Mom bit her tongue, and said calmly, "Victor, listen to me. If you put on a boy's costume, one of your friends might notice you. But if you dress like a girl, they never will. Think about it."

"But do I have to dress like a little girl?" I asked.

---

 

1. No One Will Ever Know
 

Before I can tell you how I got into this whole crazy mess, first I have to tell you who I am, and the easiest way to do that is to explain my nickname.

Everyone calls me "Short Chapters." If they're in a hurry, they call me "Chapters" or "Chap" or "Shorty" or something else like that.

Honestly, I don't mind. I don't like being constantly reminded of my small stature, but I'd rather be called "Shorty" than "Victor," which is my real name.

Before I was born, my father was a heavy smoker. My mother didn't smoke at all — or drink, but as far as my time in her womb is concerned, my mother's good habits didn't matter.

When I was born, I was so small the nurses thought I was premature, even though I arrived exactly when expected.

Afterward, the doctor explained that my smallness was the effect of the second-hand smoke.

When my father heard the news, he was so horrified and felt so guilty that he quit cold-turkey on the spot. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and chucked it in the doctor's trash can, and he's never had a puff since.

When Mom tells the story she always adds that she saw the doctor fish the discarded pack from the trash as they walked away. Dad gives her a funny look at that point. My Aunt Rose says she's trying to help him feel less guilty, but I don't know how she works that out.

My littleness followed me ever after: always first in line at school, always the smallest, always wearing everyone's hand-me-downs years after they've discarded them... Even now, at 14 years of age, I have to buy shoes and coats in the Children's Department.

Oh, well.

My nickname came one day in fourth grade, when I stood up to read in front of the class. "How much should I read, Miss?" I asked.

The teacher flipped a few pages and replied absently, "You have a nice voice, Victor. Why don't you read the whole thing? It's a short chapter."

A snigger was heard, and a voice repeated, "short chapter."

Then, another snigger, and someone called out, "Yeah, just like Victor: a short chapter!"

There was universal laughter at this, and even the teacher had trouble hiding her smile. My cheeks burned, I felt like an idiot, but I assure you, I was not permanently scarred.

I actually liked and welcomed the nickname. Why? Because my real name so richly and hugely sucks. "Victor Samson"? What sort of name is that? A heroic name, a Napoleonic name, but not a name for me. It was too much to live up to.

From the time I knew enough to ask, I pestered my parents about changing my name. I constantly suggested options, but none were accepted.

So "Short Chapters" was fine by me.

Okay, the other thing you need to know is that my favorite holiday has always been Halloween. It's the one holiday when everything goes right: everyone is happy, adults give you candy... how could that be bad?

I had to pause when I wrote that last line. Still, even with what follows, I still love Halloween, and I can't blame the holiday for what happened. I have to blame myself.

And I guess my mother.

Oh, and Mrs. Jameson, too.

---

Well! There I was, a freshman in high school, feeling all grown up but looking like a ten-year-old. A lot of my old friends were in my classes, but there were many new kids, who assumed I was some prodigy who'd skipped four or five grades.

My friends carried my nickname into high school for me, and soon the only ones who called me Victor were the teachers.

As Halloween approached, I was dismayed to discover that no one was going to get in costume! Not for school — it wasn't allowed. But NO ONE was even throwing a Halloween party, and above all, no one was going trick-or-treating.

I was very careful in verifying that last point. Since several people had pointed out that trick-or-treating was "for babies," I certainly didn't want to start any "baby" remarks going in my direction.

For that reason, when a friend of mine asked whether I would, I replied haughtily, "Of course not!" whereupon he said, "See? No one's going trick-or-treating! Not even Chapters. And he's the one person who could get away with it!"

---

He's the one person who could get away with it!

That phrase stuck with me. I kept turning it over in my mind, the way a cow chews its cud. Finally, Mom — who is extremely curious — asked, "What in the world are you thinking about, Victor? Every time I look at you, you're lost in thought."

"It's about Halloween..." I began, and I laid out the whole situation for her.

"See, I want to do Halloween. I want to go trick-or-treating, and I wish there was a Halloween party to go to. But everyone at school thinks it's childish."

My mother gave a thoughtful hmm, and said, "Do you want to throw your own party?"

"No," I said, feeling miserable. "No one would come!"

"Ah." She was silent for a bit, then said, "You know, I think something can be done. Just let your old Mom have a bit of a think, and we'll talk some more tomorrow."

I didn't put much stock into that... Mom likes to make promises... I have to admit that she is awfully clever, but what could she possibly do?

---

The stores were full of costumes, and kids were busy picking them out.

I saw a man and woman poking through the outfits, and watched until it was clear they were shopping for themselves. I plucked up my courage and asked if it was so.

"Sure, we're getting costumes! Why shouldn't we? Why should you kids have all the fun?"

That response plunged me into the pit of despair. Adults could dress up, little kids could dress up. Why was *I* stuck in the only age bracket that couldn't enjoy Halloween?

---

When I got home, Mom said, "Chin up, Victor. I've got some ideas."

I was skeptical, so she put a snack in front of me to help lighten my mood. After I'd taken a few bites of sandwich, she laid out her scheme.

"Victor, I've always wanted to go into Boston for Halloween. I've heard the people on Beacon Hill go all out when they decorate their houses, and you can trick-or-treat there."

I considered this. Halloween would be a Monday; it was unlikely that anyone I knew would be out — especially in Boston — on a school night, but you never knew.

"What if someone recognizes me?"

"I've thought of that, too," she said. "I've picked out three costumes that no one could ever know you in."

"Three?" I frowned. "Why three? I only need one!"

"Mmm," she replied, smiling. "It turns out that since Halloween is on a weeknight, there are lots of family Halloween events in Boston on the weekend! I've picked out one each for Saturday and Sunday, and then you can trick-or-treat on Monday."

I was so excited I could hardly stay in my chair. Mom smiled.

"So what are the costumes?" I asked, nearly jumping with glee.

"Oh, give me a little time with that," she said with an air of mystery. "On Saturday, I should have something to show you."

My repeated pleas did no good, so eventually I gave up asking. Mom has always sewn my Halloween costumes. They never fail to be striking and fun. People always give me huge compliments and often take pictures.

Last year, I even won a costume contest!

That night, Mom and I told Dad the plans, and he nodded in approval.

"Sounds great," he said. "Halloween's always been my favorite holiday, too."

He chewed a bit, thinking, then said, "You know, we could make a weekend of it. Get a hotel in the city... have a little fun."

"Really?" Mom said, delighted.

"Sure," he said. "In fact, I have vacation days I haven't taken, and if I don't use them soon, they'll be gone. I could take off on Monday, and we could keep Victor home from school. Just stay in Boston until, well, Monday night."

I howled with pleasure at the idea. Imagine! Missing school! PLUS three days of Halloween!

Mom asked, "What would we tell the school?"

Dad gave a sardonic grin and said, "We could say that his Uncle Mickey died."

"Jim!" Mom said, obviously shocked.

"Just wishful thinking," Dad replied. "Still one excuse is as good as another."

Mom gave him a severe look of disapproval, but he pretended not to notice.

---

Saturday morning, Mom still wasn't ready to show me the costumes. She said, "If you can make your own lunch, I should have something to show you after."

And so I did.

After I finished my lunch, Mom called me to her workroom. I looked around me, and it was clear that the costumes, or pieces of costume, were piled under a white sheet on a table near the sewing machine.

"Now," she said. "I'm sure you're going to be surprised and maybe a little shocked, but remember: the idea is that no one is supposed to recognize you. All right?" I nodded. "Ready?" She asked, grinning mischievously. I was dying from suspense, and actually jumped up and down.

She pulled off the sheet, and my jaw dropped in dismay.

Whaaat? I noiseless asked.

When I saw the first costume, I ran from the room, crying angry tears.

---

I fled to my bedroom and threw myself face down on my bed. Pounding the mattress with my fists, I cried and growled with rage and disapppointment. When I finally came to myself, I saw that Mom was standing in the doorway, waiting to talk with me.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded. "Is it supposed to be a joke?"

"Of course not," she said. "Listen to me — no, Victor, listen. The idea is for no one to recognize you. I understand that you don't like being, well, not tall–" I scoffed at the understatement "–but here's a chance to take advantage of it. You can go, dressed as a much younger... kid."

"But not a girl!" I said furiously. The top costume, the one I'd seen, was a short, shiny blue dress with white fur across the bottom of the skirt. "What was that thing, anyway? A kind of girl-elf?"

Mom smiled in spite of herself. "No, that was Rainbow Brite. She's sort of a... well, she's a cartoon character. But see, the idea was–"

"And what are the others? Are they girl costumes as well?"

"Yes," Mom admitted. She hesitated a moment, then said, "One is a princess, and the other a fairy."

"Oh, that's perfect!" I shouted. "What in the world were you thinking?"

My mother's mouth twisted for a moment, and I realized I may have gone just a bit too far in my protest. But Mom bit her tongue, and said calmly, "Victor, listen to me. If you put on a boy's costume, one of your friends might notice you. But if you dress like a girl, they never will. Think about it."

"But do I have to dress like a little girl?" I asked.

"Well, you don't want to wear a bra and lipstick, do you?"

"No," I said, blushing. I was beginning to see her point.

"Besides," she said. "You've never been a girl for Halloween. Give it a chance. It's only a costume. It isn't going to turn you into a girl, and no one will ever know."

"It's only a costume," she repeated. "It doesn't change who you are. It's a disguise."

I heaved a deep sigh.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," I said.

"Will you try them on, then?"

I nodded.

We walked back to her workroom. I'd taken a bath that morning so I'd be clean for the costume fittings. I stripped to my underwear and draped my clothes over a chair.

"First the Rainbow Brite outfit," she said, looking around for something. "Oh! Here they are!" She picked up a pair of panties. They were a blue that nearly matched the dress. "Put these on in place of what you're wearing."

"What?" I responded. "No way."

She looked at me, and I realized she was a bit exasperated. "Victor, if anyone happens to see your underwear, they're going to wonder. Especially if they're a strong white like those. You might not want anyone to see these panties, but they're sure to see what you're wearing now."

I didn't move.

"Come on now," she coaxed. "It's only underwear. It goes with the outfit. Otherwise it will look silly."

"Okay," I said. With cheeks aflame, I exchanged my own underwear for the blue pair.

Mom carefully lowered the Rainbow Brite dress over my head. She pinned it here and there, where it was a bit loose. She showed me the rainbow knee socks and long-sleeved top that I'd wear with it. "I need to get some red sneakers, and make the rainbow belt, and then we'll be set."

Honestly, I liked the costume, although I was a little alarmed at how short it was.

"Don't worry about that," Mom said. "No one will be able to see — as long as you wear those dark panties."

Next came the princess costume. I was surprised by how elaborate it was. The skirt was very full, and had lots of pink draping over the basic white dress. A gold panel in the front suggested a bodice. The sleeves were short and puffy.

"Wow, Mom — I can't believe you made this!" I exclaimed. "This must have been a lot of work!"

"Mmm. I cheated a bit on that one. I found the dress in a thrift shop and altered it a bit." She adjusted the hem line three times before she was satisfied. "It looks best if it's long, but you have to be able to walk," she explained.

The last was a Tinkerbell outfit: a ballet-like dress colored in different shades of green. The skirt flared, just like the Rainbow Brite dress. "I cut them from the same pattern," Mom explained. "It's just different material, and the bottom hem finishes differently."

After a bit of sewing, and a second fitting, she said that the costumes were "basically ready." In the weeks ahead she'd pick up the shoes and accessories. "You'll need wings, a magic wand, a tiara, some stockings and some other things." She looked me in the face. I was still wearing the Tinkerbell dress, and she held me by the shoulders. "So are we good?" she asked. "Are you happy with your costumes?"

I blushed from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet. "Yes, Mom. I'm happy with the costumes. I'm amazed at how nice they are. Thanks."

"You're welcome, honey. Now slip that off and put your own clothes back on."

---

SO! Up to that point, everything had been fairly simple. I went to school on Monday, nearly bursting with my secret, but of course I had to keep it to myself. A few people asked what was "up with me" and why I was grinning all the time.

In English class Mr. Pearl asked what I was smirking at, and told me to stop.

It was hard to keep from smiling.

---

Dad had been away at work the whole weekend, so he heard it all for the first time at dinner on Monday night. He thought the whole thing was a laugh-riot.

"How did you like those costumes?" he joked. "Do you feel like you've finally come into your own?"

"Dad!" I protested as he chuckled. "I don't want to dress like a girl. It's just a disguise."

"Ah, a disguise!" he said knowingly. "Do you have a name to go along with your disguise?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We can't be calling you Victor when you're out trick-or-treating, can we?"

"We?" I repeated. "What do you mean 'we'?" I demanded. "You're not coming with me."

"Are you kidding?" my mother put in. "We can't let you go alone! You're going to be dressed like a ten-year-old girl. There's no way anyone would let a ten-year-old girl wander the the streets of Boston by herself at night!"

"Is it dangerous?" I asked.

"No, not particularly. But if you go by yourself, people are going to wonder, and, well! There are people who prey on little girls, you know."

"But I'm not a little girl," I protested. "I'm a fourteen-year-old boy."

"I know that and you know that," Dad replied, "but appearances will be against you. Besides, your mother and I want to see Beacon Hill too."

"Even if you were dressed as a fourteen-year-old, I wouldn't want you out at night alone in Boston," Mom said.

I sighed. Another objection occurred to me. "Do you know what? If anybody sees me with you, they're going to recognize me. Then there goes my disguise, right out the window."

My mother opened her mouth, but had nothing to say. Even my father was quiet.

After a while, Dad said, "You know, he's right." He mulled something over, and said, "What if we follow at a distance?"

Mom shook her head. Dad thought some more, then shrugged. He was stumped.

Suddenly a light went on in Mom's head. "I've got it!" she smiled. "What if he goes with someone else?"

"Who?" Dad asked.

"Remember Macy Jameson?"

"Sure. Your college friend. What about her?"

"She lives right in Boston. Not far from Beacon Hill, and she has a little girl the same age as– I mean, her daughter is ten, too."

"What do you mean too?" I put in.

Mom ignored me. "If she takes Victor, it will be perfect! You and I can wander around alone together–"

"That sounds good!" Dad enthused.

"–and even if Victor ran into a friend of his, they wouldn't look twice at him!"

Dad nodded, approvingly. "Sounds like a plan! Do you think Macy will do it?"

"I can only ask," Mom said, raising a glass as if toasting herself. "I'll call her, right after dinner."

I had no way of knowing at the time, but that was when all my troubles began.

© 2007, 2008 by Kaleigh Way