“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’m already enough in your space. I gotta do this on my own.”
“But I can help. If you don’t want to work at Biggie’s, I can—”
“It’s alright, you don’t have to worry about me,” I cut him off. “I’ve been … having some ideas of my own, anyway. Things I could maybe do. I was thinking of …” I’ve already nixed every single one of my ideas. They’re horrible. They’re lame. They’re stupid. What am I about to suggest to him? “… of maybe … starting up a new afterschool Arts club at Spruce High, maybe for the spring. I was thinking I could talk to some of the teachers. Find a sponsor. Or maybe do some unofficial thing on my own. Like … open a studio. Or something.”
The look on Toby’s face says it all. He sees right through me. He knows I’m reaching and clueless. Yet still, he puts on a smile and says, “That sounds really great, Vann.”
Somehow, his words of encouragement don’t make me feel good at all. “I guess, without the play, I kinda just wanted to … find a thing on my own to occupy my time.” And now my mom’s words are spilling right out of my mouth. “Something productive.”
“I’ll be the first one to sign up for that club or studio,” he says at once, smiling bigger.
I shrug. “And sure. Let’s go to the Strongs for Halloween. But I’m not doing the whole costumes thing.”
Toby scoffs at me. “What? Yes, you are! And I have the perfect idea for us, too.”
I eye him suspiciously.
Of course, Toby refuses to divulge his incredible genius to me. In fact, I go for quite a long time in the dark while he works on his costume idea in private. And each day, he seems more and more like his old self: eager, inspired, and excited beyond words.
And each day, I pass Hoyt in the hall between first and second periods as he replaces me in Ms. Bean’s English class. My dark eyes are on his, and his smug eyes are on mine. I’m gnawing on my own tongue as I kiss Toby before leaving him in English with that guy I can’t stand who has no redeemable qualities whatsoever. And each day when we change in the locker rooms, I have to swallow bile as Hoyt struts by with his two dumb lackeys to the gym.
I’m not sure how much longer I can stomach seeing that guy’s face before I put something through it. Preferably my knuckles.
It’s the morning of Halloween when Toby tells me to meet him in his shed before school. I get there extra early on my bike, pull it around to his backyard, then step into his shed. And Toby’s whole diabolical couples-costume plan comes together.
And I still don’t get it. “Are we … post-apocalyptic knights …?” I ask, picking up a set of fingerless gloves, then glancing down at a toy sword on his bed, painted black.
Toby sighs. “You’re totally hopeless! Let’s get dressed. Then it ought to make more sense to you.”
With his guidance, I strip out of my clothes and start donning my costume pieces, which he excitedly starts telling me about. He was able to borrow several parts from the costume department, which hasn’t put on a medieval show in over six years, according to Ms. Joy. He built a few pieces using random stuff in his garage, touched up with paint. A connection of the Strongs in town named Harrison who apparently builds furniture as a side job constructed the swords, which Toby then also painted. After stuffing my feet into the boots—sorry, I mean “knight’s greaves”—with metal plates at the shins, I stand in front of his body-length mirror and take it all in. I’m shirtless except for a piece of breastplate armor that covers my pecs, with leather straps that wrap around my back and over my shoulders, my abdomen exposed. A set of shiny pauldrons on my shoulders, a sword that fits into a sheath attached to the straps on my back, and a dark purple belt complete the look. I look like a warped barbarian out of some medieval fantasy nightmare.
“A dark paladin,” Toby explains as he starts donning his own costume, its silver and dark purple color scheme matching mine. “You’re essentially the main character from Dread Knight. You’re a bit of an anti-hero who strives to do good despite the dark magic that courses through your veins and keeps you alive. Which is a lot like all of the demon dudes you draw.” He grunts as he pulls on his own set of stylish boots. “You can’t bring the sword to school, even though it’s just a lightweight wood and a bit of dulled metal, but we can do the full thing tonight at the Strongs. And now …” He clicks a metal cuff onto each of his wrists, then brings himself to my side. He’s in a simple dark purple tunic cinched at the waist by a black sash, the tightest pants I’ve ever seen with tears across the thighs and knees, and two tall, dark boots that are bound to his legs with cord. “I’m your half-demon, half-elf familiar, which you can summon at any time to aid you in battle! Isn’t this perfect?” He grins, proud of himself.