The Halloween Bash Episode Eight (Finale)

The Halloween Bash by Raspberry | Content warnings

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As luck would have it, Bec is out in her driveway when I pull in. She glances up, and I see a scowl cross her face. Fair enough, I think, stepping out of the car. She’s holding a wrench, which I’m pretty sure is for her motorcycle, but I also know it could easily be used on me. Not that I’d blame her for chucking it at me. 

“I couldn’t kill you here,” she says, like she’s reading my mind. “It’d be way too obvious, and blood doesn’t clean easily off concrete.”

I chuckle nervously and inch closer. 

“Still, I’m betting it wouldn’t be impossible for you,” I reply. 

“Yeah, I’d just say it was fake blood, like the kind everyone thinks I poured over Principal Crowe last night.”

“Bec, I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I should’ve believed you when you said it wasn’t you. I know you didn’t do it.”

“Took you long enough,” Bec replies flatly.

She puts the wrench in her pocket, takes a step closer to me, and crosses her arms. I notice that her plaid shirt is wrapped around her waist again, leaving her arms fully exposed with a black tank top that hugs her torso. She notices me looking, and I flush. 

“I was just really stressed,” I say. “And, when I thought it was you, I panicked. Then I tried to make it look planned so you wouldn’t get in trouble, which made me want it to be you because otherwise I risked my neck for nothing, but then it turned out to be Fraya, who got told off by Shelly, which is something, but it also means I put everything on the line for the wrong person and got upset because I thought you just weren’t being honest with me even though I thought I was helping you—” I run out of oxygen and take a deep breath. 

Bec’s eyebrows, which are raised so high they’re almost touching her hairline, are the only sign that she’s heard me. 

“Anyway, I’m really sorry for not believing what you said,” I finish weakly. “So I guess I’ll go now.”

I hesitate and pull the tickets from my skirt pocket. They’re neatly folded in half, but the edges are a little wrinkled. 

“You gave me two tickets, by the way,” I add, holding them out awkwardly. 

“Take a friend,” Bec replies stiffly. 

I don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking, but her tone seems a little bit softer. I take a cautious step closer to her. 

“I was kinda hoping to take a date,” I say casually. It probably comes out as a question though.

I know that I’m starting to sweat through my cardigan. Bec’s cheeks turn a little pink as she looks at me, the corners of her mouth lifting. 

“Oh?” she asks in what’s definitely a calmer tone than mine. “Who’s your date?”

“A really cool girl I met,” I say, taking another brave step towards her. “She kinda saved my ass a dozen times in the last few weeks, and I owe her big after doing something really stupid.”

“You really do,” she says. “But, you know, free music festival tickets aren’t going to cut it.”

I wonder if that means she’s still pissed at me. Then I realize she’s covered the distance between us in two strides. I’m so close I can smell the coconut scent of her shampoo. 

“You know people might see you with me,” she says. “If we go to this together.”

“I’m okay with that,” I say, meeting her eyes with as much confidence as I can muster. 

Her brows raise, but she still doesn’t say that she’s actually going to go with me. 

“Are you going to be dressed up as a mini-librarian again?” she asks.

“Not if that’s a deal-breaker,” I reply, feeling the corners of my mouth lift.

“I wouldn’t say ‘deal-breaker’,” she says with a smirk. “But you already got a lot of attention at the Warehouse…” 

I wonder if that’s a joke. Or if she’s flirting. I definitely can’t pull out my phone and google it right now, though.

“I’ll think about it,” I say with a flush. “Besides, I need something to go with a purple lipstick I’ve been dying to try out.”

“I thought you weren’t a purple lipstick kind of girl.”

“I’m starting to realize different isn’t always that bad,” I say. “Or something to be afraid of.”

“Were you afraid of me?” she teases.

I choose not to reply, and she makes a huge show of gently setting the wrench on the driveway and kicking it away from her. Her hands are in the air, but she’s grinning at me, like she wasn’t just betrayed by me hours ago, and I feel another pang of guilt.

“How can I make it up to you?” I ask softly.

“Three horror films of my choosing,” she replies, a glint in her eyes. “And your eyes have to be open.”

My jaw drops and she laughs. I feel her hand on the side of my face as she brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. 

“I’ll let you hold my hand, though,” she adds. 

I feel my cheeks warm, which only makes Bec’s smile widen as she stares at me. I drink in her face, my eyes drifting from her warm brown eyes, down the curve of her nose, and to her soft lips. 

“I think you’ll have to hold me,” I say slowly. “If you expect me to make it out of those movies alive.”

Her hand slides from my face to the back of my neck. She leans in close, until our lips are almost touching. 

“As long as you don’t let go, I won’t,” she says softly. 

I close my eyes and feel the distance between us disappear.