I walk in and wow. Spook City.

Sophie's party really was just a pregame to this. Strobe lights galore. 100% a fog machine. The smell is so strong I can taste it on my tongue. Silhouettes of ghosts hanging from the ceiling are stark against the bright lights. Pumpkins line the bar, some carved into jack-o-lanterns, some hollowed out and replaced with bar nuts.

A huge painted sign behind the bar reads the Halloween specials: Zombies, $12; Skulls, $10; Vampires, $6 (a jumbo syringe shot full of red Jell-O). All the beer taps are covered in spider webs with fake spiders crawling all over. The two bartenders are wearing matching masquerade masks: black and silver with gold sequins.

"Two Zombies," Zoë orders from the bartender. "And," she pauses, turning to me. "Will you do a Vamp? A syringe shot?"

"It's Halloween. Gotta do a Vamp," I shrug.

Zoë turns back to the bartender, "And two Vamps. Oh, make it four!"

"Zoë!" I laugh over my own tongue. She throws and arm around me and leans against me. "Zombie and two shots? I–I'm am already drunks."

"I know," she says, winking at me. "Sort of the point. Come on!"

"Here ya go," the bartender says, dropping the first round of drinks on the bar.

"Excellent," Zoë says, bringing the almost-black color drink to her lips.

"It looks like death," I laugh.

"Shut up! Here, take yours." She hands me the second drink. It sloshes down my arm. "And put your phone awayyyy!"

"S–sorry," I mumble. I didn't even realize my phone was out again, clenched in my fist like it's my lifeline to the outside world.

It is.

Still, nothing. No text. No message. I'll even take him yelling at me again. Jealous Brooks > no Brooks.

Zoë grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd to the side of the floor opposite the bar. Barbie is close behind us. Zero clue where the boys went. We pass more pixies, more cats, some knockoff superheroes, and of course the occasional pop culture reference. Fog machine in full effect.

"OK, Vamp one!" Zoë shoves a jumbo syringe into my hand and another one in Barbie's. Seriously, what is her name? The contents shine deep red under the neon ghost hanging on the wall.

"THREE, TWO, SHOOT UP!" Barbie cheers. The three of us inject *empty* the syringe into our mouths. It's like chunky raspberry syrup Jell-O.

Drink almost gone.

It's called a Zombie for a reason. It's what you become after you drink one. A quarter of one. OK, like three sips of one. My feet are like two lead stumps attached to my legs that I keep stumbling over. My eyelids feel like crescent weights I keep trying to push up off my face.

And SHIT do they make you have to pee. Why is finding the bathroom always a task?

"Bathroom," I yell at Zoë. It's more like I'm mouthing it though because it's so loud I doubt she can hear me. Or maybe it's not loud and the Zombie has taken my hearing.

"Yes!" To my surprise, it's Barbie who answers me, taking my hand in hers like we are best friends and this is the casual sort of thing we do. It reminds me of something Trix would do.

She leads me around the room, back past the bar, and into a small alcove concealed by black webs hanging from the ceiling. Signs on the doors say Boos & Ghouls. Clever.

"Come on," Barbie pulls me through the Ghoul door.

I pee. What a relief. I unzip my bodysuit and can't help but check my phone.

Still, static. Less than static.

I use my elbow to turn the faucet and wash my hands. I'm already done with the dryer when Barbie comes out of the stall. Her outfit really is good. She's got this neon pink workout bathing suit thing, high heel sneakers, leg warmers and a bright teal scrunchie in her ponytail. An 80s Work-out Barbie.

She catches me staring in the mirror so I quickly go back to looking at my phone. It's starting to look funny –you know, like I've been looking at it too long and now all I see is a rectangular square of glowing LEDs with no actual shapes or words. It's so tiny and petite in my hand but fuck, the damage it can do.

Shake it off, Em.

I look up again and walk over to the sink where Barbie is reapplying glittery lip-gloss.

"Can I have some?" I ask.

"Yes!" She hands it over.

I lean into the mirror and apply. The glitter looks oddly at home on my pouting lips. I blot once and then give it back to her. She takes it, smiling and then turns to face me.

"Why don't you just call him?" She asks.

"Huh?"

"Call him. He's prob not worth it anyway, but if it'll make you relax, call him," she says. The wisdom. Who knew?

"You're right!" I nod too much. "I should call him. But not cuz I care cuz I don't."

"Exactly. You call cause you don't care. You don't care what he hears or what he thinks you're doing." She nods.

"Oh my god. Next l–level right. I do NOT care." I whip my phone up to my face and open it.

Barbie is standing with me in front of the mirror and sink, watching. My moral support. This girl I don't know here for me in my drunken time of need.

The bonds forged by drunk girls in bathrooms, amirite?

My finger presses onto his little icon.

"It's ringing," I giggle to my new bestie. Barbie gives me the thumbs up. "Shit. It's ringing!"

I hang up. Or chicken out. Both.

Just before I hung up, I swear I heard a little noise. Like maybe he answered.

I put my phone face up on the sink and lean against the marble with my palms.

It buzzes to life.

Brooks.