The Halloween party roared inside the community hall, music vibrating off the walls. Strings of orange fairy lights glimmered over costumed bodies swaying to the beat. Joey Lynch stood near the drinks table, a black cloak slung around his shoulders, the Phantom of the Opera mask pushed up on his forehead. He’d worn it for Jiji—her Christine dress was soft and pale, the kind that made her look like she belonged on stage. And now, there she was, laughing while some lad from the rugby team spun her across the dance floor.

Joey’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like that laugh. Not when it wasn’t for him.

“Oi,” Lizzie said, sliding up beside him, her own costume glittering with sequins. “Stop sulking and do something about it.”

“Not sulking,” Joey muttered, eyes glued to Jiji’s smile. “Just… watching.”

Lizzie arched a brow. “You look like you’re ready to murder the poor lad. Here’s an idea—dance with me. Make her jealous. Works every time.”

Joey turned to her. “What? I’m not—”

“She’s watching you,” Lizzie said, grabbing his hand. “So you can either stand here like a broody idiot, or we can dance and see if she notices.”

Before he could protest, Lizzie dragged him onto the floor. They started dancing, and Joey—grumbling under his breath—let her guide him, though his eyes kept flicking to Jiji. Sure enough, Jiji had stopped dancing. She was watching them.

“Good,” Lizzie whispered, smirking. “Now kiss me.”

Joey froze. “What?”

“Kiss me. It’ll make her wild. Trust me.”

He hesitated, heart pounding. Jiji’s gaze was burning from across the room, and something inside him snapped. Without thinking, Joey bent down and brushed his lips against Lizzie’s. It was quick. Barely anything. But when he pulled back—Jiji was gone.

“Shit,” he muttered, spinning to scan the crowd.

“She left,” Lizzie said softly. “You better go after her.”

Joey was already moving, throwing his cloak off as he pushed out into the cold night air.

He spotted her down the empty road, white skirts glowing under the streetlights like a ghost drifting through the dark.

“Jiji!” he called, his breath turning white in the chill. “Oi, wait! It wasn’t—”

She didn’t turn.

“Jiji, please!” His boots slapped against the pavement as he caught up, the thump of the music from the hall fading behind them.

Finally, she stopped. Her back was still to him, shoulders stiff, her hands curled into the fabric of her dress.

“Jiji,” Joey said again, voice low, almost pleading. “It was nothing with Lizzie. You know that.”