Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(88)

Illyana_Dallas222: previews didn’t show much. Idk how the finale could beat this episode.





StaleBread89: it has to involve the fan fav Strider somehow I bet.





Illyana_Dallas222: I think you’re right. Wish we could do a viewing party together. Would be fun.





StaleBread89: it airs Nov 5th? Might be able to do voice chat with you while we watch? Gotta check my schedule first tho.





Illyana_Dallas222: I’m game! I’ll check my schedule too.





23





LUNA HALE





I reread yesterday’s DMs while I’m walking towards the science lab. Hallway isn’t too crowded, and I’m keeping pace behind my bodyguard. Frog is ensuring I don’t bump into anyone, especially as my phone rings.

“Howdy ho,” I answer, cell to my ear.

“Hey,” Sulli greets. “No clue if Mof or Jane already called you, but you want anything special at the grocery for tonight?”

Tonight.

It’s the day before Halloween.

Hallow Friends Eve IV will be kickstarting at 8 p.m. on the dot. Location: penthouse. Attire: PJs (spooky PJs = A+ effort). Vibe: super chill.

Sulli and I made construction paper invitations for our roomies and Security Force Omega. She even watched Beneath a Strong Sentiment with me and caught me direct messaging StaleBread89. Thankfully, SFO were at a bar called The Independent, so we had time to catch up alone.

I confessed how I’ve liked SB, but I didn’t mention my feelings for Donnelly. I still haven’t spoken those out loud to anyone beyond Orion and Moondragon.

And I thought about telling Sulli how SB wants to voice chat next week, but I couldn’t surface those words. I feared she’d say, that’s not a good idea, Luna. It’s why I haven’t told Eliot and Tom either.

“We’re leaving in about ten minutes,” Sulli says, her voice quiet as she asks, “It’s fucking ten, right? Or are we going now?”

My eyes grow. “You’re actually going to the grocery store?”

“Fuck, sorry, Luna. What was that?”

I repeat the question and add, “Won’t there be a ton of paparazzi?” I’m surprised, considering grocery shopping is something that even I occasionally will just leave to a delivery app. It’s just easier than being stopped in the toilet paper aisle for a selfie.

“I’m a little fucking freaked out, but I think I need to test my limits. See what I’m capable of before the bean sprout becomes a full-on watermelon. The Seasons are coming too, so it’s not just me, Kits, and Banks.”

Oh, they’re all going together. The two of us nicknamed Maximoff, Farrow, Jane, and Thatcher the Seasons.

When Sulli confided in me that she was pregnant, twinges of fear rose inside me—scared that I’d lose a friend that I’d become so close to, and there are times I feel us drifting in space. She is finding her safe landing on a sparkly planet made mostly of water—and I am still among the stars.

Lost…

“Marshmallows, pretzels, peanut butter, kettle corn,” I list off some snacks, not mentioning the twist inside my stomach.

“Got it. See you later. Kick college’s ass.”

“Be safe, water sprite,” I sing-song in farewell and then hang up. Hallow Friends Eve has had a rocky history. First year ended with a brick through the townhouse window. Second year ended with my little brother in a fistfight that he kinda started. Third year was a wash since Jane was getting married two days later, but after Sulli’s Jeep broke down out west, we consider that one the most cursed year.

Hallow Friends Eve IV is returning to its roots as a horror movie night. Chill. I’m still excited to see Donnelly, but our friendship status hurts a lot. Mostly because I can’t see us ever climbing out of it.

Once my science lab begins, I try focusing on my lab station and work, but I catch myself daydreaming about the Halloween Hellfire Gala tomorrow.

Beakers. Liquids.

Concentrate.

I shake out my thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?” I ask my lab partner.

Chopped and uneven blonde bangs, darker brows, big blue eyes, and a soft-cheeked, pale face, she looks young—even younger than I do and some people think I’m fifteen just because I’m gangly. Her ears stick out a bit, and with combat boots and plaid red pants, she seems like she’d be considered edgy and cool among our peers.

But more than a few people eye her wardrobe and whisper things like “try hard.” A guy noticed the Pink Floyd shirt she always wears and asked her if she even listens to the band. She stared him straight in the face and said, “No, I just like the shirt.”

He huffed and said “poser” before walking off.

I caught her humming “Another Brick in the Wall” last week.

When the professor said we could pick our own lab partners, I recognized Harriet Fisher in the crowd. Even Frog pointed her out. She’s the same seventeen-year-old who auditioned for Tom’s band, rejected only because of her age.

Today, she hovers over the lab bench with a pipet, skillfully filling each test tube with solution. “You are helping,” Harriet says without looking over. She bites on a blue Jolly Rancher, breaking the no food rule in the lab. “You’re taking notes.”