The gymnasium smelled like cheap hairspray, melted chocolate, and industrial floor wax. Under the humming fluorescent lights, a sea of store-bought superheroes, inflatable dinosaurs, and glittery vampires moved in chaotic waves to a remix of “Monster Mash.” Over by the bleachers, I stood with my hands shoved into the front pockets of my jeans.
My gray T-shirt felt heavy and stiff against my skin, like a punishment I was forced to wear.
Ava was thirty feet away, standing near the punch bowl with a cluster of popular seventh-graders who had never spoken to her before today. The purple tulle of my witch dress fluffed out beneath the neon party streamers, catching the purple strobe lights with an effortless, shimmering glow. Every time she laughed, she reached up and touched the brim of the crooked hat—the one I had spent two hours reshaping with steam from our electric kettle so it wouldn’t flop over her eyes.
“She doesn’t even know what the silver stitching means,” Chloe whispered, stepping up beside me. She was dressed as an astronaut, complete with a silver helmet tucked under her arm. Her freckled face was pinched with fury. “You spent three whole afternoons picking that specific thread at the craft store because you wanted it to look like starlight.”
“It’s fine, Chloe,” I lied, my voice sounding flat and brittle.
“It is not fine, Lily,” Chloe fired back, glancing behind us where Paige and Madison were sharing a red Solo cup of lemonade. “Your dad literally stood there while Karen took it off your body. That was eighty dollars’ worth of work!”
“Sixty-five,” I corrected automatically. The exact number was burned into my mind: forty hours of raking damp leaves, pulling weeds around the stone patio until my fingertips were raw, and organizing Dad’s greasy collection of socket wrenches in the humid Texas heat.
“Whatever the number was, it was *yours*,” Chloe insisted.
Just then, Mr. Henderson, the vice principal, walked onto the gym stage with a crackling microphone in hand. The feedback shrieked through the speakers, silencing the chatter.
“All right, Mustangs!” he boomed, his plastic pirate eye patch slipping slightly down his cheek. “It’s time for the annual Fall Costume Showcase. If you want to enter the contest, please make your way to the center court. Our panel of parent judges is ready to vote!”
My stomach bottomed out.
Across the room, Karen walked through the double doors of the gymnasium. She had driven separately, claiming she had to “drop off some PTA cupcakes,” but I knew why she was really here. She wanted to watch Ava take the spotlight. Karen’s eyes locked onto Ava, and she practically jogged across the polished wood floor, grabbing Ava by the elbow and steering her straight toward the center line where kids were lining up.
Ava looked back toward the bleachers. For a split second, her eyes met mine. There was a flicker of hesitation in her face, a brief shadow of guilt that showed she knew this was stolen glory. But then Karen whispered something in her ear, smoothed the velvet sash over Ava’s hip, and gave her a gentle push forward. Ava’s posture straightened. She smiled, stepping into the center circle right alongside the top contenders.
“Look at her,” Madison muttered, coming to stand on my other side. “She’s actually going to enter with your costume.”
“Lily,” Chloe said suddenly, pulling her phone from the interior pocket of her astronaut jumpsuit. “Do you remember the picture I took of you two weeks ago?”
“What picture?”
“October seventeenth. In your bedroom. You were wearing the dress, holding your paper moon, standing right by your bookshelf.” Chloe unlocked her screen, her thumb swiping furiously until a bright image lit up the glass.
There I was. My brown eyes were wide and bright, the purple fabric draped perfectly across my shoulders, the silver starlight cuffs catching the afternoon sun through my window. In the background, clearly visible on my desk, was my open blue ledger notebook with the title: *HALLOWEEN FUND 2026 – COMPLETED.*
“Chloe, don’t,” I whispered, realizing what she was thinking.
“Why not?” Chloe’s voice trembled with righteous anger. “Ava’s up there letting everyone believe her mom bought that for her. Look at Mrs. Gable! She’s writing down Ava’s number right now on the judge’s clipboard!”
Before I could grab Chloe’s arm, she slipped away into the crowd, darting toward the judging table where three PTA moms, including Mrs. Gable—the neighborhood gossip queen—were scoring the finalists.
My heart began to hammer violently against my ribs. Dad had told me not to make a scene. *Stop being selfish,* his voice echoed in my head. *Let your sister have one nice night.*
