Thursday, October 31, 2020
Leo's POV
I woke to the scent of cinnamon and the low rustle of movement in the house — not the usual early clatter of Carlos scrambling for cereal or Ray's footsteps on the stairs, but something softer. Reverent.
By the time I made it into the living room, mom had already arrived. She was kneeling in front of the long hallway table, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, a box of candles open beside her. Framed photographs leaned against the wall: Rose smiling, a man I recognized as Ray's father, and one black-and-white photo of our grandparents — all gentle eyes and vintage fashion.
Ray stood beside her, hands deep in a bag of marigolds, pulling them out like sunshine. They didn't say much. They didn't need to.
I slipped into the quiet. No one looked surprised to see me. Mom smiled, handed me a small bundle of flowers. I took them, fingers brushing against hers, and knelt beside the growing ofrenda.
There was a cup of black coffee already resting beneath Rose's photo. I added a single dahlia beside it, orange-red petals curling like flame, just like the ones she used to braid into Julie's hair. My fingers lingered on the stem a moment longer than necessary. Then I reached for one of the votive candles, carefully placing it between the frame and the coffee.
Behind me, I heard a creak.
Julie stood in the hallway, her silhouette caught between the golden light of morning and the shadows of the house. She didn't move closer, just watched — arms wrapped around herself, eyes soft and far away.
I caught her gaze and offered the smallest smile. She didn't return it, but she didn't look away either.
The flame I lit caught easily. Quiet, steady. We let it burn.
The kitchen was already warm by midmorning, filled with the smells of yeast and orange zest. I had slipped in my implant before entering the kitchen, the quiet hum of sound returning like a soft blanket. Mom had her hair tied up in a scarf, her "don't even think about helping me" look firmly in place. She was elbow-deep in dough, and the cutting board beside her held neat rows of Huesos de santo.
"Out," she said without even turning around.
I held up my hands in surrender. "Just grabbing tea."
She grunted — which I took as permission — and I ducked over to the counter, boiling water already half-ready in the kettle. The warmth and the rhythm of her baking felt like something sacred. Something in between joy and grief.
Julie sat at the small breakfast table, her knees pulled up to her chest, one of her mom's old music notebooks open in front of her. Her fingers traced the edge of the paper, not turning pages.
I poured two mugs of tea, setting one beside her with a clink. She glanced up and gave a tiny nod of thanks.
"You okay?" I asked, sliding into the seat across from her.
She shrugged. "I don't want to dress up this year."
I nodded. "You don't have to."
Her shoulders eased a little. She flipped a page. "I just… I thought I would. For Carlos. For Mom. But I can't."
"You don't have to be okay for anyone else," I said, voice low. "Not today."
Julie didn't answer, but she reached for the mug and took a sip, holding it like she needed the warmth more than the tea.
Somewhere down the hall, mom yelled, "Leo! Don't forget you promised to take the baseball gremlins trick-or-treating tonight!"
I groaned. Julie huffed a laugh into her mug.
"I was hoping she'd forget."
Julie smiled — just a little — and that made it worth it.
"You'll survive," she said.
"Barely."
We sit there in comfortable quiet for a while, surrounded by sugar and music notes and memory.
The silence is broken by both our phones vibrating. Flynn sends a selfie to our group chat; she's in a dramatic witch costume with a big hat, sparkly eyeliner, and an aggressively glittery broom. The caption underneath reads:
No. 1 Double Trouble:✨Chaotic Witch Energy Activated✨ see you two at the lunch parade.
I smile down at my screen and type back:
No. 1 fan:That hat's going to summon something. Probably Principal Lessa.
Julie chuckles and types with one hand while still holding her tea:
No. 2 Double Trouble:You win best costume. But I'm just watching the parade this year. No dressing up.
No. 1 fan: Still counts if you bring vibes
No. 1 Double Trouble:Vibes confirmed. I'll save you seats. You two can be my ghostly backup dancers.
Julie snorts, and I glance at her. She looks tired, but lighter. Her shoulders have relaxed.
She nudges her phone toward me. "You think anyone else is dressing up? Like Zay? He's probably got something weirdly creative."
"Dylan might," I say. "He'll probably DJ in full vampire get-up just because it's Thursday."
We both laugh softly and set our phones down, the quiet returning — but softer now.
Julie and I arrived at school to find it buzzing with costumes; witches and werewolves, skeletons and superheroes. Half the student body was dressed up, and the other half looked deeply annoyed by that fact. Streamers and paper bats dangled from the ceiling, and someone had wrapped the main staircase in fake cobwebs.
Over the loudspeakers, Principal Lessa's voice crackled to life. "Students, please remember that our Halloween costume parade will be held during lunch on the quad. Participation is optional... but encouraged!"
I heard a few cheers echo down the hall. Julie and I exchanged a look. She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands.
We parted ways to make it to the day's first classes.
At lunch, the quad has been transformed — folding chairs are set up in loose rows around a makeshift 'runway' of caution tape, orange streamers, and hay bales. A speaker system pops and crackles as Flynn takes the mic to introduce the Halloween costume parade.
She struts out first to a wave of applause, spinning her glittery broom with dramatic flair. "Welcome to the Annual Los Feliz Fright Fest Parade — where the capes are long, the vibes are chaotic, and the candy is questionably sourced!"
The crowd laughs. Julie and I stand off to the side with her, half in the shade, half in the noise. She keeps her hood up, sipping an iced tea. I lean against the bike rack.
Students parade past in costumes ranging from clever (a student dressed as a broken Zoom call) to chaotic (someone entirely wrapped in caution tape), to confusing (an interpretive 'existential dread' with blinking LED lights and a sign that reads "BOO - It Me").
Flynn cheers for every single one. Julie claps for the band kids when they come out in matching monster onesies. I take a few photos for my sketchbook.
Then Zay appears dressed in a charcoal-gray suit with subtle pinstripes and a crisp white shirt. He wears a carefully styled mustache and a deep red pocket square. There's black makeup delicately smudged beneath his eyes, just enough to suggest something ghostly. In one hand, he carries a miniature cello; in the other, a small sign that reads: "Leo Stern (1862–1904): Still playing from beyond. Queen Victoria approved."
Flynn bursts out laughing. "Iconic!"
Julie claps louder, grinning. "Zay wins. Shut it down."
I lift my phone for a photo.
Flynn finally circles back to us. "Ten out of ten audience participation. Y'all make a great spooky wallflower duo. Though, sorry Leo — you're not the most impressive Leo costume here today."
Julie snorts. "We're committed to the bit."
I shake my head with a soft smile. "I'm okay with that."
"Respect," Flynn says, and tosses us each a mini candy bar like she's blessing us with chocolate.
In art class, I pull out my portfolio and begin laying the pieces across my table.
Ms. Navarro drifts over, her eyes scanning the unfolding narrative of images. Her expression softens as she takes them in, one by one.
First comes the thistle I drew in early September: all fine lines and gentle shading, protective spines carefully traced in graphite. I'd told her once that it reminded me of my family. Then there's the dreamscape coastline: layered with textured paint and sand grit, drawn from a trip I only half-remember. It hums with music I couldn't hear back then, but could still feel.
Next are the Spirit Rally sketches: Julie at the piano, the ghost boys mid-performance, the stage lit in shadows and light, in coal, plum, and joy. Reggie's grin had taken two tries. I needed to capture the way he looked like he remembered how to shine.
After that, the Soundlight series: wild, abstract, all motion and feeling. Curves and watercolor bursts are layered with fine penwork. Julie's music had sparked them, but the emotion behind the colors feels like something more now. Something unnamed, but familiar.
And finally, the first piece: Echoes. A cave mouth painted in oils, with shimmer dust pressed into the shadows. It's still. Quiet. A memory that came before all the others.
Ms. Navarro is quiet for a beat. Then she smiles.
"These are strong," she says, her voice thoughtful. "You're heading in a really good direction — this all highlights who you are as an artist." She taps a finger gently against the edge of the page. "You've still got time before the final deadline. Think about how you want to shape the arc. Maybe try something different for the last piece? A sculpture, perhaps?"
I nod; it gives me something to think about.
After school, I headed home, changed into my costume, and pulled together the final touches. White and gray face paint, my messiest smock, and a little patience while Carlos sprayed temporary silver into my hair. He called me a 'ghost painter' and insisted I had to say I was haunted by unfinished art.
Together we walked to the street where his team had agreed to meet. Marco and Dani were already there, grinning under plastic vampire fangs and bright face paint. Marco had a huge plastic sword strapped across his back, and Dani wore a lopsided cowboy hat and carried a glittery trick-or-treat bucket shaped like a pumpkin.
Carlos lit up when he saw them. "Guys! Leo actually dressed up!"
Marco gave me a thumbs-up. "Respect. That smock has seen things."
Dani nodded solemnly. "It's giving cursed energy. We love it."
"Thanks," I said with a laugh, brushing paint-speckled fingers down the front of the smock. "It's actually just what I use for bigger paintings. I didn't really plan a costume, just grabbed what was the most used."
Marco grinned. "Well, it works. You look like some haunted artist straight out of a movie."
I looked them over in turn. "And you guys look awesome. Let me guess — Carlos is a superhero version of himself, Marco's obviously a vampire swordsman, and Dani… I'm getting ghost cowboy who moonlights as a pumpkin thief?"
Dani gave an exaggerated bow. "A very niche genre, but you nailed it."
Carlos puffed out his chest. "I'm Galactic Slugman, thank you very much. Defender of the candy galaxy."
I nodded seriously. "My apologies, Slugman. I stand corrected."
We joined the group as they gathered in a noisy clump, parents handing out flashlights and reminders to say thank you. The sun dipped behind the rooftops just as we started our route, and the streetlights blinked on like stage lights ready for a show.
We hit every house on the block. Kids shouted and sprinted, tripping over each other's capes and candy bags. The air smelled like caramel apples and rubber masks. Parents stood at the edge of driveways chatting with thermoses in hand. Carlos was in his element, bouncing from porch to porch like he was powered by pixie sticks and adrenaline. Every time he spotted a house giving out full-sized bars, he shouted like he'd won the lottery.
There were knocks, doorbells, choruses of "trick-or-treat," and more than a few near-misses with someone's inflatable ghost collapsing sideways. A little girl dressed as a glittery bat complimented my face paint. One of the boys declared my smock "kind of gross but cool." I just nodded solemnly and said it was cursed.
I smiled the whole time, even when my feet ached and someone stepped on my shoe for the third time. My arms were sore from carrying an extra pumpkin bucket that Carlos insisted he needed "just in case." It felt good to be part of the noise.
Every glowing jack-o'-lantern flickered like a small memory. Every warm porch light felt like an invitation, as if Rose was somewhere close, following along the sidewalk, smiling at the chaos.
After dropping Carlos off with Ray — who looked vaguely overwhelmed as the swarm descended into the house — I headed to the community center, still in my makeshift costume, silver hair and all.
The building glowed from the inside out. Marigolds lined every windowsill, flickering against papel picado strung across the ceiling in orange, yellow, and deep purple. Altars stood tall in the main room, each one lovingly decorated with candles, photos, pan de muerto, and sugar skulls. Music played softly in the background, an old guitar tune I half-recognized from Rose's playlist.
I spotted Mom near the entrance, adjusting a string of lights and laughing with one of the volunteers. Her laugh felt like a memory wrapped in the present.
There was a table set up near the back with blank sheets of paper, pens, and markers. A handwritten sign read Calaveras literarias — little poems to honor the dead with humor and heart. Some were already pinned to a nearby corkboard, their ink looping with jokes about lost socks and sweet tooths in heaven.
I helped set out paper plates and napkins, nodding at familiar faces from the center and offering quiet smiles. After a moment's hesitation, I picked up two sheets.
The first poem I wrote is for Mom — short, a little crooked, but honest. It talks about dance shoes, stubbornness, and how she always finds a way to keep us all moving. I fold it and quietly slip it into her bag while she's talking to someone else, my hands careful not to crinkle the edges.
The second, I keep — a thank you, written in quiet lines, for the boys who brought music back to Julie. I don't name them. I don't need to. I just say what matters: that her voice sounds full again, like the sun through the window. That I don't know how or why, but I'm grateful. I fold it with care and tuck it into my pocket.
Willow waves to me from the far side of the room, arranging votive candles along the edge of her table. Zay is helping a younger kid write a poem about a dog that once ate all his Halloween candy. Dylan passes behind me with a stack of clean plates, winks, and sign, "Hope you got bars in that poem, Leo."
Eileen walks with Sam a moment later, nodding with quiet approval as she checks over the altars. I smile and return to my corner.
I pull out a small square of thick paper and paint. As the brush moves, I remember Rose leaning over my shoulder when I was a kid — maybe eight, maybe younger — while I tried to copy a landscape from one of her books. I'd messed up the tree line, got frustrated, and tried to start over. But she'd stopped me.
"It's okay if it's messy," she'd said, her hand warm on my back. "Life is messy. Art's just honest about it."
I didn't get it then. But I hold onto it.
So I let the paint spill a little. A swirl of oranges and pinks, streaked with flickering blue and gold.
While I was out with Carlos, my phone had buzzed with a message from Julie that I hadn't seen before.
Julie: Thanks for being there today. All of it.
It was simple, and she didn't need to say more. I stared at it for a moment, before just pressing the heart.
By the time I got home, the streets were quiet. Candy wrappers littered the sidewalks like confetti. Julie's bedroom light glowed behind her curtain. The rest of the house was dark, still, as if exhaling.
I paused in front of the ofrendas one more time before heading to the garage. The candles still burned low, dancing in the quiet. Rose's photo caught the flicker, her smile seeming brighter than it had that morning. I whispered a quiet "goodnight" and pressed my fingers gently to the table's edge.
In the garage, I shrugged out of the smock and set my sketchbook and the Calaveras literarias for the band on the coffee table by the couch. I centered it beside the ghost journal Reggie gave me, just in case they came looking.
The smell of sugar and wax clung to my clothes, warm and sweet. I flipped to a blank page and picked up my brush.
Marigolds. A single dahlia. A soft halo of light around them.
When I finally curled up on the pull-out couch, there was only the warm glow of the garden lights outside, and that was enough to sleep.