Did she think Jillian looked stupid in her T-shirt? It was the one that had won the annual T-shirt design contest. Mark Strauss had designed it this year, which was cool because a girl usually won. Come to think of it, Lindy was wearing the same shirt, so that couldn’t be it. Was it her pimples? Jillian had woken up with a red pimple on her nose. She should have dressed up as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. “What?” Jillian finally said, unable to stand Lindy’s scrutiny.

Lindy pointed to a crumpled cup by the tree. “You missed one.”

Jillian snatched it up, then felt stupid and wanted to throw it down again, but that would be stupid too.

“Why are you picking them up, anyway? No one said we had to,” Lindy said.

“Haven’t you ever heard of global warming?”

“Paper cups don’t cause global warming.”

“Someone has to pick them up.”

“Glad it’s not me,” Lindy said.

Grant jogged over. He was pulling vampire-Adam by the hand.

“All set to watch my little man here?” Grant jogged in place.

Jillian felt a little seasick watching him bounce up and down. “Sure.” She took Adam’s hand. “See you later, Mr. Davenport-Gardner.”

“Call me Grant. ‘Mister’ makes me feel too much like a grown-up. Ha! It makes me feel like my dad!”

“Okay . . .” What was he, if not a grown-up?

It was unclear what to call adults. Some, like teachers, insisted on mister and missus. Or miz. Then others were all about their first names, as if they wanted to be your friend. Sometimes it was easier to call them nothing at all.

“Where are your fangs, kid?” Lindy said.

He opened his other hand to reveal them. They looked sort of orthodontic. “Do they hurt?” Jillian said.

“Who are you?” Lindy asked.

“A vampire,” Adam said.

“I mean, what’s your name?”

“Adam Davenport-Gardner,” Adam said.

“You’re going to learn to spell that when you’re what, thirty?”

“I know how to spell!” Adam said.

“They’re the new people,” Jillian said.

“Tell your mom I babysit,” Lindy said.

“I’m his sitter,” Jillian said.

“I’m nicer,” Lindy told Adam.

“No she’s not. She’s mean,” Jillian blurted out.

Lindy laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh. More of a surprised one. “Want some candy? At my house, we’re giving out candy. All the candy you can eat. Tunlaw, 2201. Halloween night. Be there.”

“Okay,” Adam said.

“Don’t eat pretzels,” Lindy said. “They make your teeth rot.”

Someone blew a whistle and the adult runners were off. Mr. Morton, as Superman, and Mr. Li, as a long-haired rock star in sunglasses, led the pack, along with the Annie Get Your Gun director, who wore an Indian headdress. Lucy was a blue-haired witch and Mrs. Rosenberg, the French teacher, wore a chef’s hat and apron.