Read Not Anything for Free Online Page B

getting off on this Alice thing, aren’t you?”
    “Just one more. Think of the kids!” I grab my belly and moan. “Those poor, chocolate-deprived, sugar-starved, middle-class kids.”
    “You’re crazy,” Marisol says laughing.
    “And you”—I slap her oversized hat off her head—“are mad.”
    “Funny,” Marisol says dryly.
    “I do try,” I respond as the doorbell rings. “What?”
    Marisol is eyeing me most suspiciously, and I know why. For most of the night, we’ve been arguing over candy distribution. Thanks to quick feet and fast reflexes, I’ve done 70 percent of the distribution, not that Marisol hasn’t put up a fight. She’s got a fast right elbow, and during our last encounter I took a blow to my side. I’m still slightly in pain, but when Marisol screams, “Doorbell!” and leaps for the basket of candy on the dining room table, I can’t help but spring into action.
    “My turn, again,” I yell tauntingly, snatching the basket from her hands. She grabs my blond wig and sends me tumbling backward, managing to catch the basket in midair before it hits the floor.
    When I finally get the door open, I’m out of breath and holding Marisol at bay with one hand. “Trick or treat,” I tell a bouncy strawberry-blond mini-person wrapped in a pink tulle ballerina outfit.
    “Trick or treat,” Marisol whispers weakly behind me.
    “Is that your monster?” I ask the girl, pointing to a six-foot green-eyed monster standing behind her. The little girl nods her head solemnly and then thrusts a plastic pumpkin basket at me.
    “Ooh, you remind me of cotton candy,” I tell her, and she does. From her pink bun to her pink dance slippers, she seems fluffed up. “You’re very bouncy,” I tell her, noting the way she hops from side to side. “Good dance moves.”
    “Let me look,” Marisol jumps up and down behind me.
    “Are you going to be nice?” I whisper.
    “Yes,” she answers reluctantly.
    “Okay,” I open the door wider, and Marisol squishes in beside me.
    “What’s your name?” I ask the ballerina, kneeling down.
    “Lucy.”
    “How old are you, Lucy?” Marisol asks.
    “I’m five.” She holds up five fingers with one hand.
    “Wow,” Marisol says. “You’re a big girl. Is that your Daddy?” Marisol asks, pointing to the monster.
    “No, that’s my cousin.”
    “Okay, well, do you want to say something?” Marisol prods.
    “Uh-uh,” Lucy shakes her head eagerly.
    “Trick or treat,” I whisper as a reminder.
    “Trick or treat,” Lucy says. “I gotta pee.”
    “Oh, you’re going for a trick,” I tell her. “That’s clever. Well, here’s your treat anyway,” I pat her bun. “Should we give one of these to your cousin, Lucy? Would you like one, too?” I ask the silent monster. “That’s a good choice,” I tell him when he picks the mini Snickers bar.
    “I want one, too,” Lucy yells. “I gotta pee!” She bounces faster than before and squeezes her legs together.
    “That’s a funny trick,” I tell her, shaking my head at Marisol.
    “Why does she keep doing that?” Marisol asks pointing at her.
    “I don’t know. Are you trying to show us a new dance?” I ask.
    “Maybe she’s stretching out?” suggests Marisol.
    “Or maybe she stepped in an ant pile?” I hypothesize.
    “Or maybe,” interjects the monster, “she really has to pee.”
    “Spoilsport,” Marisol and I yell at him.
    “Do I…?” I stare at the monster. Something in his muffled monster-voice seems oddly familiar.
    “Lucy,” the monster reprimands, “I told you to go before we left.”
    “That voice,” I whisper to Marisol, “is really familiar.”
    “I really gotta pee,” Lucy says, putting her hands between her legs.
    “Can she use the bathroom?” the monster asks.
    “Sure—”
    “Hold on.” Marisol puts her hand out like a crossing guard. “Give us a minute,” Marisol says before slamming the door shut. “What if this is a total setup?”
    “The girl has to