“You make a fetching Bonnie,” Allyson said.
She leaned in and they kissed.
“And you—”
Stepping forward, Oscar wrapped his cape around Cameron, pulling them apart. “How dare you insult my bro,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “I’m here for you, Cam. Skirt or no skirt.”
“She didn’t insult—”
“Called you a dog, Cam,” Oscar said. “Like, ‘Fetch, Bonnie, fetch.’”
“Dude, you’re acting out again,” Cameron said, laughing. “Get over it.”
“Although he does have the luscious locks of an Afghan hound,” Oscar added, grinning as he attempted to pat Cameron’s hair.
Dipping away from Oscar, Cameron approached Allyson again. When he took her hand, Allyson beamed. “Bonnie and Clyde are inseparable,” she said with a pointed glance at Oscar, who bowed his head.
Less daring—and less gender-flipping—Allyson’s Clyde costume consisted of a pale straw fedora, a double-breasted, waist-length suit jacket with matching pleated slacks in a brown checked pattern, a long-sleeve dress shirt with suspenders and a necktie. High pant cuffs exposed her black socks with brown dress shoes, but little of her calves. She’d pinned her long hair up under the hat. And for her own jaunty look, she tucked a wooden match in the corner of her mouth, a fake cigarette.
“As I was about to say, before Oscar Mephed it up—”
“Dude!” Oscar exclaimed. “You do love me.”
“—you are one stylish Clyde,” Cameron continued, ignoring Oscar’s joyful outburst.
They kissed again, a gentle brushing of lips—
“Yield to Death,” a voice boomed behind them.
Startled, the trio turned as a tall student in a hooded black cloak wearing a rubber skull mask strode toward the gate, holding a scythe before him. As he neared, Allyson noted the scythe consisted of a broom handle with a cardboard blade covered in aluminum foil.
He stopped between them and said, “I am—the Grim Reaper.”
“Really?” Cameron said, smiling. “I had no clue.”
Oscar shrugged, playing along. “I’m shocked.”
“Allyson?” Cameron asked.
“Speechless,” she said, deadpan.
“Someone at this school has an appointment with Death,” the Grim Reaper proclaimed in his best sepulchral tone. Turning in a slow circle, he lowered the tip of his aluminum-foil scythe blade toward Cameron, Allyson, and, finally, Oscar. “You three may pass.”
“After you, Mr Reaper,” Oscar said, gesturing toward the entrance with a sweep of his cape.
They waited silently until the Grim Reaper entered the school. Then they all burst out laughing.
“What was that?” Allyson said.
“Didn’t you hear?” Oscar said, adding in a deep voice, “Death!”
They laughed again.
“Hardcore cosplayer,” Cameron said.
“Not so hardcore after they confiscate his broom scythe,” Oscar said.
“That has to be Arlo,” Allyson said, picturing the tall, skinny senior. “Arlo Riddock, right?”
“Bet it is,” Cameron said, nodding. “Heard he’s a larper.”
“Don’t be racist,” Oscar said.
“Live action role play,” Cameron said.
“Never pictured him coming to a school dance,” Allyson said, reminding herself that Vicky had to figuratively twist her arm for her to come.
“It’s not a dance,” Cameron said. “As far as he’s concerned, it’s a costume party.”
“It’s a dance—with Death,” Oscar sang, raising his cape and spinning in a circle.
“He’s enjoying that cape a little too much,” Cameron said to Allyson.
“Enough stalling,” Allyson said, as much to herself as them. “Photo time.”
“Followed by music, punch—spiked if we’re lucky—” Cameron began.
“Don’t sweat the punch,” Oscar interrupted mysteriously.
“—snacks—” Cameron continued, ticking points off on his fingers.
“And maybe a little dancing?” Allyson said.
“Sure,” Cameron shrugged. “If there’s time.”
“We’ll make time,” Allyson said. “I can’t go to a dance and not dance.”
“I see who wears the pants in your relationship,” Oscar snarked.
“Har har,” Allyson said. “Do you have your cellphone, or do you need to borrow mine?”
“Yeah, dude,” Cameron said. “Make like paparazzi already.”
“Fine, fine,” Oscar grumbled, but took out an old-fashioned flash camera rather than a cellphone. “Special occasion, so I brought my old-school camera. Now, vogue for me, bitches!”
Because even prop guns were banned from school grounds, she and Cameron stood back to back, posing with finger guns held up to their faces in profile while Oscar snapped photos with his camera. Oscar took shots of them with their arms around each other’s shoulders, fake dancing between the skeletons, then fake dancing with the skeletons, as if the skeletons had asked to cut in, along with a few solo shots. Allyson stood with her legs shoulder-width apart, arms akimbo, head turned to the side in what she hoped was a manly pose. Cameron turned sideways, lifted the hem of the pencil skirt above his knee—exposing even more hairy leg—and gave the camera a sultry look. When he tried to twirl in the skirt, he stumbled and almost fell. Allyson and Oscar laughed as Cameron pretended to tap dance in his black-buckled loafers. Allyson moved beside him, hands on her hips, and attempted to do an Irish step dance, but it had been a while since she’d seen Riverdance. Probably looked as lame as it felt, but she laughed at herself even though both guys struggled to maintain a straight face while egging her on.
Allyson switched places with Oscar, taking photos of him and Cameron with her cellphone. Cameron stood behind Oscar, putting an index finger on each of Oscar’s curved horns, as if completing an electrical circuit, and pretended to have a seizure. Whether alone or with Cameron, Oscar couldn’t help vamping with his cape, holding it open with both arms, raising one cape-wrapped forearm in front of his face so only his eyes showed. He also twirled, with more success than Cameron.
“Did you forget about your horns?” Cameron asked. “You’re a devil. Not a vampire.”
“Cape keeps throwing me off,” Oscar said. “I need a… a pitchfork or something. Cloven hooves… or a barbed tail.”
“Settle for the barbed tongue and let’s get on with it,” Cameron said.
“Okay, serious,” Oscar said. “One last shot of you two together. No goofing.”
Cameron looked at Allyson.
“Sure,” she said, smiling. “One for my mother to frame and hang on the wall.”
They stood together, side by side, as Oscar lined up the shot with his camera. “You guys!” Oscar said. “Daaayum, you look good. Okay, now on ‘three.’ Ready?”
They nodded, stood up straight. Allyson reached out, interlaced her fingers with Cameron’s.
“One… two…” Oscar began.
Allyson smiled, happy in the moment.
“Three!”
The flash flared—but not before Cameron leaned forward and stuck out his tongue.
“Cameron!” she yelled, jabbing him with her elbow. “You’re such a jerk!”
“Ow,” Cameron laughed, flinching away from her. “It was just a goof! C’mon, do over.”
“Forget it,” Allyson said. “Let’s just go inside before we miss everything.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Cameron said, reaching out to catch her arm before she slipped away. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
“Let’s go,” Oscar said. “Time to make my grand entrance and watch the ladies swoon.”
“Barf, you mean,” Cameron said, taking a swipe at Oscar’s horns. “I forgot. Are you supposed to be a devil—or a horndog?”