All Hallow's Eve: The One Day It's BAD to Be Good (4 page)

Paxton was pretty sure where the pale, Vitamin D-deficient doctor was driving this conversation train, but for inter-departmental cooperation, he had to hear the guy out. “Just over six months.”

“So, my question still stands…” the guy’s eyebrows went up and down, “Well…?”

“Don’t start,” Paxton stated as he headed for the door. Even a neighborhood canvas was sounding better than hanging out with Doctor Inappropriate.

With the text message on-screen, Paxton wished that were the case. Unfortunately, his already crappy morning just took a turn for the worse.

CHAPTER 2

Cecilia tried to stay out of everyone’s way as they rushed to class through the crowded quad. She was already plastered up against the statue that dominated the center of their Catholic school.

Our Lady of Sorrows.

She glanced up to see the larger-than-life statue of the Virgin Mary glaring down at her, as if scolding her for trying to hide within the Lady’s stone folds. Even the Virgin found her wanting.

Ugh. Where were her friends? If they didn’t get here soon, she would have to head to science class herself, which did not sound appealing. It had taken everything just to get Jeremy out of bed this morning. Cecilia really did not think she could face a dry lecture on photosynthesis on her own without nodding off.

“Cec!” a bright voice called out from behind.

She turned to find the freckle-faced Helen hurrying toward her. Right behind her was the darker-haired Francesca. Cecilia didn’t even wait for them to catch up before she made her way through the surging crowd to Building D.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Helen demanded. Puffing, the redhead caught her by the sleeve. “What is going on with your skirt?”

Cecilia looked down at her school uniform. Everything seemed in order. Her shirt was a stark white, and her skirt the required blue-and-black plaid. “Nothing.”

“Um, what about the length?” Helen asked, in that weird I-am-trying-to-talk-about-something-secret-without-really-telling-you-what-I-mean voice.

Francesca tried to help out. “A quarter turn, remember?”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Both of her friends glanced over their shoulders at Sister Switzler, the vice principal. The matronly figure stood outside her office, watching the quad like a hawk over a field of mice, trying to decide which one she would pluck from its day.

Helen leaned in with a harsh whisper. “You were supposed to roll your waistband a quarter turn this morning. You know, to bring your hem up.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes. She had forgotten about this ill-conceived attempt to get around the strict uniform guidelines. The theory went that if
every
girl in school rolled her waistband just the tiniest bit each day, so that every girl’s skirt looked the same, that somehow in a few weeks they could get their hems above the knee. It was, quite possibly, the stupidest idea Cecilia had ever heard. Besides, she liked her hem exactly where it was.

Helen shifted gears as only she could. She grabbed Cecilia’s arm so that they walked locked together. “I am
so
sorry! I wouldn’t have bugged you if I’d known. You do look really tired.”

“Can’t the doctors figure out what’s wrong with her?” Francesca asked, as they finally made their way to Building D.

Sure, it seemed everyone knew what was wrong. No one though, not the doctors or even her uncle, actually seemed willing to do anything about it. But that was TMI for her friends. They didn’t need to be as bummed out, or as
worn
out, as she was.

“They just say she needs plenty of rest.”

Her two friends nodded in sympathy until they heard some tinny music. That same stupid song from last night. A group of four boys were gathered around watching a video on someone’s phone. They had the speakers cranked up so high that even she could hear the KMNY radio promo.

“And once again, K-Money comes through for Halloween! We’ve got the creepiest bands at the creepiest mansion on the creepiest night of the year. You’re gonna stain your shorts when you see what Diana Dahmer has in store for you! To win these exclusive tickets you just need to—”

“Mister Donovan!” a shout came from across the quad. Sister Switzler did not even have to move away from her office to make her displeasure known. The boy in question shoved the illicit phone back in his pocket and tried to act like he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Then, she crooked a finger at him.

No one, but no one, ignored that finger.

Francesca leaned in to whisper, “Those eyebrows alone scare me.”

Yes, Cecilia had to agree. Sister Switzler did look like Mike Myers in drag as a Russian weight lifter. Only Mike Myers would look way more girly.

Finally, the boy lowered his head in acceptance and started the trek over to the vice principal’s office. They all made a clear path for him, not wanting the “Finger of Switzler” to beckon them as well.

“Darn it,” Helen sighed as they put as much distance between Mister Donovan and them as they could. “I really wanted to find out how to win those concert tickets.”

“What?” Cecilia asked. “Why? You hate that music as much as I do.”

“Um, hello? Look at those guys over there.” Helen indicated three boys sitting along the far railing. “Why else would I want to go?”

Even Francesca nodded. “They
are
hot.”

“Ah, from those bleached tips to their pointy goatees, they are smokin’ hot.”

Cecilia, though, did not see the attraction. The boys in question were a fairly skinny and pale lot. Apparently, looking sickly was a goth code. And given that they went to a Catholic school, it made it a little hard to really go full-on death black, but somehow they tried to make up for it with hair products and eyeliner. One even had a folder with Diana Dahmer doing something unsavory to a sheep.

“You guys do realize that they have goatees because they don’t have enough testosterone to grow full beards yet?” Her friends ignored Cecilia. “And even at that, they still have to use eyebrow pencils to fill in their mustaches.”

Helen elbowed her in the side. “Shh! If we can do a little touch-up work, why can’t they?”

“And the folder?” Cecilia asked, incredulous that her friends would swoon over such cretins.

“Oh, look how lucky we are…” Francesca said as she pointed to the other end of the quad. A group of five jocks strode across the lawn as if they were gladiators returning in victory. Even though it was like, seventy-eight degrees, they each had on their letterman jackets. The boys were so covered in huge varsity letters that they were nearly stacked upon one another.

The tallest and broadest of shoulder, John, led the group. Cecilia picked up the pace. He was possibly the only person she wanted to hang out with less than the goth boys.

“Hey, wait up!” the jock called out, but Cecilia struck for Building D’s large double doors. She really did
not
want to have to talk with him. All the speculation during their junior year was that he and Cecilia would be crowned King and Queen of the prom this year. Even she had gotten wrapped up in what others called the “dream team.”

Had it only been a year since the prom was the focus of her life? When after school was filled with booster club and cheerleading? It seemed like an entirely different life.

Today after school, all she had to look forward to was the state of disarray her mother was in, and whether or not they had any food in the refrigerator. That and dishes, and, of course, laundry. If they had enough money to buy detergent, that is.

Crap
, she thought. She’d forgotten to check the bank account online before she left for school to see if her mom’s disability check had cleared. If it hadn’t… well, it would be frozen burritos again.

The jock took a swing at Michael, but the goth boy seemed surprisingly prepared for that. Actually, it seemed that he had goaded John into the motion as he ducked under the punch and ended up next to the door. Before anyone could respond, Michael opened the door with a flourish, and bowed.

“Ladies first.”

As John stammered behind them, Cecilia couldn’t help but grin.

Okay, so maybe Michael
was
pretty cute.

* * *

Paxton rushed into the video arcade. Given that it was in the middle of a school day, the place was pretty quiet. Only one machine in the back dinged and whistled. He shook his head as he made his way to the sound.

Sure enough, he found a slight, dark-haired boy playing like his life depended on it. How he had hoped it wasn’t his nephew, but the Lady of Sorrows uniform pretty much confirmed that it was.

“Jeremy,” Paxton said, “I thought we had an agreement about truancy.”

The boy kept playing. “Oh, man! I paid the clerk five bucks not to narc on me!”

“Well, he didn’t. It was the convenience store owner across the street who called me, but thanks for letting me know about the clerk.” Paxton looked over his shoulder at the pimply twentysomething guy at the counter. He made the “eyes on you” gesture, as the guy slunk back to the front desk. Paxton would have a nice talking-to with him later. For now, he needed to get Jeremy back to school.

“All right, that’s it,” Paxton said.

“Oh, come on, Uncle Pax! Let me at least finish this game.”

Without warning, Paxton jiggled the joystick, causing the on-screen player to hurl himself off a mountain. “Time for you to play another game that I like to call ‘college preparation.’ ”

Jeremy, though, flew back in a rage.

“Is everyone working on remote? Does everyone have a collective stick up their butts?” Jeremy’s tone dropped, as if he were reciting the words of another. “Death is never far, and we must seize the moment!”

“No, hog-tying you and throwing you in a truck with a gag in your mouth would be kidnapping. This? This is saving you from juvie.” Paxton pointed to the door. “Now, get in the car.”

Jeremy walked, sullen and slow, but walked out of the arcade. Once they were in the car, Paxton went to turn the key, but stopped. His nephew deserved more than this.

The teen was not placated, though. “Fine. How about something in your control? How about getting Mom’s head out of the bottle? Why are interventions only for celebrities?”