“Always had to go home too early.”
In truth, we betrayed our inexperience by showing up with our eggs before it was fully dark. In the meantime, we rang a few doorbells for lack of anything better to do, and while I munched a Tootsie pop (letting the stick hang out of my mouth like it was a cigarette), I began to notice that the number of trick-or-treaters was dwindling. The moon glowed bright above the oak trees; lights on front porches started flicking out. The time had come.
I heard Tyrone gulp in the dark. “We should go back to my place and watch scary movies.”
“Yeah . . . ” Jimmy began. That’s when we heard the roar of trucks and shrill war cries in the distance. At the end of the block, a pair of shadows slunk between crepe myrtle bushes.
Half crouching, half running, we hurried up the sidewalk, looking for cover.
Randy Tillman’s flaming dragon of a truck sped around the corner.
The two shadows sprang up, shrieking bloody murder, and flung little white bombs as it passed. The eggs shattered on the side panels, some sailed through the open windows, and whoever rode inside flung eggs right back, hollering for revenge. Neither Jimmy, Tyrone, nor myself dared throw eggs at our archenemies. We ducked behind the trees lining the street and waited for the truck to disappear. We could hear it roaring for several blocks, so we knew when we were safe. We tore after the shadows who fled into the night.
Turning onto Ranch Avenue, we stopped and stared at the math teacher’s house. Every tree and bush in Mr. Jamison’s front lawn was draped in toilet paper. “Math sucks,” written in whipped cream, slipped down the large front windows.
Tyrone cried out. “Something hit me!”
An egg sailed past my head. Across the street, a voice cried, “Get
‘em! Smear the little shits!”
I palmed an egg and lobbed it at the shadows running toward us. In the light from the streetlamp I watched it strike home. The shadow doubled over, squealing and grabbing his bruised forehead. His fingers strung with egg yoke. Jimmy tugged my sleeve and off we ran, stopping every few feet to lob eggs at our pursuers. God, it was fun. Just like a war film.
Eventually, we joined forces with a gang of eighth graders and a couple of Freshmen. They weren’t exactly the cool kids, but we weren’t in a position to be choosy. The major drawback was that Rebecca Duckett lurked on the outskirts of the group. Though she was a Junior, only the younger kids would let her tag along. She wore a gray sweatshirt instead of black and appeared to be everyone’s favorite target. Her matted hair was wet with egg, and yoke smeared her clothes. She didn’t carry a single egg to defend herself, but followed us around with a scowl on her face and her arms crossed over her copious chest. Her presence was a threat to our budding reputations, so we stayed as far from her as possible without sacrificing our safety inside the crowd. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if Selsie had suffered the same sort of ostracizing when she was in school and finally offered Rebecca an egg. After that she stuck to me like a wad of gum on my shoe.
When I rolled my eyes in Jimmy’s direction, he chuckled and said,
“You shoulda known better. Feed the cat and it keeps coming around.” I was about to suggest we ditch this party, when an old blue sedan pulled around the block, paused in the street and revved up, challenging us.
“Hey, that’s full of cheerleaders!” Tyrone cried. “Get ‘em!” Cheerleaders! Elizabeth. What were the chances? The windows lowered and eggs started flying. Rebecca ducked behind me like I was her knight in shining armor. I gave her a shove. “Go pick on somebody else!” I shouted. Then, as I turned back to the battle, hands full of ammunition, an egg caught me under the left eye. I dropped like a stone. For a minute I didn’t know which way was up, which was down. I feared my eye had burst out of the socket, but it was only yoke I scraped off my face. Groaning, I rolled over on the pavement and for a moment I was sure I was dreaming: Elizabeth McDuffy leaned over me, red curls tumbling from under a black stocking cap. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I grunted, sat up, and declared more exuberantly, “Yeah!”
“Sorry,” she said, squeezed my arm, then jumped back into the sedan.
It sped off, taking my heart with it.
I was so enraptured that I’d forgotten the love potion. Nor did I hear the growl of Tillman’s dragon approaching. Tires squealed, rubber burned, and those headlights chased us down. Jimmy dragged me to my feet and we dived clear. Eggs smashed all around us, so we returned fire. “Brisby!” I heard as the truck roared past. The driver hit the brakes.
“Shit! Here they come,” shouted Jimmy. We scattered, but Trev Reynolds was our best running back. I stood no chance. In an instant he had the hood of my sweatshirt, and my collar jerked tight as a noose. I kicked and swatted just like those cats under the bridge. Trev dragged me back toward the truck where Joey Osborn and Randy Tillman had collected a handful of others and were smashing eggs over their heads. Rebecca Duckett took the abuse in stoic silence. Jimmy and Tyrone were not among them. I feared they’d abandoned me until eggs flew from around the nearest oak.
Randy and Joey hurried after them.
“Pat ‘em down!” Trev ordered. “Don’t you little girls know it’s dangerous out here?” Joey confiscated our eggs, while Randy gathered the candy from Tyrone’s paper bag and added it to their stash in the truck. How many other kids had they robbed tonight?
Trev searched my pockets. Clucking his tongue, he broke every egg he found over my head. With slime dripping down my face, I vowed to cheer for every football team but ours.
“Hey, what’s this?” He held up the love potion.
“No!” I cried, grabbing for it.
He tossed it to Randy. “I think it’s fake blood. We can make good use of that.”
“Nah, man,” said Randy, holding the bottle up to the streetlamp and gazing through the ruby liquid. “It’s that syrupy stuff little kids like. I used to drink this stuff all the time and gross out my sisters.” To prove it, he popped the cork and swallowed every last drop.
“Oh, no, no, no,” I whimpered.
Tillman started staggering around, groaning, and blinking like he couldn’t see straight. “What the hell was that stuff, Brisby?” I threw my arm over my face, and who should Randy Tillman clap eyes on first but poor Rebecca Duckett. He swept her up and laid one on her.
She shoved him away, but he caught her again in a way that made me think of Pepe Le Pew.
Trev Reynolds dropped me flat and seized Randy by the arm. “Don’t make me barf, man. What the hell you doin’?”
Randy just grinned, all doe-eyed, and hugged Rebecca around the neck. “This is my girl. Hey, don’t look at her like that! I’ll bust your face in.”
Trev and Joey exchanged a confounded expression, then looked at me.
“What the hell’d you give him?” Trev shouted.
“I didn’t give him nothing! You stole it, douche-bag.” He grabbed my collar and raised a fist. “What was it?”
“Nothing!”
Jimmy picked up the bottle, turned it over, examining it. “The witch give you this?”
Why, Jimmy? Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?
“Witch?” asked Joey Osborn. “Ain’t no such thing.” Trev watched his best friend necking on the school skank and said,
“That crazy lady who lives on Mistletoe?”
“She’s not a witch!” I cried.
“Like hell! Look at ‘em! Is that where you got it?” I shook my head.
“Lyin’ sack of shit. Joey, she’s gotta be the real thing. Go get the boys.”
“No! You leave her alone!”
Trev pushed me so hard I fell on my backside. He and Joey dragged Randy into the truck and sped off, leaving rubber for half the block. Rebecca ran after them, calling, “Wait!”
“Oh, shit,” I kept saying, turning in a panicked circle. “We have to warn her. C’mon.” I didn’t wait to see if Jimmy and Tyrone followed. I doubt either could keep up with me, even if they had. Reaching home, I dragged my bike out of the garage. Dad called from the kitchen, but there was no time. Randy’s dragon could be there already. I