Geneva sees me frozen by the foot of the stairs and waves me over from the very back row (because the basement theater is big enough to have a “very back row”). I focus on my red shoes and make myself move. When I get to her, she stands to give me an air kiss. That’s the thing I appreciate about Geneva. She’s all air kisses and nods, no contact. I think she dislikes touching people as much as I do. Tonight she’s in a black cat outfit, complete with ears and tail.

Tucker waves from down the row. He’s got his size-thirteen feet up on the back of the seats in front of him. Like me, he’s not dressed up, except for a black witch’s hat, which I have a feeling Well forced on him. I plop down next to him, careful to keep my elbows tucked in. He burps, long and loud.

“Tuck! Ugh.” Geneva turns up her nose, a perfectly irritated cat.

“Sorry! The contest was today. I’m still recovering,” he says, waving the air in front of him like he can shoo away the smell.

He means the hot-dog-eating contest at the Halloween carnival. I wanted to go, but the thought of dunk tanks and balloon-popping games and creaking Ferris wheels was too much. It’s all the worst things about the state fair with none of the music. Basically, the worst nightmare for someone with a sensory processing disorder. Not that I’m saying I have one.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

“It was gruesome and revolting,” Geneva says, patting his shoe. “He did great.”

“Yeah,” Tucker says, reddening all the way up to his ears. “I got second place. Forty-two dogs. The winner got forty-five.”

“Yes, but he puked after the buzzer. They should disqualify you for that,” Geneva says with authority.

“It’s okay. I’m happy with second. Made my mom proud. We won a twenty-five dollar gift certificate to Target.”

“She wasn’t grossed out?” I have to ask, because I almost just threw up from the smell of his burp.

“Nah, she loves it. One time, when I was ten, she caught me drinking one of those SlimFast shakes after school and smacked it right out of my hand.”

“Why?”

“She said, ‘Son, you don’t mess with the body the good Lord gave you. God made you to be a man of stature. You better figure out how to use it, not lose it.’ ”

“I love your mom,” Geneva says, pulling his hat off and trying it on. Witch cat.

“Yeah, she could probably win that hot dog contest without even trying. The woman knows her way around a buffet.”