We’re a ridiculous sight—three kids in homemadeToy Storycostumes, clutching orange pumpkin bags like our lives depend on it. But I don’t care. I forced them into this. Weeks of beggingand bargaining, three whole weekends sewing with my grandma, and now?We’re perfect: Woody, Buzz, and Jessie.
Toy Story’s my favorite Disney Pixar movie. That’s why they both accepted to match costumes. Vincent and I always match costumes, but I’m so happy that this year Stev accepted to match costumes with us.
I fling my red wig into the air like it’s a victory flag, the yarn braid bouncing against my shoulders. “Faster!”
Steven groans dramatically. “If you say ‘faster’ one more time, I’ll personally feed that wig to Percy.”
I snort so hard I almost trip. “He’d spit it right back in your face. Probably chew it first.”
Before he can retort, I leap onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Are you kidding me?!” He stumbles, grabbing my legs before I can tumble off. “I didn’t sign up for piggyback duty!”
Vincent bursts out laughing, tipping his cowboy hat at us. “Don’t drop her, Buzz. Jessie needs her noble steed.”
“I swear to God, V, don’t encourage her!”
But he does anyway, laughing harder as Steven mutters every curse word he knows under his breath.
We keep running, Steven staggering under my weight while Vincent jogs alongside us like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
When we finally slow down at the corner, Steven wheezes, “Why are we even running? This isn’t a marathon. We could literallywalkthere.”
“Because Mrs. Price’s jellies are the best in the neighborhood,” Vincent explains matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most obvious truth in the universe.
“Exactly!” I chime in, pointing dramatically toward Mrs. Price’s street like a general leading her troops. “And when weget them, we’ll go back home, dump everything on the floor, and split it evenly while watchingCasper. It’s tradition.”
Steven drags a hand down his face. “You two are lunatics. I’m surrounded by lunatics.”
“You love it,” I sing-song, smacking his helmet with the brim of my wig.
“You’re delusional.”
Vincent grins. “He’s just mad because he’s secretly the sidekick.”
Steven gasps like he’s been shot. “Excuse me? I’m literally Buzz Lightyear.To infinity and beyond.That makes me the star.”
“Nope,” I chirp. “That’s Woody. Vincent’s Woody.”
Vincent tips his hat again. “Howdy.”
Steven narrows his eyes. “Fine. Then what does that make me?”
“My horse,” I say sweetly, patting his shoulder.
Vincent loses it, doubled over laughing as Steven splutters, “I’m going to throw you into the nearest bush.”
“Not before I get my jellies!” I shriek, hopping off his back and grabbing both their wrists. Together, we barrel down the street like a three-headed monster.
When we reach Mrs. Price’s porch, chaos awaits: at least fifteen kids crowding around her, chanting “Trick or treat!” like a candy cult. The seventy-year-old queen of sweets beams, doling out treats with infinite patience.
I glance at my boys. Vincent’s calm, Steven looks like he’s reconsidering all his life choices, and me? I’m vibrating with sugar-high determination.
“Ready?” I whisper.
They nod. And then we charge.
-*?? . ??? ? ?.-*??
