A Hard Day's Night

Chapter 2

For two hours we had a steady stream of trick-or-treaters, none of whom commented on the fact there were only three “Beatles” handing out candy. But honestly, we could’ve been dressed up as the Manson family and people wouldn’t care. Free candy.

In my room, I donned my second costume and then carefully covered it up with my Sgt. Pepper’s outfit. Even though I was done with my obligations to my parents, they would not be happy if they knew I was going out dressed up as anything but a Beatle.

The Lonely Hearts Club was meeting up at the diner in our costumes before stopping by a haunted house the Student Council was doing for a fund-raiser. We’d decided that the Club would have a theme, but it wasn’t Beatles related. It was much, much better.

Fabulous females.

Besides a lack of my own costumes or good candy, another thing that drove me crazy about Halloween was how some girls used it as an excuse to dress up in as little clothing as possible. Sexy Nurse, Sexy Teacher, Sexy Nun — notice a theme? Are they really dressing up in a bra and hot pants for themselves? Of course not! It was always for a guy. Or to get attention from a guy.

We were so above that.

Our costumes would be positive role models for girls.

“See you later!” I called out to my parents as I dashed down the stairs and opened the front door. I waved at Tracy in her waiting car, but lost my balance as I slid on something and fell flat on my butt.

“Are you okay?” Dad rushed over to me.

My hands and shiny pants were covered in pumpkin guts. Our pumpkins, which had been intact all during trick-or-treating, were smashed and smeared across the front stoop.

“Not the Abbey Road one!” Mom knelt down to examine the damage done to the pumpkin with the outline from the Abbey Road cover.

“Don’t worry, Mom, your baby daughter is okay.” I scowled at her as I hauled myself back up onto my feet.

“That was super graceful, Pen.” Tracy walked up the driveway.

“Tracy!” Mom exclaimed upon seeing my best friend. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. We should’ve asked you to be the fourth!”

She’s still on this?

“Mom,” I warned her as we went inside to the kitchen so I could clean up the mess.

“Oh, no!” Mom tugged at my pants. “They ripped.”

There was a two-inch tear on my right side where I landed.

“Wait a second.” Mom dug her finger into the hole. “What are you wearing underneath?”

Busted.

“Ah, it’s cold out, so I thought I’d wear jeans.” I gripped my bag tighter, not wanting my contraband to be discovered.

Mom studied Tracy’s outfit: green cargo pants, black hooded jacket, and hair pulled back in a fancy braid. “Who are you dressed as?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” Tracy said as she turned around and struck a pose. “My bow and arrows are in my car.”

Great. What the world needs is for Tracy Larson to be armed with a deadly weapon.

“That’s nice,” Mom said, although it was clear that she’d been living under a Beatles-sized rock and had no idea what Tracy was talking about.

“Yeah,” Tracy continued, “we’re all dressing up as strong, awesome women. Although is there any other kind of woman? Boys, on the other hand, are all stupid and silly. No offense, Dr. Bloom.”

“None taken,” Dad chuckled as he headed outside with a broom.

“What do you mean you’re all dressing up as strong women?” Mom asked.

Armed or not, Tracy was going to pay for this.

“Mom.” I held my bag even tighter. “The Club is waiting for us. We can’t be late.”

“What’s in your bag?” Mom eyed me suspiciously.

“Nothing, just homework,” I lied.

“Penny Lane.” She held out her hand.

There was no avoiding it.

“Fine.” I pulled down my pants and took my jacket off. I was wearing a dark blue button-down shirt tucked into a matching pair of jeans that were cuffed, paired with black

hiking boots. I took a red handkerchief with white dots out of my bag and tied it around my head. I then held up the blue sign with “We Can Do It!” in white lettering above my head as I flexed my right arm. “I’m going as Rosie the Riveter.”

Rosie the Riveter was most likely going to go over the heads of most of my fellow McKinley High School students, but she was a cultural symbol during World War II, representing all of the women who worked in factories — many of whom took the jobs of men who were in the military. She was the ultimate feminist icon.

But by the look on Mom’s face, I might as well have dressed up as Hitler.

“If you wanted to dress up as a strong woman, you could’ve dressed up as Linda McCartney. I’d have even tolerated Yoko Ono.” She scrunched up her nose begrudgingly. “But really, Penny —”

Dad walked in with a dustpan full of pumpkin goo. “What a mess. Who would do such a thing? Hey!” He lit up when he saw me. “Rosie the Riveter!”

“We should get going.” I took Tracy by the hand and tugged her toward the car. This was the best time to get out of my mom’s way (and tirade).

Tracy and I carefully stepped over the mess on our front stoop.

“I can’t believe someone would do this,” I said, feeling bad for my parents, who put so much work into their pumpkins.

“Has it ever happened before?” Tracy asked as she got into the driver’s seat of her car.

“No.” Even though Halloween was often a time when houses were egged or toilet papered, we never had a problem in our neighborhood. Parkview was a relatively safe town.

“Well, don’t worry.” Tracy gestured to the backseat at her quiver full of arrows. “If we find out who did this, I’ll take care of it.”

Now I was worried.