Toil & Trouble: A Know Not Why Halloween (Mis)adventure (7 page)

+

The sexy mummy costume arrives in the mail.

Yaaaaaaaaay,
Kristy thinks to herself.

She’s become very big on
Yay
s without
exclamation points lately.

She decides to model her sexy mummy costume for Cora
in the kitchen after the store has closed for the day. It’s
basically a little white dress and leg warmers: it’s not like she
hasn’t worn less to go swimming.

But it just seems like an inaccurate and
disrespectful way to entomb someone who’s on their way to the
afterlife.

“On the plus side, you look fucking adorbs,” Cora
says.

“Thank you,” Kristy says glumly, and does a shuffly
little spin. She figures a mummy wouldn’t be a super graceful
spinner.

“And you know you won’t even have to do anything.
It’s not like you’ve suddenly got to act like a stripper. All you
gotta do is walk around, and at the end of the day we’ll have an
awesome blog review to look forward to. By the way,” Cora adds, “I
fucking hate that I’m in a situation where I have to get excited
over a blog review.”

“It’s not as fun as blogs are supposed to be,” Kristy
agrees morosely.

Cora laughs. “How fun are blogs supposed to be?”

“I don’t know! More fun than this!”

“Maybe there’s tons o’ fun in store.” She grins
devilishly. “For example: just think of all the sexual awakenings
you’ll inspire in those little weirdos.”

“Ew!” Kristy cries. “Ew, ew, ew, ew.”

“Sorry,” Cora says through her very fiendish
laughter.

“
Ew
,” Kristy says firmly.

“You know what,” Cora says, sobering, “if you want to
see a real ho in bandages, you should swing by my play rehearsal
tonight. I promise, Dr. Frankenbitch will be in fine and skanky
form.”

“Wouldn’t
you
be Dr. Frankenbitch?” Kristy
points out. “Since she’s the monster ...”

“I’m surrounded by a bunch of nerds,” Cora
mutters.

“I think you’re exaggerating how bad she is,” Kristy
declares. “I went to her for a haircut once, and she did a really
good job. And she talked to me the whole time! She was nice.”

“Yeah, but everyone’s nice to you. That doesn’t mean
anything. She sucks. She’s always all in my face with her stupid
peach lipgloss and her horrible everything.”

“No one who wears peach lipgloss can be that bad,”
Kristy protests, like that’s actually somehow a proven fact.

“Dude, she is. I promise. I know what girls like her
are like.”

“Really? She doesn’t seem like the type you’d hang
out with.”

“It wasn’t so much hanging out as it was getting the
shit bullied out of me,” Cora says. A flicker of something sad and
vulnerable darts across her face.

Kristy’s heart flops. “Aw, Cora.”

“Whatever. I promise you, I so do not care anymore.
Who’s happy in middle school, anyway?”

Kristy was, but it doesn’t seem tactful to mention
it.

“I’ll drop by tonight,” Kristy says. “But if she’s
not as awful as you’ve said, then you have to promise to stop
hating her so much.”

“Yeah, no, cannot do. The iron has entered into my
soul, Diana.”

“Okay, Anne. Then at least will you promise to stop
being so mean to her? You said this was her first play ever, right?
There’s no way she’s not totally intimidated by you.”

Cora scoffs. “I don’t think she gets intimidated. She
has a serious case of smug hot girl face. Only Natalie Dormer is
allowed to look that haughty about a secret and still deserve my
love.”

“So you’re judging her by how she looks,” Kristy
says, crossing her arms.

“It’s okay to do that if you’re judging them for
being hot,” Cora protests.

“Cora, come on. Resting bitch face is a real thing!
Just look at how much Kristen Stewart has suffered for it!”

“I guess,” Cora says grumpily.

“Everybody gets intimidated,” Kristy says. “I
remember what it was like back before I convinced you to like me.
Being on your bad side is scary.”

Cora leans over to give her a one-armed hug. “I
didn’t expect you to be so nice. People as pretty as you are
usually total jerkwads. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, and it’s okay.” Kristy pats her
curly head. “But I’m just saying. You gave me a chance. Maybe you
should try it again for her.”

“There’s no way she’s as great as you,” Cora
insists.

“You never know!” Kristy encourages.

“She’s not!” Cora declares, pressing sloppy,
super-dramatic kisses to her cheek. “It’s not possible!”

“Aw!” says Kristy, and for the first time in awhile
smiling is easy.

+

At rehearsal that night, Kristy and Cora hang out
behind the curtains, eating Halloween-sized bags of Skittles and
watching Heather get her Frankenstein’s Monster on onstage.

Somehow, all of the pornographic mediocrity that’s
been driving Cora so nuts doesn’t really seem to be
there
tonight. Sure, Heather is way better at wearing an outfit of
strategically placed bandages than anybody should be, but there
is
something sort of raw and anguished about her. Something
kind of authentic.

“She’s really good and I’m being queen of the
butthead assholes, huh?” Cora says.

Kristy pats her arm reassuringly. “Pretty much.”

Cora groans. “I haven’t felt this humiliated by my
own judgment since I got all into a song on the radio and then
found out it was by a Jonas brother.”

“It
is
a really good song, though,” Kristy
says sensibly.

“Well, yeah.” Cora sighs. “Damn your smooth, sultry
sound, Jonas brother.”

+

“Hey,” Cora says that night, mostly because before
Kristy left, she gave Cora a
Do the right thing
look that
could not be denied.

Heather is touching up her makeup in front of the
green room mirror again. This time it’s mascara.

“If it isn’t Dr. Frankenbitch,” Heather says icily.
“Yay.”

“Real warm welcome.”

“And you’ve earned a warm welcome
how
?”

Not a terrible point.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a Frankenbitch.” Cora sighs
and leans against the counter. “I was just ... sad about losing the
role. I’ve really wanted to play that part for like ever, and when
my friend was writing the script, I worked on it with her a little
bit, and I just always imagined I’d be the one doing all that stuff
she was writing. But you were better, and I’ve been a total child
about it. So I’m sorry. I’m gonna leave you alone from now on,
okay?”

No point in dragging out this awkward agony, she
figures. She drums her fingernails on the counter in some kind of
obscure parting gesture, then gets up and starts to head for the
door.

“I think I know why Tasha picked you for
Frankenstein,” Heather says then.

“Oh yeah?” Cora doesn’t turn around.

“You’re always so – like, out there. A total freak,
all the time.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“It’s true. When have you ever played a non-weirdo
onstage?” And, okay, girl isn’t technically wrong. “But in this
part, you have this whole buckled up restraint thing going, and
it’s kind of ... interesting.”

“Really?” Cora turns around. “Interesting how?”

Heather shrugs, the corner of her mouth quirking.
“Just interesting.”

“Yeah, well,” Cora says, digging the words up from
the depths of her soul, “you’re a good monster.”

“Creature. Not monster. Monster’s too mean.”

It’s kind of a sensitive observation.

Who is this person? And why is Kristy so fucking wise
in matters of lipgloss and the human spirit?

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, a major bitch?”
Cora asks.

Heather exhales, her bangs fluffing out. “Did Howie
Jenkins say that?”

“Not exactly.” Sure, Howie’s reaction to the news
that Heather got the part was a very dramatic
“IT’S
ALIIIIIIIVE!”
... but then he regaled them all with the story
of Heather saving him from doom with a mini bottle of hairspray, so
it’s not like it was all badmouthing. “But I know what you’re
like.”

“How?”

“I can tell by looking at you. Like, come on, whose
hair is that shiny? Do you shampoo with the blood of virgins?”

“Unicorns, actually.”

Cora laughs in spite of herself.

She dares anyone to resist a random unicorn
reference.

“Isn’t the whole point of this play that it’s not
good to judge people without knowing them?” Heather says.

“So you’ve never judged anybody? ” Cora challenges.
“And you weren’t, like, a terrifying popular super bitch in
school?”

“No, I was,” Heather admits fairly. “I made girls and
boys cry. Never Howie, though. He’s tougher than he looks.”

“Right?”

“I did puke on him,” Heather adds after thinking for
a second. “On prom night.”

“Magical,” Cora deadpans.

Heather snorts. “I’ve never been very good at being
nice. But I’m trying to get better. That’s part of why I did this
play in the first place. My therapist thought it would be a good
idea. To stop worrying about being cool or what people think or
whatever and just ... be something already.”

“Huh,” says Cora.

Heather folds her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve
seen like every one of your group’s plays for the past few years,
you know. It’s not like I just randomly decided, ‘Whatever, today
I’ll audition for this play and crush some girl’s dreams because I
can.’ I thought about it for a long time. I admire you guys a lot.
I really ... I really wanted this.”

“Good,” Cora says after a moment. “That makes me hate
you less.”

“Oh yeah?”

Cora shrugs. “A little.”

“Rude,” Heather says. “But I’ll take it, I
guess.”

“Really, this is about as nice as I get. Unless
you’re an adorable Artie Kraft’s employee or a puppy.”

Heather shrugs, her eyes popping with exquisitely
applied eye makeup and maybe amusement. “So this is as good as it
gets, huh?”

Cora basically never feels flustered. Say what you
want about her (she likes to think she’s the only person in this
town who drives people to the word “hellion” on a regular basis),
but she knows how to fill a room with nonstop chatter. Most of it
profane.

And yet all she can come up with right now is:
“Yep.”

What the hell, man?

“You have a good night, Cora,” Heather says, smiling
a little. She grabs her bag off the counter.

“Yeah,” Cora says, “you too.”

This time when she watches Heather walk away, there’s
kind of a whole different energy. A little flickering feeling of
wait, no, don’t go!
that Cora instantly hates.

And yet.

“Hey, about the haunted house thing?” Cora finds
herself calling.

Heather stops.

“You should stop by. Scare the shit out of some
little munchkins.”

“Maybe I will,” Heather says. She glances over her
shoulder, throwing the hint of a smile Cora’s way, and then walks
out the door.

Cora just kinda sits there. For, like, awhile.

She blames the shiny hair. It’s uniquely
transfixing.

+

And then, at last, the day is upon them.

“Just think,” Howie says soothingly, putting a plate
of pancakes in front of Arthur. They’re deformed beasts of
pancakes, because Howie made them, but at least they are full of
blueberries. (Howie prefers to fill them with chocolate chips, but
Arthur is morally opposed.) “By this time tomorrow, it’ll be all
over.”

“And Annie Fabray may very well have the ammunition
to destroy us,” Arthur replies bleakly. He pours a modest pool of
maple syrup on the corner of his plate, then dips the corner of a
piece of pancake into it.

Howie will never understand the level of food-related
restraint that this guy accomplishes on the regular.

“Well, yeah,” he says, dousing his pancakes
thoroughly in syrup. Like a normal person (who, okay, probably has
a lot of cavities). “But look on the bright side. We could also be
the proud recipients of five out of five pincushions!”

The whole pincushions-instead-of-stars rating sounds
impressively stupid when you actually talk about it out loud.

“Remind me again why I’ve chosen to fight this
battle,” Arthur says.

“Why do any of us do the things we do? Here. Eat this
bacon.”

“Is it turkey bacon?”

“No,” Howie admits.