Page 46 of We're At It Again

He returned to the house, leaving me to gaze back at the treehouse. I thought of what this treehouse symbolized. For some, it was a simple stack of wood, but for me and Luna, it held a lifetime of memories. Memories that I shattered but am willing to rebuild. I hammered in another nail, the rhythmic sound echoed in the woods. Showing this to Luna motivated me to finish it.

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29

HUDSON

THE SCHOOL HALLWAYS WERE ALIVE with the spirit of Halloween. Strings of orange and purple lights weaved above the locker, casting an eerie glow. Cardboard ghosts and cobwebs adorned the walls, with a few scattered carved pumpkins with flickering LED candles. Sweet smelling candy corn filled the air, along with the excited chatter of students discussing their evening plans.

I shrugged off my leather jacket and slung it over my shoulder. The hallways were too hot. I’m glad I wore my gray Oasis shirt underneath. I spotted Luna by her locker, her back turned to me as she rummaged through it. With a confident stride, I approached her, leaning against the lockers beside hers.

“Hey, Snow.” I greeted, my voice smooth and laid-back.

She looked up, a little startled, but recovered with a smile.

“Hey, are you going to the party tonight?”

“Of course.” I said without hesitation.

She arched an eyebrow.

“That’s a surprise. I always pictured you as hating Halloween, or fun.”

My grin widened at her remark, and I shook my head.

“You don’t know me as well as you think.”

She tilted her head, curiosity piqued.

“Is that so?”

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice conspiratorially.

“Yes. I already have our costumes planned out.”

“You do?”

“Yep,” I said, straightening up and crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re going to love it.”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip in thought.

“As long as it doesn’t get us into any trouble.”

I winked at her, my eyes sparkling with recklessness.

“No promises, but I guarantee you’ll have a fun time.”

The bell rang, interrupting our conversation. She gathered her books, giving me a skeptical yet intrigued look.

“Fine. I’ll trust you, but it better be good.”

“I promise.”

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After a brutal school day, I entered my dad’s auto repair shop. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal filled my nostrils. Clanging tools and the hum of engines created a comforting symphony. Grease smudged my dad’s face and hands as he hunched over the engine of an old Chevy.

“Hey, Dad.” I said, grabbing a pair of overalls from a hook on the wall.

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