By the time Principal Danvers killed Halloween, plastic pumpkins were already stacked in every grocery store in town.
Orange and black banners hung over the Bookside, California strip mall. Spirit Halloween blared Top 40 hits over cheap speakers. There were fake spiderwebs draped across every front porch on Maple Street, and middle schoolers were already arguing on TikTok about whether you could repeat last year’s costume.
Inside Bookside Middle School, though, Halloween flat-lined at 8:17 a.m.
“This year’s Halloween celebrations,” Principal Danvers said into the crackling PA, “are officially canceled.”
The announcement echoed down every fluorescent-lit hallway, ricocheted off dented lockers, and hit Rosa Morales right between the eyes.
“What?!” someone yelled from the seventh-grade wing. A chorus of similar screams rippled through the building like a low-budget horror sound effect.
Rosa, sitting in homeroom with a notebook already doodled over in skulls and candy corn, shot upright. “She did not just say that,” she breathed.
She’d been planning her last Halloween at Bookside since she was eleven. Eighth grade was supposed to be legendary: the costume contest, the decorated lockers, the candy smuggled in hoodies, the after-school party at the haunted corn maze just outside town. Not… this.
“That means no decorating the walls or lockers,” Danvers went on, voice sharp and flat. “And certainly no costumes. This is not a discussion. This is the new policy of Bookside Middle, and my decision is final.”
The PA clicked off.
For a second, the whole class sat frozen. Then the room exploded.
“This is so not fair!” someone behind Rosa shouted.
“What’s not fair,” Danvers’ earlier words echoed in her head, “is how distracting this holiday is to all of your studies.”
Rosa didn’t care if she got a full ride to Stanford one day; right now, she wanted a full bag of candy and the right to wear the zombie cheerleader costume she’d already half-assembled from thrift-store finds.
Her best friend, Matty, swiveled in his seat to face her. His freckles stood out against his pale cheeks. “She’s ruining our lives,” he whispered dramatically.
“Our last Halloween at Bookside,” Sebastian added from the next row, pushing his glasses up his nose. “We’ll be in high school next year. This was supposed to be the big one.”
Rosa’s heart pounded with indignation. “She’s not ruining Halloween,” she hissed. “We’re not going to let her.”
Matty gave her a look. “Do we though?” he said slowly. “Do we have to do something? You’re already on academic probation from the last ‘something’ you did, remember?”
“That was not my fault the paint balloons exploded early,” Rosa shot back. “And this isn’t about me. Or you. It’s about all of us!”
“Your GPA might disagree,” Sebastian murmured, but he was grinning.
Before they could plot further, the classroom door opened and their teacher, Mr. Ellis, walked in carrying a stack of worksheets.
“All right, class, thanks for—” He stopped.
A Halloween graveyard had appeared on his whiteboard. Paper tombstones, printed at home and taped up during the announcement, declared R.I.P. HALLOWEEN, GONE TOO SOON and HERE LIES FUN.
Rosa slouched a little. Maybe that had been too much.
Mr. Ellis sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Okay,” he said. “Whoever did it, wipe it off after class.” He set the worksheets down. “And yes, before you ask, the announcement is real. No costumes. No decorations. You still get candy for the behavior program if you earn it.”
Fake tombstones were one thing. The idea of walking into Bookside on October 31st wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans was another.
Rosa clenched her jaw. “She’s punishing us for no reason,” she whispered. “If we let her get away with this, who knows what she’ll do next? Cancel winter break? Burn our yearbooks?”
Sebastian raised both eyebrows. “That escalated quickly,” he said, but his eyes were shining.
The bell rang, and the day lurched on. The announcement hung over every class like a cobweb.
By lunch, the whole school was buzzing.
In the cafeteria, kids clustered around tables, not because of drama or test scores or the new limited-edition chips in the vending machine, but because someone—not naming names—had loudly suggested there needed to be “a response.”
“We TP Danvers’ house,” Rosa said over the hum of voices, slamming her juice box down for emphasis. “Old-school. Classic. She bans Halloween? We turn her front yard into a Charmin blizzard.”
Matty made a choking noise, already pale. “That’s vandalism,” he squeaked. “Vandalism is a crime. I’m only thirteen, Rosa. I’m too young for prison. My mom would lose it if I became a criminal before I even got my braces off.”
“We won’t get caught,” Rosa said. “We go late, after she’s asleep. I heard she lives alone. Easy.”
Sebastian looked like he might actually faint. “We’re… doing hypothetical brainstorms, right? Because the word ‘felony’ is making my stomach hurt.”
Rosa rolled her eyes. “Fine. Do you guys have any better ideas?”
Sebastian hesitated. “What if we… start a petition?” he said. “We get everybody to sign it. You know, to bring Halloween back. Show it to her. Peaceful resistance. Very First Amendment.”
Rosa stared. A petition sounded like something the PTA would make on Facebook, not something that would go down in Bookside legend. But she could already see him picturing bullet points and clipboards and maybe a color-coded spreadsheet.
“And what if she ignores it?” Rosa asked. “You heard her. ‘This is not a discussion.’”
“Then,” Sebastian said, surprising both of them, “we’ll talk about your toilet paper plan. But can we at least try the legal route first?”
Rosa sighed. “Fine. But if it doesn’t work, we’re doing it my way.”
Just then, a smaller voice piped up next to their table. “Can I play with you guys?”
Rosa’s little brother, Luis, stared up at them with huge brown eyes, his lunch tray trembling in his hands.
“We’re not playing,” Rosa snapped without thinking. “We’re dealing with serious matters. Go find your friends.”
His face fell. “Okay,” he mumbled, shuffling away.
Guilt pricked her, sharp as a pin. But the stakes were too high. Halloween demanded her full attention.
That afternoon, hallways filled with whispers and rustling paper. By the last period, Rosa’s petition had two full sheets of signatures.
“I don’t know, kids,” the vice principal, Mr. Jones, said, flipping through the pages in the front office. “Principal Danvers really doesn’t like Halloween. Ever since she came to Bookside from that district down near San Diego, it’s been… a thing.”
“Please, Mr. Jones,” Rosa said. “We got over a hundred signatures. That’s like—” she glanced at Sebastian.
“Fifty-eight percent of the student body,” he supplied. “And twelve teachers.”
“And the lunch lady,” Matty added. “And the janitor. And the school nurse.”
“Even Nurse Patel thinks this ban is bad for mental health,” Sebastian said. “She used the words ‘emotionally detrimental.’”
Mr. Jones’ mustache twitched. “If we bring this to her together,” he sighed, “maybe seeing how passionate you kids are will soften her.”
He led them down the hallway to the principal’s office.
Inside, Danvers sat behind her desk in a crisp navy pantsuit, surrounded by stacks of neatly organized files. A framed photo of a little boy in a pirate costume sat near her keyboard, turned almost—but not fully—toward the wall.
“Principal Danvers,” Mr. Jones began, “some students have put together—”
“I can see that,” she said, glancing at the papers in his hand. She scanned the first page, lips tightening. “Very impressive.”
Rosa’s heart leapt.
“Unfortunately,” Danvers continued, sliding the petition back across the desk like it was a menu she’d rejected, “it changes nothing.”
Rosa felt the hope drain out of her like someone had pulled a plug. “That’s totally unfair,” she blurted. “Why can’t we celebrate? It’s literally one day. It’s not like we’re asking to skip state testing.”
“I thought I made myself clear,” Danvers said, irritation darkening her eyes. “Halloween is nothing but a distraction. I’m not risking academic performance or discipline issues for a dress-up day.”
“What about a compromise?” Mr. Jones tried. “No decorations, but kids can wear costumes to the last period? No masks, obviously. No fake weapons.”
“This conversation is over,” Danvers said. “The superintendent is visiting tomorrow. I have real issues to prepare for. Please leave my office.”
She picked up a folder and, without looking at them, added, “And shut my door.”
Outside, Rosa’s cheeks burned.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Jones murmured. “I really thought—”
“This whole thing sucks,” Matty burst out. “I bought a full astronaut suit. I was going to wear a smoke machine. Now what?”
“I was going to win the costume contest,” Rosa said, her voice low and dangerous. “This was supposed to be our year.”
Sebastian swallowed. “That’s it, then,” he said quietly. “Petition failed. Peaceful resistance is over.”
Rosa straightened, mischief and fury mixing in her veins. “Then we go to plan B,” she said. “Danvers is running this school like a dictator. And like every dictator in history, she has to be overthrown.”
“Overthrown?” Sebastian squeaked. “We’re in a public school in California, not in a coup documentary.”
“You heard her,” Rosa said. “She’s meeting with the superintendent—her boss—tomorrow. If we make her look bad in front of him, maybe he’ll replace her with someone who doesn’t hate joy. Someone like Mr. Jones. Then we get Halloween back for the whole school. Forever.”
Matty looked like he might pass out. “I really, really don’t like the sound of this,” he said. “You know ‘shenanigans’ give me nausea. I threw up on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair, remember?”
“We’re not overthowing the government,” Rosa said. “We’re staging a performance.”
Sebastian’s eyes lit up in spite of himself. “A protest,” he said. “Street theater. Or hallway theater. Statement art.”
“Exactly,” Rosa said. “Gentlemen, it’s time to go down in Bookside history.”
At home that evening, Rosa barely made it through the front door before her mother called her name.
“Oh, there you are,” Mom said, juggling her purse and a garment bag. Their small tract house near the edge of town was a tangle of luggage and last-minute packing. “We need to talk about Halloween.”
“We have a huge project to finish,” Rosa lied, already backing toward her bedroom. “Group work. Very time-sensitive. Tell me on the way.”
Her dad emerged from the kitchen holding a brochure that said PALM SPRINGS LEADERSHIP CONFERENCE in glossy letters. “Your mom and I are leaving for the conference tomorrow,” he reminded her. “Three nights. Remember?”
“Right, right. Adult stuff. Don’t worry, I’ll keep Luis alive,” Rosa said. “He knows how to microwave things. It’ll be fine.”
Mom’s expression leveled into that look that meant she was about to crush Rosa’s soul with something “character-building.” “You’re not staying here alone,” she said. “You and your brother are staying with Abuela. And we want you to take him trick-or-treating.”
Rosa’s jaw dropped. “What? Come on! Really?”
Luis’s head popped around the doorframe, eyes shining. “Yes!” he squealed. “I can’t go alone, my costume is too big. I need someone to help me with the tail.”
“Go with Mom and Dad instead,” Rosa snapped automatically. “Take your tail to Palm Springs.”
“We’ll be in sessions till late every night,” Dad said. “Besides, the hotel’s doing a networking mixer, not trick-or-treating. This will be fun. Sibling bonding.”
“Fun for who?” Rosa muttered. “He’ll ruin the whole night.”
“Rosa,” Mom said warningly. “This isn’t up for discussion. You’re lucky we’re letting you go at all, considering your grades. You’re on thin ice with that science teacher.”
“I am not lucky,” Rosa muttered. “I’m oppressed.”
But they were already back to packing, and she escaped to her room before anyone could assign her another responsibility.
Luis followed, knocking once before bursting in. “Rosa?”
She jumped, nearly smearing black eyeliner across the fake bruises she was practicing. “Don’t you knock, dork? You almost made me mess up.”
“Sorry,” he said, deflating. “I just wanted to ask… since we’re going together, can we go to Elmwood Pines? The kids at my school say they give out full-size candy bars and their decorations are all timed to music and—”
“We’re not actually going trick-or-treating together,” Rosa cut in. “You know that, right?”
He blinked. “But Mom and Dad said—”
“No offense,” she said, turning back to her mirror, “but I’m not spending my last middle school Halloween babysitting you. Once they’re gone, you’re going to say you feel sick, stay home with Abuela, and I’m going out with Seb and Matty. Got it?”
His lower lip trembled. “I just wanted to spend—”
“Do you mind?” she snapped, mascara wand in hand. “I’m trying to save an entire school’s Halloween. Go… play Roblox or something.”
He closed the door without another word.
For half a second, guilt pricked again. Then an image of Danvers’ smug face flashed in her mind, and Rosa went back to blending fake blood.
The next morning, Bookside felt like it was vibrating. Walls sometimes did that right before something exploded in movies.
“Today’s the day,” Rosa whispered as she and the boys huddled in the far corner of the library. “We go down in history as the eighth-graders who fought the law and the law cried.”
She laid out the plan on the table between stacks of overdue paperbacks and a “QUIET ZONE” sign.
Phase One was a mock funeral in the main hallway as the superintendent toured the school.
Sebastian had drawn up a faux obituary on the computer and printed it on parchment paper: “In Loving Memory of Halloween at Bookside Middle, gone too soon.” Matty had borrowed his older sister’s black veil. They’d recruited a half-dozen theater kids to play mourners.
Phase Two… they’d figure out if they needed Phase Two.
“You sure you want to do this?” Sebastian asked for the millionth time, chewing the edge of his thumbnail. “There’s still time to call it off and organize a strongly worded email campaign instead.”
“Are you serious?” Rosa said. “Today, we either save Halloween or we die trying.”
Matty paled. “Metaphorically,” he said quickly. “Metaphorically dying. I cannot do real dying.”
At 10:02 a.m., the superintendent, Dr. Alvarez, walked into Bookside Middle wearing a navy suit and a pleasant but tired expression. He had the look of someone who had spent a lot of time listening to people complain about test scores.
“As you can see,” Principal Danvers said, leading him down the spotless hallway, “our students are thriving. Detentions are down, grades are up, and we’ve eliminated unnecessary distractions.”
She said the last word with extra relish.
Up ahead, in the intersection between the eighth-grade wing and the front office, a group of students in black emerged, walking slowly. One carried a cardboard coffin painted orange and decorated with plastic spiders. Another held a boombox playing a solemn drumbeat. A third read, in a dramatic voice:
“Today we gather to mourn the passing of Bookside Middle School’s favorite holiday… Halloween.”
Dr. Alvarez stopped dead. “What on earth—”
“Oh!” Danvers said quickly. “Just our drama club. They’re very committed. Getting ready for the school play. You know how theater kids are. Why don’t we take a look at the computer lab?”
The moment they turned the corner, Phase Two kicked in.
“There’s been a murder!” Matty’s voice shrieked from the far end of the hallway.
Kids screamed—some theatrically, some because they had no idea what was going on and middle schoolers love an excuse to yell.
Dr. Alvarez and Danvers spun around just in time to see a student in a dollar-store judge’s robe stagger into view, a red pool of ketchup spreading on the floor. Sebastian, clutching his chest, collapsed next to the cardboard coffin.
“Call someone for help!” Rosa wailed, maybe a little too delighted. “She did it! She murdered Halloween!”
Telephones clicked behind classroom doors. Mr. Jones stepped out of his office, eyes wide, then narrowed as he took in the ketchup and the coffin and Rosa’s guilty stance.
“What is happening at this school?” Dr. Alvarez demanded. “Principal Danvers?”
Danvers’ face had gone very, very white. “I—this is—” She swallowed. “The play,” she said weakly. “Told you. Very… committed.”
“It looks to me like you have some serious discipline issues,” Dr. Alvarez said. “I was told those were resolved.”
“They… mostly are,” she said.
“Your office,” he said. “Now.”
The fallout was fast and messy.
An hour later, Rosa sat in Danvers’ office with Matty and Sebastian on either side of her, trying not to look like someone whose stomach was doing backflips.
“I already told you,” Danvers said, voice taut, “my decision on Halloween is final.”
“But it’s not fair,” Rosa said, unable to stop herself. “Halloween is fun. It builds community. It’s literally the nearest thing this school has to a soul. You can’t just ban it like… like sugary drinks.”
“I have heard just about enough from you, Rosa,” Danvers snapped. “You staged a disruptive, dangerous prank in the middle of a visit from my boss. You made him think there’d been actual harm.”
“It was ketchup,” Matty said meekly. “Organic. Low sodium.”
“If you step one more toe out of line,” Danvers went on, ignoring him, “I promise you will spend months in detention. All three of you.”
Rosa bit back a comeback and settled for glaring.
“Out,” Danvers ordered. “I have to call the district.”
They shuffled into the hallway, the weight of consequences hanging over them like storm clouds.
“Time for plan T,” Rosa muttered. “As in toilet paper.”
Matty squeaked. “I was hoping we’d… die of old age first.”
That evening, Rosa’s parents dropped her and Luis at their abuela’s small house a few streets over. The house smelled like laundry detergent and tortillas, and the living room was crowded with family photos and plastic-covered furniture.
“Make sure you’re good for your grandma, okay?” Mom said, hugging Luis. “And remember, your sister is responsible for you while we’re gone.”
“I got it,” Rosa said through gritted teeth. “We’re not going to die or burn the house down. Probably.”
Abuela crossed herself.
“And make sure she has him home by nine o’clock tomorrow night,” Mom told Abuela, as if Luis were capable of sneaking into a club. “No later.”
“I’ll make sure,” Abuela promised.
Rosa kissed her parents goodbye, watched their Uber pull away toward the highway, and then turned to the boys, who were standing in the entryway with backpacks and wild eyes.
“Are your parents cool with you sleeping over?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “I told them it was for a group project. I didn’t specify that the project was ‘mischief.’”
“My mom made me promise not to get arrested,” Matty said. “I said I’d try.”
Abuela narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t tell me your friends were staying.”
Rosa winced. “Sorry, Abuela. Mom must have forgotten to mention it. Please? It’s for a big grade. And we’ll stay out of your way. I’ll do the dishes for a week.”
Abuela sighed, then waved them inside. “Fine. But no loud music after nine. And no summoning ghosts in my house.”
“Deal,” Rosa said. “We’ll summon ghosts in the street instead.”
At seven that night, with Abuela watching a telenovela in the living room and Luis dozing against her side, Rosa, Matty, and Sebastian slipped out the side door with backpacks full of toilet paper rolls.
Danvers lived just a few blocks away in a small Craftsman house with a hardworking lawn and a porch light shaped like a lantern. There were no decorations in the yard. Not even a sympathy pumpkin.
“This is it,” Rosa whispered, staring at the dark windows. “The lair of the Halloween-hater.”
“I feel like my stomach’s trying to walk away from my body,” Matty whispered back.
“Just think,” Rosa said. “Tomorrow, the whole school will see pictures of this. We’ll be legends.”
They crept across the yard, shoes whispering against the grass.
“Okay, toss them over the tree,” Rosa instructed. “We want full coverage. Like snow in a Hallmark movie.”
She flung her first roll; it arced perfectly, looping over the biggest branch.
Matty’s first roll hit a bush and died.
Sebastian was reaching for his third roll when a spotlight snapped on, flooding the lawn with blinding light.
“Freeze!” a voice barked.
Matty screamed and took off, immediately tripping over a garden gnome and crashing to the ground. “Ow, my ankle! I broke my ankle!” he gasped. “Tell my mom I love her!”
A police officer stepped into view on the sidewalk, hand on his belt. His partner stood beside him, looking like he was trying not to laugh.
“What is all this ruckus?” a new voice snapped.
Principal Danvers appeared on the porch in sweatpants and a faded college hoodie, bare feet cold against the wooden planks. Her hair, normally scraped into a tight bun, fell around her face in dark waves.
She stared at the toilet paper draped over her front tree, the three frozen kids, and the patrol car idling in front of her house.
“What on earth,” she said slowly, “are you doing to my yard?”
“Art installation?” Rosa tried weakly.
The officer cleared his throat. “We got a call from a neighbor,” he said. “Said there were vandals. Turns out it’s just some overenthusiastic kids with too much toilet paper.”
“Overenthusiastic?” Danvers repeated. “They’re defacing my property.”
“We’re sorry,” Sebastian said immediately. “This was Rosa’s idea. Don’t say that out loud, Matty—”
Matty, still clutching his ankle like a wounded soldier, groaned. “It’s all my fault,” he moaned. “Rosa told me not to—”
The officer held up a hand. “Mrs. Danvers,” he said. “We’re not booking anyone for this. It’s toilet paper, not spray paint. If you want to press charges for trespassing or vandalism, we can bring them in. If not…”
Danvers’ fingers tightened on the doorframe. Something flickered across her face—anger, yes. But underneath it, something else. Exhaustion. Sadness.
She looked at the three kids, at their wide eyes and shaky knees.
She sighed. “No charges,” she said at last. “Just consequences.”
By sunrise the next morning, Rosa and her friends were standing in Danvers’ yard with trash bags and a broom.
“This is taking forever,” Matty groaned, untangling a sodden strip of toilet paper from a hedge. “I never want to see another roll again. Our descendants will still be cleaning this yard.”
“You have water and snacks on the porch,” Danvers called from the doorway. “Stay hydrated. I don’t want anyone passing out and blaming me.”
Rosa glanced at the porch. There were paper cups and a pitcher of lemonade. Next to them, a bowl of fun-size Halloween candy.
“You’re giving us candy?” Rosa asked skeptically.
Danvers lifted one shoulder. “It’s October,” she said. “I’m not a complete monster.”
Rosa hesitated, then took a mini Snickers and stuffed it in her pocket for Luis.
As the morning went on, something strange happened. The work, annoying as it was, felt… lighter than the dread that had filled Rosa’s chest all week. Each crinkled strip of toilet paper they pulled down was a little piece of guilt removed.
At last, the yard looked normal again. Maybe cleaner than before.
“We’re really sorry,” Sebastian said, stepping onto the porch. “About all of it. The fake funeral, the ketchup… this.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rosa muttered, but even she couldn’t muster much heat.
Danvers looked at them for a long moment. The harsh lines around her mouth softened.
“To be fair,” she said quietly, “I owe you an apology too.”
Rosa blinked. “You… do?”
“I let my issues get in the way of you kids having fun,” Danvers said. “Halloween is… complicated for me. But that’s my baggage. Not yours.”
“It’s okay,” Matty said quickly. “You don’t have to—”
“No, it’s not okay,” she said. “But I’m working on it. And unfortunately, it might not matter what I think soon. I’m on suspension while the district decides what to do with me.”
“What?” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “You got suspended because of… us?”
“Because of everything,” she said. “The ban, the chaos, the superintendent’s visit. They’re reviewing whether I’m the right person for this school.”
Rosa shifted her weight. Guilt, sharp and unwelcome, slid into her stomach. She’d wanted Danvers to suffer a little, to back off, to stop being the Halloween grinch. She hadn’t pictured her losing her job.
“That’s messed up,” Rosa blurted. “We started it. We should… fix it.”
“Rosa,” Danvers said, faintly amused, “you TP’d my house. You’re not obligated to be my PR team.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t,” Rosa insisted. “But before we do anything, I want to know why you hate Halloween so much. Mr. Jones hinted something happened. And you said it’s complicated.”
Danvers went still.
For a second, Rosa thought she’d pushed too far. Then the principal exhaled.
“Do you really want to know?” she asked.
They nodded.
She gestured them inside.
The room at the back of Danvers’ house looked like a museum diorama frozen in time. A twin bed with superhero sheets. A small bookshelf crammed with graphic novels. A Lego set half-built on the carpet. A plastic pumpkin bucket on the dresser.
On one wall hung a photo of a little boy in a dinosaur costume, standing between a man in a flannel shirt and a woman with younger, less tired eyes.
“This is my son, Dante,” Danvers said. Her voice, usually so clipped, had gone soft. “Or… was.”
“What do you mean?” Matty asked quietly.
“This isn’t his room,” she said. “Not really. It’s a replica. My therapist suggested recreating it would help me process. I still go to her twice a month.”
She ran her fingers over a shelf of action figures, expression distant.
“Halloween used to be our favorite holiday,” she said. “We lived in a different town then, down near San Diego. My husband, Marcus, worked in construction. He loved decorating. Every year, our house was the one people drove by just to see. Lights, inflatables, the works. Dante thought his dad was a wizard.”
She smiled faintly at the memory.
“One year, we got an animatronic witch with a motion sensor,” she said. “Marcus stayed up late wiring it in, stringing extra lights. I had to work a night meeting. I was a vice principal back then, trying to prove myself.”
She swallowed.
“By the time I got home, there were police cars on our street,” she said. “Smoke. Neighbors outside in pajamas. I thought maybe someone had left a candle burning. I didn’t—”
She stopped, closing her eyes.
“The fire department said it was a faulty wire in one of the decorations,” she said. “The blaze moved fast. Marcus and Dante probably never woke up.”
No one spoke. The hum of the refrigerator suddenly seemed very loud.
“Every Halloween since then has felt like… like someone replaying a bad dream,” Danvers said. “The lights. The costumes. It all reminds me of what I lost. So when I came to Bookside this year, I told myself things would be easier without the holiday.”
“They weren’t,” Rosa said softly.
“No,” Danvers admitted. “They weren’t. Instead of facing my grief, I punished you kids for being excited about something I used to love.”
Her eyes shone. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall.
“Make sure you appreciate your loved ones,” she said. “Because one day, they might be gone. And you’ll wish you’d spent less time fighting over grades and more time helping with costumes.”
Rosa’s throat hurt. She thought of her parents leaving for Palm Springs, of how she’d rolled her eyes, of how she’d shoved Luis away when he’d wanted to talk about Elmwood Pines.
“I’d give anything to have one more Halloween with my family,” Danvers said. “But that’s my story. It shouldn’t have to ruin yours.”
That afternoon, while kids across town carved pumpkins and parents argued over how much candy was too much, Rosa sat at Abuela’s kitchen table with Sebastian’s laptop open.
“You’re making another petition?” Matty asked, pacing. “Didn’t we just fail with that?”
“This one is different,” Rosa said. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “This one’s to the district. And it’s not about Halloween. It’s about Danvers.”
She read aloud as she typed.
“We, the students of Bookside Middle School, believe that Principal Danvers is a good leader who made one bad decision for understandable personal reasons. We believe she is capable of learning and growing, and we ask that the district reinstate her as principal and allow a student committee to help plan a safe, positive Halloween celebration next year.”
“That’s… actually kind of brilliant,” Sebastian said. “We’re acknowledging her mistake, highlighting her human side, and proposing a solution. Ten out of ten, would sign.”
“You want her back?” Matty asked, incredulous. “The lady who threatened us with detention until we die?”
“She lost her husband and kid because of a decoration,” Rosa said. “We decorated her lawn with toilet paper. She had every right to press charges and she didn’t. We owe her.”
Matty thought about it. “And if we get her back,” he said slowly, “and she feels like we’re her kids now too… maybe she’ll chill about the holidays.”
“Exactly,” Rosa said.
They got to work. By dinnertime, they had signatures from parents, teachers, and kids. Mr. Jones promised to email the superintendent with the petition attached.
“What about tonight?” Luis asked, hovering at the edge of the kitchen. “Are we… still going out?”
Mom had called during lunch from a break at the conference, voice warm and a little frazzled. “Send me pictures,” she’d said. “Of both of you. And be nice to your brother. He idolizes you.”
Rosa looked at Luis now. His costume—some kind of two-person dragon that attached with straps—lay folded on the couch. He’d been quiet all day, like he was trying not to get his hopes up.
“We’re going,” she said. “Together. For real this time.”
“And…” she added, a spark of mischief returning, “we’re making one more stop before Elmwood Pines.”
At dusk, when the sky over Bookside turned purple and porch lights started to blink on, there was a knock at Danvers’ door.
She opened it, expecting maybe an Amazon package or another stern letter from the district.
Instead, a dragon stared back at her. A two-person dragon, its front half shaped like a little boy—Luis, grinning under painted scales—and its back half clearly containing a taller eighth-grader.
“Trick or treat!” Luis shouted.
“Sorry,” Danvers said automatically. “I don’t have any—”
“We’re not here for candy,” Rosa said, popping her head out of the dragon’s fabric body. She wore a hastily assembled scarecrow costume, straw poking from her sleeves. Behind her, Sebastian was dressed as a mad scientist, and Matty had become the world’s most nervous ghost.
“We’re here for you,” Rosa added.
“What?” Danvers blinked.
“Come out with us,” Rosa said. “Just for a few houses. Or the whole block. Whatever you can handle.”
Danvers’ fingers tightened on the doorknob. “I… I can’t,” she said. “I told you. It’s too hard. The memories—”
“My brother’s costume takes two people to work,” Rosa said. “He needs someone to hold the tail while I steer. And I… I want my hands free for candy.”
Luis nodded solemnly. “We can’t do it without you.”
Danvers looked at the boy, at his hopeful eyes, at the way he bounced on his toes. Then back at Rosa.
“I really am sorry about everything I did this week,” Rosa said. “The prank, the yard. You were right about some stuff. I don’t always think before I act. But I also think Dante and Mr. Danvers would want you to start enjoying Halloween again. Even just a little.”
“Please,” Luis added. “Please, please, please, please.”
Danvers hesitated for one more heartbeat.
Then she stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind her.
“Okay,” she said. “But if I start crying in the middle of Elm Street, you’re all walking home without me.”
“Deal,” Rosa said.
As they walked down the sidewalk toward the first lit-up house, Rosa fell into step beside her. “By the way,” she said. “You might get an email tomorrow. From the district.”
“What kind of email?” Danvers asked.
“The kind that says your students have your back,” Rosa said. “We started another petition. To get you reinstated. With a Halloween committee. You can veto any decoration that looks like it might burn down a zip code.”
Danvers huffed out a laugh, the sound rusty. “You TP my house, sabotage my meeting, then lobby to save my job,” she said. “You are exhausting.”
“You’re the one who told us to think of others,” Rosa pointed out.
Danvers glanced at her, then at Luis, who had started greeting every house with, “Trick or treat, happy October!” like a tiny politician.
“Well,” she said. “Then I suppose I’d better start listening to my own advice.”
The dragon costume wobbled ahead of them, tail swishing. Kids in California-light jackets ran from house to house under palm trees wrapped in fake cobwebs. Somewhere, a porch speaker played “Monster Mash” for the fifth time.
“Next year,” Rosa said, “if you’re still principal, we’ll make Bookside’s Halloween the best in the whole district.”
“If I’m still principal,” Danvers said, “you’re all helping organize it.”
“Deal,” Rosa said. “And if the district doesn’t listen to our petition…”
She grinned. “Well. Then we might have to TP the superintendent’s house.”
Danvers gave her a look.
“Kidding,” Rosa said quickly.
Mostly.
