Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎

29 | Secret Date

|photo by Felipe Simo from Unsplash|

The Tinsley's Halloween party invitation says 8:00 p.m. When my aunt leaves the apartment at 8:45, I text Conner—who's been next door for several hours—asking him to come over. I don't want to be in a room full of people when we finally reveal our costumes to each other.

His reply, of course, is: Maybe. It's been the answer to every question we've asked each other over the last seven days. But he must've sent the text from the hallway because it arrives, perfectly timed with a knock on the door.

The peephole is blocked: a brownish blur that makes me smile. I scoop up the barking Chihuahua, make sure my pigtails are lying in front of my shoulders and open the door.

"I knew it," I tell him. He's dressed as a scarecrow—not The Scarecrow, but a loose interpretation: floppy hat, shredded jeans and a worn button-down shirt left open to expose a T-shirt that says: Straw For Brains.

He smiles my favorite smile and offers a gloved hand for No-No's inspection; a few pieces of straw fall to the floor. "Is this part of your costume?" he asks, taking the dog out of my arms.

"Of course. This is Toto."

Conner laughs, stretching his neck to keep his chin away from the dog's enthusiastic tongue. Everybody loves Conner. I don't tell him the whole story of how Antonio got his name, but I do explain the reason my mother and I call him No-No.

"So, we have a Toto," he says, handing him back to me. "Well, that's almost as unnerving as the tornado." He shakes his head. "No, not even close really."

I step over the threshold and close the door, leaving an opening just big enough to insure the disgruntled Chihuahua's one-way trip back inside. When I turn back to Conner, he says, "If we walk next door together, I'm calling it a date."

"You have nothing to say about my outfit?"

I'm a farm girl. He's a scarecrow. We didn't plan it but we match.

"I have plenty to say about your outfit. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

My cheeks go flash-fire hot. I shake my head and point to my feet. "Just...look at my shoes please."

He furrows his brow, drops his eyes to my slutty boots, takes a deep breath and lets it out with this quiet "Hmm," that sounds more like appreciation than anything else. "They don't go with the outfit," he says, still ogling.

"Should I take them off?"

He raises his eyes to mine, gives me the same flirty smile that inspired me to wear them tonight, and shakes his head. I wrap my arm around his. "Can it be a secret date?" I ask.

The smile fades. His chin wrinkles.

"Your mom is over there," I explain, "and some other people from school and I'm just...I'm not—"

"No, yeah. You're right. Secret date. But we leave at 10:00."

"And go back to Queens."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I want to see the lights like you said. The Brooklyn Bridge. I want to ride the Q."

* * *

The party is mother-of-holy-freaking-shit awesome. I want to call Megan, video chat her from my phone so she can see this place, see the costumes. It's like the Tinsley's penthouse has been converted into a nightclub, complete with a spinning disco ball and a DJ. And an "undead" wait staff circulating the crowd with beautiful food and trays of golden champagne.