
- HALLOWEEN
- THIRTY-TWO
- Two Days Until Halloween
- THIRTY-THREE
- The Night Before Halloween
- THIRTY-FOUR
- HALLOWEEN
- THIRTY-FIVE
- Halloween, Present Day
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- HALLOWEEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- HALLOWEEN
- THIRTY-NINE
- HALLOWEEN
- FORTY
- HALLOWEEN
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- HALLOWEEN... NOW
- FORTY-FIVE
- Seven Months Later
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ALICE SWANSON’S
- Reader's Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- Booklist
They took seats across the table, Ben at the head. He pulled out my résumé, then glanced up. “You ready, Theresa?”
I swallowed. Thought of my mother’s dress. Of Kendra’s hoop earrings. Of my reflection in the glass at the coffee shop. Of everything I’d done to get to this moment. It had been worth it. All of it.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Born ready.”
NINETEEN
Kendra
Halloween was near. You couldn’t flip through three channels on the television without seeing a man with a weapon walking slowly or hear a woman’s high-pitched scream. Word had gotten out that our decorations were done, too. Each time I glanced out the front window, there was at least one car driving slowly around the cul-de-sac, windows down, cell phones out, recording video.
Bettina met me for a walk after dinner. It was midweek, a few days since Sloane’s birthday party, and yet Bettina was still sulking that I’d kept the photo from her. I tried to ignore it—sometimes the best course of action with her—but it was there, her anger, simmering under the surface.
As we were coming back onto the cul-de-sac from our jaunt around the block, I decided to be direct. “Are you still pissed at me?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but a minivan rolled onto the street, blasting Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” its headlights blinding us. We lifted our hands to shield our eyes.
“Someone nearly hit Mrs. Orloff as she was backing out of her driveway yesterday,” Bettina said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know if I can take three more weeks of the ‘tourists.’ They’re so rude sometimes.”
Tick-tock. Twenty-one days.
I tried to ignore the dull worry that swept over me whenever I thought about the messages, about Jimmy-O failing to track down Jackie for us. “You should be proud we’re so popular.”
“Not this year. I’d do just fine without people sticking their heads out their windows to take pictures of me and my house.”
“So you are still pissed,” I said.
“I’m not pissed at you, Kendra. I’m just worried. That’s understandable, isn’t it?” She glanced over at me. “Jesus, it’s not always about you, you know.”
I took offense to that, but let it pass. Bettina did have a right to be pissy with me, after all.
“So, is Mrs. Little Perfect joining us for Full Moon, too?” Bettina asked as we passed Theresa’s house. This was how we often bickered. Like an old married couple. Picking at other scabs instead of addressing the open wound.
“What’s your problem with her?”
Barney found something to sniff in Mrs. Tressle’s lawn, and we stopped.
“I was just surprised you gave her a pin,” Bettina said. “Seems...sudden.”
Was Bettina...jealous?