It's pumpkin spice everything –lattes, candles, air fresheners –you name it and none of it is nice. It's like fall makes everyone think they wanna be better people. Like fall brings out the best in them. Lies. Every single senior is a pumpkin spice liar. The whole school maybe, but I prefer to reserve judgment on the lower classmen. They don't know any better.

I suffer through my first three periods: Calculus, American LIT, and World History. Then I meet Alex for lunch. We sit at our usual table in the back. It's safe there. Unless you count the looming stench from the trash cans. But, hey.

"Pumpkin grams out yet?" Alex asks, spooning his cookie-dirt-graveyard pudding.

"Ugh, yes. Started at lunch."

"She says in disgust," Alex jokes.

"Ha-Ha."

Oh, pumpkin grams. Ridiculously overpriced pieces of orange cardboard with secret messages on them. Send them to your boy toy or hottie or just any person you don't know like an absolute creep. 'Tis the spirit to be a stalker, after all.

If pumpkins aren't your thing, you can opt for the black bat lollipops. Not kidding. They stain your teeth for 24 hours, so really they're great for enemies.

"I gotta go. Duty calls." Alex pulls his backpack over his shoulder.

"Ok. Meet you after seventh in the lounge?" I ask, standing. "You can't abandon me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

We dump our trays in the trash and join the stream of students emptying into the hallway. I toss my books in my locker and see three more volunteer sign-up sheets taped to the outside. Ugh. I rip them off.

I suffer through my last three classes. I don't mind seventh period so much, at least I can stare (*ogle, obsess, drool*) at Owen. Well, diagonally, and at the right side of the back of his head. But I'll take what I can get.

The bell rings and at least 30 seconds pass before I realize I'm still staring at his head, pencil stuck in my lip. I jump from my desk, drop my phone, and curse myself before running to the door. I almost think I see Owen's lips curl. Almost. Then I realize in approximately zero realities would that happen.

The first-floor lounge is covered and I mean SWALLOWED in cobwebs and I walk headfirst into hanging plastic spiders. The freshman dance team is decorating fliers on the tables and half the junior lax team is shirtless, which tbh is reason #1 why I hang around outside the boys' locker room.

The media center smells again. Like dusty film reels and old gym socks with a little bit of food. A giant bowl of pinecone potpourri stands on the bookshelf near the door. I let my bag slide from my shoulder and sink into the leather chair.

The freshy volunteers are already at work on the banners for Patch Fest. I check off their names on my sign-in sheet. I have to report it back to the SAC (Student Activity Center) so they get their credit for student council service hours. Because no one does anything out of the goodness of their heart anymore.

Myself included. Obvi.

People trickle in over the next ten minutes. I stare at the clock on my phone screen. 2:44 PM. I can't believe I'm here until 5. Absolute torture when a marathon of all the Halloweentowns is on the flix right now.

"I'm here. I'm ready. Put me to work, master." Alex slides into the seat next to me.

"Finally," I exhale, happy to have someone to talk to.

"Catch." He tosses me a snack bag of candy corn. My guilty pleasure.

"Thank you. You can check my group lists," I say, handing him my notepad, opened to a page littered with names.

"Groups?" He asks, eyeing the page. "Ah, activity groups. 'Kay."

The door opens and I can almost feel my skin recoil. The Bitchy Witches are here, in the flesh. Nightmares really do come true.

"Hi, um–" I start.

"Ooo, the list!" Clarisa shouts, grabbing the notepad from Alex like he's not even there -like he wasn't just holding it. Literally, not convinced she can see other people unless it's her own reflection.

"Oh no, no." Monica winces over Clarisa's shoulder.

Breathe.

"What?" I pretend to care.

"Oh, it's just. Well, I always do the cider stand. It's practically made for me." Monica fake smiles.

"Always?" Hmm. "Didn't you not volunteer last year? Or the year before?"

Alex chuckles beside me but quickly buries it beneath a cough.

"Okay, well, technically no. I didn't." She flips her hair and I actually lose brain cells. "BUT last year was my whole zero-calorie phase. I didn't have a ton of energy or like any at all actually. It was a pretty dark time."

"A year-long phase?" I ask.

"Well, anyway," she says, ignoring me. "So like, I can't help but notice I'm in the hay maze group. And I'd just love to like not be in that group. Dirt and straw and like, hay. Ya know?"

"No?"

"Like, who even are these other people? Olivia? Liam? Alex?" Clarisa asks, her eyes scanning down the group list.

"I –would be –Alex," Alex coughs.

I laugh inside. Really on the outside too.

"Oh yea. I mean, I love that for you," Monica says, sipping her latte. Was she even holding it a second ago? "So good for you. But for me, I really think I –we –would be better suited for the cider stand."

"Agreed," Clarisa says. "We already coordinated our autumn outfits. Would be just like, ugh, tragic to let them go to waste."

"Tragedy is real." I shrug.

"Oh and can you add Carter? He couldn't make it today, but we will def make it to Patch Fest," Monica says. Clarisa nods.

"Umm." I sigh.

"So–" Monica and Clarisa say together, staring at me.

"So," I chew on the word. I want, need, these girls out of my face. "I'll just put myself on the flavor team, I guess–"

"I love that for you. So perfect!" Monica mini claps.

I scribble on the pad. Alex huffs and puffs beside me.

The door flies open again and I'm in NO mood to mess with more annoying Boo Brigade volunteers.

"I'm here to sign up?" Someone asks, unsure.

My 10 year-old inner self perks up. I'd know that voice anywhere.

"Um," I mumble, staring at the paper, suddenly V aware of how much candy corn is in my mouth. "Actually, the lists are kind of closed."

"Shame," Owen says. His gym shorts hang low on his perfect hips.

His eyes meet mine and I look away and clear my throat.

"Good thing I have this then. Special instructions from Ms. Fink." Owen hands me a piece of orange paper.

Written instruction from the faculty head of student council, instructing the Spooktober head, aka ME, to let Owen sign up for volunteer hours.

"Need the credit or I can't play in the next game." Owen shrugs, smiling.

Ugh. The gold is blinding me.

"You can join the Cider Stand with us!" Monica says, smiling over-the-top.

Bitch, your smile is silver at best. She runs her hand down Owen's left arm.

"Actually, it's three people tops. And you just added Carter." Alex says. "Tough break."

Praise be, Alex.

"We can switch," Clarisa snaps.

"Oh no. Sorry, no switch-backs," Alex says.

"I'm not picky, really," Owen says.

"I guess you can work the pumpkin patch," I mumble.

"Heavy lifting?" Owen teases. "Think I can manage."

"Actually," Alex says, snatching the pad from my hand. "You're alone on the flavor team now. Owen, why don't you join Amber?"

"We would love the flavor team," Monica says, flipping her dumb blonde hair behind her shoulder.

"Just love it!" Clarisa echoes.

"No, uh-uh. I don't love that for you, sorry." I shrug, mimicking her high-pitched voice.

"Well, I'm sold," Owen says, smiling at me. "When do we start?"

"Um, first flavors are tomorrow. Um, at the um, farm after school." I sidestep myself. Apparently I've been talking to the Bitchy Witches too long.

"Great, I'll meet you there. 4 o'clock OK?" Owen asks.

"It's –uh –great. Yea. 4 o'clock." I nod.

Owen turns and walks right past the BWs. Monica and Clarisa fume, crossing their arms and scowling so hard it looks like they might pop a blood vessel. Here's hoping. I'll be sure to send them a pumpkin gram for recompense. Bat lolli, of course.

Alex and I bike home at dusk. We pedal the leaf-covered street back to our neighborhood. I curse him for his conniving schemes.

"Pa-lease. It's not happening. He's like a dream and a half." I roll my eyes.

"And what are you?" Alex shakes his head.

"Uh, I'm a nightmare –on my best day."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Amber Kim." Alex tries to run my bike off-course.

"Hey!" I elbow him back, jumping the curb. "I don't deserve credit."

"Oh stop. You want to be all angsty and gory and anti-RGH, but I see right through you." Alex jokes.

"Oh?" I arch my brow.

"You may have the dark vibes going on, but you're also like hot," Alex laughs at the word. "Certifiably hot. Owen didn't seem too torn up about flavor teaming you." Alex shrugs.

"Ugh. Who are you? Never say flavor teaming again." I pretend to vomit.

"Oh but I love it. I love it for you." Alex sounds like Monica.

"Ok, now I might actually be sick."

"You can thank me tomorrow. After you've had a solid 3-hour one-on-one sesh with Golden Boy."