Page 54 of Dropping the Ball

She resettles herself like a boardroom CEO, which looks hilarious with her grease monkey costume. “You will pay.” Her voice is low and deadly calm, scaring the two NFL players holding out their bags into skittering away with nervous glances over their shoulders.

“Can’t wait.” It comes out silky even though I meant to do my Batman voice.

Soon the foot traffic is so heavy, every driveway on the street has a small traffic jam, and I’ve never had so much fun on Halloween. Not even the handful of times in college that I went to a party or club where pretty girls wore tiny costumes and my buddies made sure my cup was never empty.

Sitting here and laughing with her, watching her chirp over the smallest trick-or-treaters, handing out candy and batting good-natured insults back and forth about our distribution technique, keeping fake score of who’s winning Halloween . . . I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed. Relaxed but also . . . on high alert. It’s the paradox of Kaitlyn. All my senses are tuned to her, capturing every laugh, each rustle of movement, the way the light catches her eyes as she turns to tease me or lean forward to compliment a costume.

There are a handful of people in my life I’m this comfortable with, and all of them grew up on my block. But I want to whip her cap off and explore her lips with mine to confirm whether they’re as soft as they felt against my thumbs. No one on my block has ever inspired that impulse.

The thought won’t let me go. When she’d literally bumped into me at Remix, it shook all that loose inside me, like those feelings had been sitting unsecured on a shelf where I’d stuck them since high school, unsure what to do with them.

I know now.

The stream of kids slows to a trickle, and my anticipation builds as the candy bars dwindle.

When the candy is gone and my mask comes off, I’m finally going to do what I should have done ten years ago.

Chapter Eighteen

Kaitlyn

“That was the lastcandy bar.” I hold up my empty carton to show Micah. “Does that mean I get tricks now?”

He glances at the time on his phone. “It’s almost nine. You’re safe.”

“What if some hungry NFLers come by and get mad that my porch light is off?” I’m not at all worried about it. A few other lights have gone off on the street over the last fifteen minutes, and only a few kid-sized stragglers in the distance seem bent on chasing down the last of the sugar.

“Won’t happen. Halloween law.”

I smile at this. “So weird I’ve never heard these laws until tonight.”

He slides his mask back on his head, and it’s good to see his full face, even though the top half is damp with sweat and red lines trace where the mask dug into his skin. It’s good skin. It’s a good face.

“You doubt me?” he says. “What kind of proof do you need?”

“I don’t doubt you. You’re my go-to Halloween expert.” I stand and stretch before holding out my hand to pull him to his feet too.

He ignores it and rises the way I imagine Batman must in the movies, a fluid upward motion that ends with him in Batman stance in front of me, arms folded across his chest. His chest, which bulges without the help of any foam. I like Batman stancesomuch—even when he’s so close I have to lean my head back to see him. Maybe especially because he’s that close.

I’d chosen a hard cider from his cooler, and I feel the effects now that I’m on my feet. My cheeks flush and my scalp tingles. I sway toward him and step back even as he reaches out to hold my elbows and keep me steady.

“You good?”

I slip away from his touch under the guise of gathering up empty candy boxes. “Yep, stood up too fast.” I’ve been standing long enough that this doesn’t actually make sense, so I hurry past it before he notices. “I’ll go stick these in the trash and come back to help with the rest of this.”

I go around the garage and shove the boxes in my recycling bin. When I get back to the driveway, everything is put away except the chairs, which he’s already folding. I grab the other one and fold it, then hand it to him. He shifts it to his other arm and keeps his hand outstretched.

“Uhhh . . .” I look around, not sure what he’s waiting for.

“I need my tool back. It would really put a—”

“Don’t,” I warn him.

“—wrench in things if I left without it,” he says over my groan. “Don’t make me come and take it.”

I glance down to where it protrudes from the chest pocket of his borrowed shirt. For a reckless split second, I almost sayWhy don’t you try. Instead, I hand it over. “Going to take it with you to watch scary movies in case of monsters?”

He puts it away and locks his toolbox. “Scary movie night is cancelled. My buddy with the best setup has a kid home puking, and just in case it’s not from candy, no one else wants to go over and bring it back to their kids. Puke viruses set off chain reactions, apparently.”

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