(Mr. Taylor is Shameeka’s dad.)

     Then I shoved the microphone back at its owner, and hopped into the limo.

     We almost didn’t make it. First of all, because of the parade, the traffic downtown was criminal. Secondly, there was a line to get into the Village Cinema that wound all the way around the block! I had the limo driver cruise the length of it, while Lars and I scanned the assorted hordes. It was pretty hard to recognize my friends, because everyone was in costume.

     But then I saw this group of really weird-looking people dressed in WWII Army fatigues. They were all covered in fake blood, and some of them had phony stumps in place of limbs. They were holding a big sign that saidLooking for Private Ryan. Standing next to them was a girl wearing a black lacy slip and a fake beard. And standing next to her was a boy dressed as a Mafioso type, holding a violin case.

     The violin case was what did it.

     “Stop the car!” I shrieked.

     The limo pulled over, and Lars and I got out. The girl in the nightie went, “Oh, my God! You came! You came!”

     It was Lilly. And standing next to her, a big pile of bloody intestines coming out of his Army jacket, was her brother, Michael.

     “Quick,” he said, to Lars and me. “Get in line. I got two extra tickets just in case you ended up making it after all.”

     There was some grumbling from the people behind us as Lars and I cut in, but all he had to do was turn so that his shoulder holster showed, and they got quiet pretty quick. Lars’s Glock, being real and all, was pretty scary-looking.

     “Where’s Hank?” Lilly wanted to know.

     “He couldn’t make it,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her why. You know, that last time I’d seen him, he’d been dancing with Gisele. I didn’t want Lilly to think Hank preferred supermodels to, you know, us.

     “He cannot come. Good,” Boris said, firmly.

     Lilly shot him a warning look, then, pointing at me, demanded, “What are you supposed to be?”

     “Duh,” I said. “I’m Glinda the Good Witch.”

     “I knew that,” Michael said. “You look really . . .You look really . . .”

     He seemed unable to go on. I must, I realized, with a sinking heart, look really stupid.

     “You are way too glam for Halloween,” Lilly declared.

     Glam? Well, glam was better than stupid, I guess. But why couldn’t Michael have said so?

     I eyed her. “Um,” I said. “What, exactly, are you?”

     She fingered the straps to her slip, then fluffed out her fake beard.

     “Hello,” she said, in a very sarcastic voice. “I’m a Freudian slip.”

     Boris indicated his violin case. “And I am Al Capone,” he said. “Chicago gangster.”

     “Good for you, Boris,” I said, noticing he was wearing a sweater, and yes, it was tucked into his pants. He can’t help being totally foreign, I guess.

     Someone tugged on my skirt. I looked around, and there was Kenny, my Bio partner. He was in Army fatigues, too, and missing an arm.

     “You made it!” he cried.

     “I did,” I said. The excitement in the air was contagious.

     Then the line started moving. Michael and Kenny’s friends from the Computer Club, who made up the rest of the bloody platoon, started marching and going, “Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four.”

     Well, they can’t help it. They’re in the computer club, after all.

     It wasn’t until the movie started that I began to realize something weird was going on. I very cleverly maneuvered myself in the aisle so that I would end up sitting next to Michael. Lars was supposed to be on my other side.

     But somehow Lars got pushed out, and Kenny ended up on my other side.

     Not that it mattered . . .then. Lars just sat behind me. I hardly noticed Kenny, even though he kept trying to talk to me, mostly about Bio. I answered him, but all I could think about was Michael. Did he really think I looked stupid? When should I mention that I happen to know that he is Jo-C-rox? I had this little speech all rehearsed. I was going to be like, Hey, seen any good cartoons lately?

     Lame, I know, but how else was I supposed to bring it up?

     I could hardly wait for the movie to be over so I could spring my offensive.

     Rocky Horror,even if you can’t wait for it to end, is pretty fun. Everybody just acts like a lunatic. People were throwing bread at the screen, and putting up umbrellas when it rained in the movie, and dancing the Pelvic Thrust. It really is one of the best movies of all time. It almost beats outDirty Dancing as my favorite, except, of course, there’s no Patrick Swayze.

     Except I forgot there aren’t really any scary parts. So I didn’t actually get a chance to pretend to be scared so Michael could put his arm around me, or anything.

     Which kind of sucks, if you think about it.

     But hey, I got to sit by him, didn’t I? For like two hours. In the dark. That’s something, isn’t it? And he kept laughing and looking at me to see whether or not I was laughing, too. That counts, right? I mean, when someone keeps checking to see whether you think the same things are funny that he does? That totally counts for something.

     The only problem was, I couldn’t help noticing that Kenny was doing the same thing. You know, laughing and then looking at me to see if I was laughing, too.

     That should have been my next clue.

     After the movie, we all went out to breakfast at Round the Clock. And this is where things got even more weird.

     I had been to Round the Clock before, of course—where else in Manhattan can you get pancakes for two dollars?—but never quite this late, and never with a bodyguard. Poor Lars was looking a little worse for wear by that time. He kept ordering cup after cup of coffee. I was jammed in at this table between Michael and Kenny—funny how that kept happening—with Lilly and Boris and the entire Computer Club all around us. Everyone was talking really loud and at the same time, and I was having a really hard time figuring out how I was ever going to bring up the cartoon thing, when all of a sudden, Kenny said, right in my ear, “Had any interesting mail lately?”

     I am sorry to say that it was only then that the truth dawned.

     I should have known, of course.

     It hadn’t been Michael.Michael wasn’t Jo-C-rox.

     I think a part of me must have known that all along. I mean, it really isn’t like Michael to do anything anonymously. He just isn’t the type not to sign his name. I guess I’d been suffering from a bad case of wishful thinking, or something.

     A REALLY bad case of wishful thinking.

     Because of course Jo-C-rox was Kenny.

     Not that there’s anything wrong with Kenny. There totally isn’t. He is a really, really nice guy. I mean, I really like Kenny Showalter. Really, I do.

     But he’s not Michael Moscovitz.

     I looked up at Kenny after he’d made that comment about having any interesting mail lately, and I tried to smile. I really did.

     I said, “Oh, Kenny. Are you Jo-C-rox?”

     Kenny grinned.

     “Yes,” Kenny said. “Didn’t you figure it out?”

     No. Because I am a complete idiot.

     “Uh-huh,” I said, forcing another smile. “Finally.”

     “Good.” Kenny looked pleased. “Because you really do remind me of Josie, you know. OfJosie and the Pussycats, I mean. See, she’s lead singer in a rock group, and she solves mysteries on the side. She’s cool. Like you.”

     Oh, my God.Kenny. My Bio partner,Kenny. Six-foot-tall, totally gawky Kenny, who always gives me the answers in Bio. I’d forgotten he’s like this huge Japanese anime fan. Of course he watches the Cartoon Network. He’s practically addicted to it.Batman is like his favorite thing of all time.