I see it.
A scream lodges in my throat as a creature darts across my yard, skirting the fence line before leaping over it like a hurdler on the track team. One second I’m clutching my heart with fear, the next there is a thud, followed by cursing.
There, lying along the fence in my mother’s flower bed, someone wearing a disguise—a costume?—has gotten their foot caught, and now they’re flat on their back in the dirt. Marigolds. Pansies.
Holy. Ship.
DO SOMETHING, HARPER.
It all happened so fast!
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” I frantically mumble, wondering why the heck I’m not hollering for help.Call for help, Harp.This person could be a criminal!
A thief!
A cold-blooded killer!
I almost topple over as I rise from the hammock, letting my book fall to the ground, my heart racing a thousand million beats per second,ohmygodohmygodohmygod…
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?
What am I still doing standing here? What the hell am I doing walking over to…it?
Run.
No, wrong direction. You’re going in the wrong direction!
Go to the house.
Go. To. The. House.
I do not, in fact, go to the house.
“Hey. You!” I shout boldly, not backing down or crumbling with the fear I feel in my gut.
Hey, you?Real scary and threatening.
Instincts kick in. I bend at the waist and grab the largest rock I can lift with one hand, prepared to lob it into the face of danger. This is my lawn! I must defend it!
I pull my hand back.
Get ready to throw…
A litany of expletives comes from inside the head this person is wearing: loud, muffled cursing. Deep voice. Definitely a dude. At least, I think it’s a guy? I do a quick scan of the outfit: Athletic pants. Running shoes.
One sneaker has landed on one of my mother’s cement garden gnomes. She got the set from a sorority sister as a wedding present and considers it sentimental.
The person moves, shifting his weight under that massive head.
I approach and lean down to get a better look.
It’s a Rhino.
As in: the Parker Lane Rhino mascot, one that I’m quite certain is usually locked up safe and sound in an equipment room, to be worn only during official school events. This…whatever this guy is doing? Is not a Parker Lane Prep–sanctioned event.
I click my tongue.
“Take that stupid thing off your head so I can see your face,” I demand, braver now. I’ve assessed the situation and determined there to be no threat. I don’t think.
