WHEN HALLOWEEN SNUCK UP ON me, two weeks later, I was completely unprepared.

      "Please, please tell me that is not what we're wearing."

      "Haven't you heard?" Skylar tossed me a wicked grin—and an unappealing jumpsuit. "Orange is the new black."

      "I'm not wearing that to your party. Absolutely not."

      "Don't be difficult! It starts in fifteen minutes. Everyone is going to be here soon."

      "I am so not dressing up in a prison costume!"

       Skylar's grin turned as sharp as a wolf's. "Who says it's a costume?"

       "Why did you say it like that?"

       "Like what?"

       "Like . . . in a really suspicious way."

       "I don't know what you're talking about."

       "You just did it again! You said it all suspiciously."

       Skylar flashed me a smirk through the mirror on her dresser. She was already wearing the orange jumpsuit, her pink-and-violet hair tied up into a high ponytail. Somehow, it made her look both sexy and dangerous.

       Or maybe she was sexy because she looked dangerous?

       I was starting to wonder if I had a skewed sense of attraction.

       "Put it on," Skylar ordered. 

       I looked down at the orange material clutched in both my hands. Was this a real prison jumpsuit? I wouldn't put it past Skylar.

       "Come on," she said pleadingly. "Ever since you started dating Aaron, you've been so boring." 

       "But—"

       "Tick-tock," she said, tapping an imaginary watch.

       "Fine," I groused. "Fine." 

       And, ten minutes later, when the guests started arriving, I was downstairs with Skylar—dressed in a prisoner costume.

       "I just don't think orange is my colour," I was arguing as I opened the door, letting in a stream of people.

       "Yes it is," Skylar hissed, before smiling at a senior whose name I didn't know. When he walked into the kitchen, all testosterone and muscular shoulders, she continued, "You have the kind of tan skin colour that makes you look good in all colours. I, on the other hand, look washed-out in all shades of blue and green."

       "That's a lie and you know it. Remember when you had blue hair in ninth grade? You pulled that off so good."

       "Oh! I forgot about that. I guess I am perfect."

       I laughed at that, and the doorbell rang again. This time, it was Lila Bard.

       She was wearing a sheer, gauzy violet dress, with petals curling out around her thighs. The pastel colour was bright against her deep brown skin—she looked ethereal, with her flowers braided into her hair and crystalline wings fluttering at her back.

      "Lila," Skylar said, a little breathlessly. "You came."

      Lila didn't say anything—she just pulled Skylar in for a long, deep kiss.

      "Did you manage to bully Cody and Aaron into wearing prison jumpsuits, too?" I asked, once they pulled apart for air.

       In the driveway, Aaron's silver Mercedes parked. I saw a flash of his shadow in the driver's seat, but he hadn't noticed me yet.

       For a second, I was afraid of what I knew I was going to do. But I didn't have time to overthink it.

      Not as Cody materialized in front of me, grinning like a cat. "Talia!"

      "You're wearing . . . what the fuck are you wearing?"

      "I'm a drag queen," Cody said, gesturing to his face. The lipstick, the eyeliner. He was wearing a tight black leather corset that matched his hair, with straps crisscrossing his thighs.

       I didn't have any words. I really, truly didn't.

       And then Aaron got out of the car, and if I was speechless before, I'd transitioned into having a stroke.

       He was wearing drag, too. He wore deep red lipstick that contrasted brilliantly against his chestnut curls, and his hazel eyes were rimmed in gold eyeliner. 

       He was wearing . . . he was wearing . . .

       It was something like what Tom Holland had worn in his dance battle of Umbrella. A shiny leather black corset, a little skirt fringing at his hips, and fishnet leggings.

       "What's up?" he said, pecking a kiss on my cheek once he reached the door.

       "You . . . you're . . ."

       "Isn't it brilliant?" Skylar said.

       "Yes!" The hair and the lipstick and the eyeliner . . . it was perfect. "Oh, my God. You guys. I didn't think I'd ever be this surprised in my life."

       "An old man on the sidewalk asked me if I was a gay," Aaron said, laughing, and it seemed like it didn't bother him in the slightest. 

       As though he was secure enough in his own masculinity that the opinions of old homophobic men didn't matter.

       "How'd your dad take it?" I asked. I knew he was lenient, but drag was also a whole other level.

       "He just laughed. Told me to have fun."

       I had to admit, him and Cody were definitely attractive. Even in drag, completed with make-up and corsets, they still radiated confidence.

       "Well, come on! Get on in there!" Skylar handed Aaron and Cody a red Solo cup each. "Have fun."

       Lila was still behind Skylar, pressing kisses to her neck. For a moment, something twinged in my chest.

      Jealousy?

      Not of Skylar, but . . . of them, maybe. Just that Skylar was so authentic to herself, always. That she liked who she liked, no apologies.

      That her parents didn't care. Didn't mind that she was into girls.

       "Do your parents know you're having this party?" I asked suddenly.

       "Nope," Skylar said easily. "But they won't be home for another three weeks or so. Road trip to Missoula, I think."

       She didn't add what she knew I was thinking—that it was to a hippie convention, and they'd be stoned the whole time.

       I wondered if they ever called.

       And . . . I had to think about it. If I had the chance to switch, to have her parents instead . . . would I want them? Parents who didn't care that I was gay, who didn't care at all?

      "Come on, babe," Aaron said, pulling me in.

      "Oh, gross. That's the second time you've called me babe." 

      "I thought it'd be sweet!"

      I made a face at him. "Get the fuck out."

      Skylar shoved me lightly. "Go on, Talia. Go have fun. I'll take door duty, just go socialize."

      "See you later?" I kissed her before following Aaron deeper into the house.

      "Oh, don't you doubt it."

      Before I could remark just how suspicious that sounded, Aaron had already dragged me into the kitchen. There was a selection of vodka and tequila on the table—shots laid out in even rows.

       "Who's going to go first?" one of the seniors was saying. 

       "Shots, shots, shots!"

       Considering this was Skylar's party, and she'd told everyone to come dressed up or not at all, I noticed the costumes all throughout the room.

       Someone was wearing a Bugs Bunny outfit. Another person was wearing the classic vampire, all long black gown and bloody fangs. I even saw a couple of Purge masks.

       "You look really good," Aaron said shyly.

       Skylar had done my makeup and hair. With dark eyeliner and lip gloss, I figured I looked like a tough, criminal badass.

       I kind of liked it.

       "Thanks," I told Aaron. "And I can't get over the fact that you're wearing—well, that."

       "Why? Is it embarrassing?" he teased.

       "No! It's just surprising, that's all. I had no idea you . . ."

       I never got to finish. The senior boy was asking for shots again, making a round, and no one had volunteered to be first yet.

       Suddenly, I thought of Monroe. Hadn't Skylar said one of the legends about her had been taking forty-two shots in a minute?

       "I'll do it," I said, over the roar of the music and the cheering.

       Aaron's arm tightened protectively over my waist. "Talia, what—"

       "I'll go first!" I said, louder. 

       I had the senior boy's attention now. I had the sudden idea that his name was Greg, though I wasn't sure why.

       He had a handsome face. I think he was dressed as Kermit the Frog.

      Getting drunk suddenly seemed like a good idea.

      A fantastic fucking idea.

      I had to tell Aaron . . . I had to tell him . . .

      No. What I was going to say, I couldn't handle sober.

      "Shots! Shots! Shots!" crowed another senior. I didn't think they cared who took the first round, not even if I was still sixteen.

      Not that it mattered. We were all underage here.

      "Tals, seriously, what—"

      "Live a little, Aaron," I said in a singsong voice, pressing one finger to his lips.

      In hindsight, I should have spent those last few minutes sober asking him where Monroe was.

      But then the senior was grabbing my arm and the faces of the crowd, pressing in from all sides of the kitchen, whirled around me. I had been whisked towards the dining table, away from Aaron.

      A line of shots awaited.

      "How many are there?" I asked. "I want to do forty-three."

      "Forty-three?" said a girl in an M&M costume. She just laughed, as if there was no way I could be serious. 

      I stood a little taller. Most of the kids in the room were older, thanks to Skylar's connections, and a few of them I even recognized from the local college.

      Before I could speak, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

      What time are we gonna have the Scary Movie marathon tonight?

      It was Claudia, and something in me tensed. 

     Our Halloween marathon. Where Claudia and I picked a movie series, just so we could laugh at stupid characters and throw popcorn at the screen.

      I'd forgotten. I had . . . actually forgotten.

      After saying goodbye to Claudia at school this morning—she'd been wearing a hot dog costume—I hadn't thought about what I'd do tonight, besides what Skylar had planned.

      This party—it was all my friends could talk about.

      But it wasn't so much the party that had interested me. It was knowing what I had spent a month gathering up the courage for.

      I was going to tell Aaron that I liked girls.

      That I thought I was bisexual.

      I didn't know how he'd take it. If he'd say something stupid about threesomes. Or feel differently about me. Or hate me.

      Maybe all of those.

      As if he'd known I was thinking about him, I saw Aaron's broad shoulders shoving people out of the way. He must have been a foot taller than most of the crowd.

     He was barreling right towards me.

     It was an odd thing to notice, but right in his direction, I saw a tall, pale purple vase with fading flowers. It looked old and expensive.

     In this crowded space, with people knocking into each other, my last sober thought was, I hope no one breaks that.

      "Start the countdown," I told a girl in a Natasha Romanoff costume. "One minute."

      I had definitely been out of mind, thinking I could do forty-three shots in that time, or at all.

      Aaron was halfway through the crowd when I started.

      I picked up the first shot, with liquid clear as water, and eyed it suspiciously. If this didn't end well, I'd probably have to get my stomach pumped.

     But Monroe's dark gaze flashed before my eyes. And as if she was right in front of me, daring me with that dangerous smirk, I took the first shot.

     It burned.

     And burned. 

     I didn't think anything had ever sufficiently prepared me for tequila. The fire in my throat was as if I'd scraped it raw with a fork.

     "Holy . . . fuck,"  I sputtered, tears in my eyes.

     It tasted like nail polish remover. Or gasoline. Not that I was really an expert on alcohol.

     "Keep going!" someone in a Batman mask urged. 

     It took me a second to realize it: All eyes were on me. 

     For a moment, everything was silent. My heart leaped in my throat—and then the seniors cheered wildly, as if drinking shots was the equivalent to eliminating world hunger or something.

      Good enough for me, I thought, picking up the second shot.

      Fifteen seconds had already passed. And somehow, Monroe had done this forty-two times all in one minute?

      She was more of a legend than I'd given her credit for.

      The second one, if it was possible, hurt even more as it went down. I coughed and gasped, but I was going for the third when I felt Aaron's hand on my shoulder.

      "This isn't such a good idea," he said in a low, worried voice.

      "These are just itty bitty glasses," I told him, swallowing the third. My face felt so red it might have been possible to roast something. "No harm in that."

      "You're starting to get drunk."

      I poked his chest. "No, cowboy. That takes like fifteen minutes. This is just my lovely, wonderful personality."

      I tried the fourth shot, but something about that searing, white-hot agony down my throat made it impossible. I spluttered into my arm, trying to breathe in through my nose.

      Of course, Skylar and I had snuck a beer last year at my dad's barbecue. And I'd had champagne on my birthday, along with some stolen wine from Mr. Andersen's cabinet. But that was nothing compared to this.

      Nobody had ever told me alcohol was so fucking disgusting.

      If there hadn't been a crowd, I might have backed away and admitted defeat. But suddenly, every single person in the goddamn room all had Monroe's green eyes, Monroe's wicked smile. It was just her—a sea of Monroes, all of them staring at me, urging me on. 

      How could I resist?

      Aaron had probably been right. I was drunk.

      But I swallowed my bile, and I took the fourth shot like a champion.

      The sixty seconds had already passed, but I didn't think anyone—least of all me—noticed.

      After that, the most I could manage was one more shot. 

      Five appeared to be my limit.

      It was still good enough for all the college kids. And the seniors. And my classmates.

      In fact, they cheered so loudly I might as well have been at a Taylor Swift concert.

      It made me feel like I was on top of the fucking world.

      I swayed in Aaron's arms. "Wanna hear something crazy?"

      I should have gone home. I should have bundled myself in blankets on the couch with Claudia, prepared some popcorn, and took turns yelling at the stupid characters in shitty horror movies. 

      "What?" Aaron said.

      "I think I'm—"

      Something crashed to the floor. For a few moments, the world went silent—with only the dizzying echo of the bass, ringing in my ears.

      Then I heard it. The sound of someone pounding on the door.

      I couldn't say why, later, but my heart stopped. I was tipsy and a little hazy, but I stumbled my way through the crowd until I was in the hallway.

      "Talia?" Aaron's hand pulled me back, probably trying to ask me about whatever I'd been trying to say.

      I might have told him. Or, at least, I like to think I would have.

      But Skylar swung open the front door, and that was when I saw the police officers.

***

This is going to be one long, long night, my friends. I hope you're all buckled in.

From the moon and back,
Sarai