Hannah tugs at the collar of her carefully ironed Oxford shirt, trying to find comfort in its familiar starchiness. She''d spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing this outfit—a calculated attempt to look like she wasn''t trying too hard while also not looking like she''d rolled out of bed. The end result is what her mother would call "sensibly pretty": dark blue high-waisted corduroys from the thrift store (probably someone''s castoff J.Crew), her most presentable penny loafers (only slightly scuffed), and a cream-colored button-down that she''d rescued from the clearance rack at Target. Her hair is pulled back in what she hopes reads as "effortlessly messy" rather than "actually messy," secured with her lucky pencil—the one she''d used to ace every AP exam so far.


    The streets of Riverside''s Heights District feel like another planet. Here, even the air tastes expensive—crisp and clean, unmarred by the exhaust fumes that perpetually hover around her apartment complex downtown. Jack-o''-lanterns guard manicured lawns like tiny orange sentries, their faces carved with the kind of precision that suggests professional pumpkin artists might actually be a thing. Every house looks like it was plucked from a magazine spread about "Autumn in New England," all perfect symmetry and tasteful Halloween decorations that probably cost more than her monthly grocery budget.


    A group of trick-or-treaters scampers past, their costumes reflecting trust funds rather than creativity—store-bought Marvel heroes and Disney princesses, not a homemade bedsheet ghost in sight. Their parents trail behind, discussing property values and school board elections in voices that carry just the right note of casual affluence.


    Another car full of teenagers roars past, bass thumping through custom speakers, Halloween costumes fluttering out the windows like flags. They''re all heading to the same place—Jake Woodland''s party, the social event horizon of senior year. Hannah''s stomach does an uncomfortable flip as she thinks about it. About him. About Nate Brooks in the library, looking at her like she was more than just the girl who helps Morris with history.


    "I mean, maybe he was just being nice," she mutters to herself, scuffing her loafers against perfect concrete. "Maybe—"


    The growl of a well-maintained engine interrupts her self-doubt session. A matte black Tesla Model 3 pulls alongside her, its electric whir somehow managing to sound pretentious. The window rolls down with a whisper of engineering excellence, revealing a familiar face.


    "Hannah banana!" David Marshall''s grin is visible even through his meticulously crafted Dungeons & Dragons wizard costume, complete with a staff. Her cousin''s glasses catch the streetlight, making him look momentarily ethereal—if wizards shopped at Brooks Brothers, that is. "What''s my favorite cousin doing walking these hallowed streets?"


    "I''m your only cousin, dork." But she''s smiling despite herself. David''s always been the family''s golden child—the one who managed to turn his computer science obsession into an early admission to MIT.


    "Nice outfit." His eyes twinkle behind his glasses. "Very librarian chic. Let me guess—you''re going as... someone who organizes books by the Dewey Decimal System?"


    "I''m not in costume," Hannah protests, but she can feel her cheeks warming. "This is just... me."


    From the driver''s seat, Alex Winters snorts. Even on Halloween, she''s a study in calculated darkness—black lipstick, black clothes, skin so pale it makes vampires look sun-kissed. Her "costume" consists of adding plastic fangs to her usual gothic ensemble. "Get in, Marshall. These hills are brutal in those sensible shoes."


    Hannah hesitates. Alex Winters exists in a different social stratosphere at Riverside High—not quite with the Amber Rosenbergs of the world, but definitely above Hannah''s careful invisibility. She''s the kind of girl who quotes Sylvia Plath in English class and somehow makes it sound cool.


    "I''m okay walking—"


    "Hannah." Alex''s dark-rimmed eyes fix on her through the rearview mirror. "It''s Halloween. The one night a year when social hierarchies are supposed to dissolve like fake blood in the rain. Get your corduroyed ass in this car."


    David pats the seat beside him. "Come on, Han. Let me protect my favorite cousin from the terrors of suburban trick-or-treaters."


    "Again, only cousin." But Hannah finds herself reaching for the door handle. The Tesla''s interior smells like patchouli and expensive leather—an odd combination that somehow works, just like Alex herself.


    "I didn''t know you were into parties," David says as they glide up the hill, the car''s electric motor humming like a contented cat. "Thought your idea of a wild night was reorganizing your calculus notes."


    "It''s senior year," Hannah manages, trying to sound casual. "Thought I should... expand my horizons."


    Alex''s laugh is warm despite her frosty appearance. "Expand your horizons all the way to Jake Woodland''s, huh?" She reaches into her studded leather jacket and produces a small bag of what definitely isn''t oregano. "Can''t blame you. Guy''s an ass, but he knows how to throw a party. Plus, he always buys the good stuff."


    Hannah blinks. "You and Jake..."


    "Share certain recreational interests." Alex''s grin is all mischief and expensive orthodonture. "What, you thought all those football bros were actually that chill naturally?"


    The Tesla crests another hill, and suddenly it''s there—the Woodland estate, sprawling across its carefully landscaped acres like a small country. Music pulses from within, and costumed figures stream up the circular driveway like pilgrims to a particularly exclusive shrine.


    Hannah''s heart performs a complex gymnastics routine in her chest. Somewhere in there, Nate Brooks is probably already holding court, all footballplayer grace and careful charm. Somewhere in there, Amber Rosenberg is probably plotting someone''s social execution. Somewhere in there, Hannah Marshall is about to either make history or become another casualty of Riverside High''s brutal social warfare.


    "Ready?" Alex asks, guiding the Tesla into a spot between a Porsche and what looks like a brand-new Range Rover.


    Hannah takes a deep breath, inhaling patchouli and privilege and possibility. "As I''ll ever be."


    Some nights are for staying safe. Some nights are for expanding horizons.


    And some nights—like this one—are for rewriting history.


    The Woodland mansion looms before them, its windows pulsing with multicolored lights. Hannah instinctively steps closer to David and Alex as they approach. Groups of costumed seniors cluster on the manicured lawn, their laughter mixing with the bass that thrums through the ground.


    "Stay close," Alex says, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. Her black clothes part the sea of costumes like ink through water. Hannah follows in her wake, grateful for the buffer. The entrance hall of the Woodland house stretches before them, all marble and money, already sticky with spilled drinks.


    Alex leads them toward the kitchen where the party''s heart seems to beat strongest. Hannah catches glimpses of familiar faces through the crowd - Morris, free from his history homework, dancing with Sarah from AP Bio. His letterman jacket is draped over her shoulders, and he''s moving with considerably more rhythm than he shows for historical dates.


    "Well, well, well!"


    Jake Woodland''s voice cuts through the noise. Hannah turns, trying to channel confidence she doesn''t feel, but Jake breezes past her like she''s part of the decor. He wraps Alex in a bear hug that lifts her off her feet.


    "Got something for me?" Jake''s grin is sharp as a credit card edge.


    Hannah watches, fascinated, as Alex and Jake perform their strange dance. Alex whispers something in his ear that makes his grin widen, and there''s a subtle exchange of hands and pockets that Hannah pretends not to notice.


    "Drink?" Jake asks, already reaching for the red cups.


    "Three," Alex replies, nodding toward Hannah and David.


    Jake''s attention finally lands on them, like a spotlight swinging around. "Hannah, great you made it!" He pours with the expertise of someone who''s had plenty of practice, liquid splashing darkly into plastic cups.


    "Here you go... Daniel," he says, handing the last cup to David.


    "David," her cousin corrects, adjusting his wizard''s glasses.


    "Right, right. David. My bad, buddy." Jake ruffles David''s carefully styled hair, messing up the severe part. "Enjoy the party!" And then he''s gone, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.


    "What a jerk," David mutters, trying to fix his hair.


    "Total jerk," Hannah agrees, staring into her cup.


    Alex throws her head back and laughs. "Boys are so easy to play. Watch this - by midnight he''ll be writing bad poetry about my eyes." She grabs their hands. "Come on, nerds. We''re dancing."


    "I don''t dance," Hannah protests, but Alex is already pulling them toward the makeshift dance floor in the living room.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Tonight you do," Alex declares, and somehow her absolute certainty makes it true. The music wraps around them like a spell, and Hannah finds herself moving, letting the rhythm wash away her usual careful calculations.


    For a moment, surrounded by her cousin''s bad wizard moves and Alex''s gothic grace, Hannah feels something strange and wonderful: belonging. Not the carefully manufactured belonging of the cheerleader crew, or the athletic camaraderie of the football team, but something real. Something that tastes like freedom and sounds like laughter.


    Then she sees him.


    Nate Brooks stands in the doorway, and the world stops spinning.


    Green hair shouldn''t look that good on anyone. But there''s Nate Brooks in the doorway, his Joker costume somehow transforming him from golden boy to something dangerous and electric. The tailored purple suit fits him like it was born to live on those shoulders, and even the face paint can''t hide the sharp line of his jaw. His hair is styled in careful chaos, temporary dye turning his waves into something wild and magnetic.


    Hannah''s heart does a complicated drumroll in her chest when his eyes find hers through the crowd. His smile, even painted in Joker red, still holds echoes of shared fruit roll-ups and third-grade secrets.


    "Ladies and gentlemen!" Justin Moore''s voice shatters the moment as he leaps onto the kitchen counter, his Batman costume a perfect counterpoint to Nate''s Joker. "Presenting the man who could throw a football to the moon if Coach would let him - Riverside''s own Prince of Chaos, the one, the only, Nate ''67'' Brooks!"


    Nate''s still in the doorway, but now his attention shifts, looking back over his shoulder. Of course. Of course she''s there.


    Amber Rosenberg materializes like an apparition of perfect timing, her Harley Quinn costume immaculately styled down to the last detail. The tiny shorts, the perfectly curled pigtails, the prop baseball bat - it''s all exactly right, because everything about Amber Rosenberg is always exactly right.


    Hannah feels her stomach turn to ice as Nate takes Amber''s hand, leading her into the kitchen like they''re walking a red carpet instead of navigating through drunk teenagers.


    "And his partner in crime," Justin continues, grinning down from his counter perch, "the queen of Riverside High herself, the girl who could kill you with a look and make you thank her for it - Amber Rosenberg!"


    Nate laughs as Justin launches himself off the counter, catching his fellow receiver in a display of athletic brotherhood that makes several freshman girls sigh audibly. "Pool!" Justin declares, still hanging off Nate''s shoulders. "Everyone''s waiting!"


    Nate turns, and suddenly he''s right there, almost colliding with Hannah. "Sorry," he says, and this close she can see where the green hair dye has stained his neck slightly.


    "Cool outfit," Hannah manages, hating how her voice comes out smaller than intended.


    "Well, well." Amber''s voice cuts through the air like scissors. "If it isn''t the babysitter. A bit far from the kiddie table, aren''t we?"


    Hannah forces herself to smile, channeling years of practice at the Rosenbergs''. "Just enjoying the party, Amber."


    "Hmm." Amber''s eyes flick over Hannah''s outfit like she''s cataloging every bargain-bin purchase. "I''m sure you are. Come on, Nate. Everyone''s waiting." She tugs at his arm, perfect nails digging into his sleeve.


    Hannah watches them go, Amber''s baseball bat swinging casually at her side like a warning.


    "Don''t even think about it," Alex says beside her, voice gentle despite her vampire fangs. "Getting between Amber Rosenberg and her property is like trying to steal a bone from a purebred pitbull. Not worth the blood loss."


    Hannah watches them disappear into the crowd, Amber''s pigtails bouncing with each step like tiny victory flags. Something in her chest aches, and she''s pretty sure it''s not just the cheap beer in her red cup.


    "I wasn''t thinking anything," she lies, but Alex''s knowing smile says she''s not fooling anyone.


    Some costumes, Hannah thinks, watching Nate''s green hair vanish into the sea of bodies, are harder to take off than others. And some roles - like the girl who stays in her lane, who knows her place in Riverside''s careful hierarchy - fit like a second skin, no matter how much you might wish to shed them.


    The kitchen becomes their temporary sanctuary, and Hannah feels the alcohol warming her veins, softening the edges of her usual careful restraint. Alex announces she needs to pee and disappears into the crowd, leaving Hannah and David to pour another drink.


    "You okay?" David asks, noticing her slight sway.


    "I don''t usually..." Hannah gestures vaguely with her cup. "This."


    The kitchen gradually empties, people trailing outside like moths drawn to some invisible flame. Through the windows, Hannah can see flashes of movement and laughter around the pool area.


    Lisa Chen and Susan Lawrence sweep into the kitchen, a study in contrasts. Lisa''s Wonder Woman costume is understated but perfect, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Susan, dressed as Catwoman, looks like she stepped off a magazine cover.


    "Hey, Hannah!" Lisa''s smile seems genuine, but before Hannah can respond, Susan''s fingers close around Lisa''s wrist.


    "Come on," Susan says, already pulling Lisa toward the door. "Everyone''s outside."


    With Alex gone and the kitchen feeling suddenly too empty, Hannah and David follow the exodus into the backyard. The Woodland''s pool area is like something from a resort - the water glows an ethereal blue, steam rising into the cool October air. Tall heaters create islands of warmth where people cluster, and music drifts from hidden speakers. The pool house looms at the far end, its windows dark and promising.


    "Yo, Marshall!"


    Hannah turns to find Alex sprawled on a luxurious outdoor sofa, her head resting comfortably in Jake Woodland''s lap. Jake, dressed in an impeccable tuxedo, looks every bit the James Bond he''s channeling. The scent of something definitely not tobacco drifts from between his fingers.


    "Join us?" Alex pats the space near her feet.


    Hannah and David settle onto the cushions, and Jake passes the joint to Alex with practiced ease. She takes a long drag before offering it back to him.


    Jake''s eyes find Hannah''s through the haze. "You partake, Marshall?"


    "I don''t smoke," Hannah says, then adds quickly, "Usually."


    "Come on," Alex coaxes, "Live a little. It''s good stuff."


    To Hannah''s shock, David reaches for the joint. "David!" she hisses.


    Her cousin grins, taking a hit like he''s done this before. "What? MIT''s going to drug test me?" He exhales slowly. "Besides, I''m a wizard tonight. This is basically a magic potion."


    Maybe it''s the alcohol, or maybe it''s the way everyone''s looking at her with amused expectation, but Hannah finds herself reaching for the joint. The first drag sends her into a coughing fit that makes everyone laugh.


    "Easy there, Marshall," Jake says, but his smile is surprisingly kind. "First time''s always rough."


    When she can breathe again, Hannah asks, "Don''t you guys get tested? For football?"


    Jake''s laugh carries across the pool. "Let''s just say there are ways around that. Otherwise we''d have to bench half the offensive line." He winks. "Plus, Coach Martinez''s son sells to half the team, so..."


    "No way," Hannah says, but Jake just grins and takes another hit.


    "Way," he confirms. "How do you think we stay so chill before games? Pure athleticism?"


    Hannah takes another hit, the world getting softer around the edges. Alex suddenly snatches David''s phone, holding it high above her head.


    "Party rules," Alex declares, dark lips curved in a mischievous smile. "No phones. Live in the moment."


    "Give it back!" David reaches for it, but Alex dances away, surprisingly nimble for someone who''s been drinking and smoking.


    "Come and get it, wizard boy!" Alex takes off across the patio, David chasing after her with his wizard robe flapping behind him.


    Hannah laughs, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and uninhibited. She leans forward to pass the joint back to Jake, but the world tilts sideways, and suddenly her face is in his lap.


    "Whoa there, Marshall." Jake''s voice carries amusement and something else. "Didn''t know you were that kind of girl."


    His hands help her up, but instead of letting her sit back, he guides her head to rest against his shoulder. His arm slides around her, and for a moment it feels nice, comfortable even. Then the comfort shifts into something else.


    Jake''s grip tightens, drawing her closer. "You know," he murmurs, "I always wondered about the quiet ones."


    Hannah''s mind clears slightly, alarm bells cutting through the haze. Jake''s arm feels less like support and more like a trap. She tries to shift away, but his fingers dig into her shoulder.


    "Didn''t know you were into quarterbacks, Hannah."


    Nate''s voice cuts through the moment like a knife through fog. He stands there, green hair catching the pool lights, his Joker makeup slightly smudged from the night''s festivities.


    "I''m not," Hannah manages, relief flooding her system as Nate drops onto the sofa beside her, sandwiching her between himself and Jake.


    "I''m hurt," Nate places a hand over his heart dramatically. "And here I thought Jake and I had something special. No one comes between our bromance, Marshall."


    "Best friends since diapers," Jake confirms, his grip on Hannah finally loosening. He passes the joint to Nate.


    Nate takes a long drag, and Hannah watches, fascinated, as the smoke curls around his Joker smile.


    Jake lets out a low whistle. "Well, well. Look who decided to be bad tonight. Does Daddy Rosenberg know his perfect future son-in-law is corrupting himself?"


    "Don''t have to drive Amber home," Nate shrugs, passing the joint back. "Perks of her living three houses down from you."


    Hannah sits there, acutely aware of the heat from both boys'' bodies, of the way Nate''s knee occasionally brushes against hers. The night air feels electric, charged with something she can''t quite name. She''s caught between Jake''s casual dominance and Nate''s careful charm, and she''s not sure which is more dangerous.


    Hannah spots Amber approaching, Alex''s earlier warning echoing in her head. She tries to extract herself from between Jake and Nate, but there''s nowhere to go.


    "Well, isn''t this cozy?" Amber''s voice cuts through the haze, her heeled boots clicking against the stone patio. "Stuck between Riverside''s finest. Most girls would kill for your spot right now, Hannah." Her Harley Quinn smile is sharp in the pool lights.


    She bends down to kiss Nate, then unexpectedly drops onto Jake''s lap, swinging her legs across Hannah to rest her combat boots on Nate''s thighs. She snuggles against Jake''s chest dramatically. "This is getting complicated. The legendary bromance, and now Hannah too? What''s a girl to think?"


    "Jealous, Rosenberg?" Jake''s hands find her waist.


    "Speaking of complications," Amber sits up suddenly. "I definitely just saw two juniors sneaking up to your dad''s room. Pretty sure one of them had a bottle from the good cabinet."


    "What?" Jake practically launches Amber off his lap, wedging her between himself and Hannah as he stands. "Those little—"


    "Need backup?" Nate starts to rise.


    "Nah, I got this." Jake''s already moving, his James Bond persona dropping as he storms toward the house.


    Amber stretches her legs, her feet finding Nate''s neck, playing with his collar. "Baby," she purrs, "be a good Joker and get your Harley Quinn a drink?"


    "As you wish, princess." Nate catches her boot, pressing a kiss to her ankle before standing.


    The moment he''s gone, Amber turns to Hannah. Her voice drops, all playfulness vanishing.


    "We''re not friends, Hannah. Let''s be clear about that. I''m only telling you this because you take care of my brother, and Tommy..." She pauses, something softer crossing her face. "Tommy trusts you."


    Hannah feels the world tilt slightly. Whether it''s the weed or this unexpected version of Amber, she''s not sure.


    "I saw you with Jake," Amber continues. "And despite what everyone thinks, I''m not completely heartless. You think you know Jake Woodland? The charming quarterback with the perfect smile? You don''t."


    "What do you mean?"


    Amber''s fingers tighten around her baseball bat. "Three girls transferred schools this year. Know why?" She leans closer, her voice barely a whisper. "Jake''s got this thing about boundaries. About the word ''no.'' And his father has very, very expensive lawyers."


    Hannah''s blood runs cold. "But you and Jake seem so..."


    "Close?" Amber''s laugh is bitter. "That''s the game, Hannah. The burden of dating Nate Brooks…" She glances toward the house.


    "Why are you telling me this?"


    "Because beneath that thrift store cardigan and those sensible shoes, you''re not stupid. And maybe..." Amber hesitates, her carefully constructed facade cracking just slightly. "Maybe I''m tired of watching girls walk into his web thinking they''re special. That they''ll be different."


    Hannah stares at her, seeing past the costume, past the perfect makeup, to something unexpectedly real. "I didn''t think you cared about—"


    "I don''t," Amber cuts her off. "But we girls have to stick together sometimes. Even if we hate each other." She shifts slightly. "And Hannah? I didn''t come over here to mark my territory. it was me that send Nate because I saw how Jake was looking at you."


    "Nate knew?"


    "Nate knows everything." Amber''s smile is sad. "It''s part of why I—"


    She stops abruptly, her entire body tensing. Hannah follows her gaze to see Nate in the doorway, red cups in hand. Lisa Chen stands next to him, her fingers wrapped around his bicep as she laughs at something he''s said. The way she''s looking up at him, the way her hand lingers...


    "That little bitch," Amber whispers, but there''s something in her voice Hannah''s never heard before. Something that sounds almost like fear.


    Hannah watches as Amber rises to her feet, baseball bat gripped tight. The party seems to hold its breath, like the moment before lightning strikes.


    And Hannah suddenly remembers what she overheard at the Rosenbergs'' that day. About plans. About teaching Lisa Chen a lesson.


    About what happens when people forget their place in the ecosystem.