A Hard Day's Night Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt

  A Hard Day’s Night

  Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Also by Elizabeth Eulberg

  Copyright

  THIS HALLOWEEN SHORT STORY takes place alongside the events in The Lonely Hearts Club. While this story stands on its own, for those interested, Halloween would fall before Chapter 27. The only reminder needed is that at this point, members of The Lonely Hearts Club aren’t allowed to date. Because boys are stupid and such.

  I, Penny Lane Bloom, hate Halloween.

  Okay, maybe hate is a strong word.

  I know most people love Halloween, especially kids. It’s all about dressing up like an animal, a firefighter, a superhero, or whatever you want. Plus, the candy! All the candy!

  But here’s the thing: Halloween isn’t about fun costumes and candy in the Bloom household.

  Nope.

  I’ve never been allowed to dress up in whatever costume I wanted. No way. I have to wear what fits my parents’ theme. That theme, without fail, is always the Beatles. Granted, they mix things up, and one year we’ll be Early Beatles and the next Psychedelic Beatles. Everybody in our neighborhood loves it. The four of us open up the door and greet everybody with “Goo goo g’joob!” We’re a freak show you can’t look away from. Fitting, given the holiday.

  And I can never have all the candy I want, either. When your father’s a dentist, there isn’t a huge amount of sweets allowed in the house. That doesn’t stop us from giving candy away — Dad needs to keep his clientele up — but mixed in with the normal sugary stuff are tiny toothpaste samples, sugar-free lollipops, and little rolls of minty floss. Lame.

  Despite my reluctance every year when October 31 comes around, I can’t help but feel excited about this year. This year I have The Lonely Hearts Club. And anything we do as a group is a blast. Maybe they can turn me into a Halloween believer.

  Crazier things have happened.

  GHOSTS. WITCHES. ZOMBIES. Mass murderers.

  Those creatures were child’s play compared to the monster stewing in the hallway of our house.

  “We can’t do this,” Mom protested angrily. “We look ridiculous!”

  Mom wasn’t referring to the fact that she, Dad, and I were a rainbow of satin Day-Glo blue, green, and orange military costumes from the cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album. Nope, it was because there were only three of us, not four.

  “Rita has some nerve,” Mom (I mean, Sir Paul McCartney) sulked as she adjusted the silver shoulder tassels on her costume. Rita couldn’t make the trip because she had an exam to study for at Northwestern.

  How dare she put higher education before the Beatles.

  This was the first year there wouldn’t be four of us. Even though we’re a family of five, we were never allowed to open the door as five people. Lucy and Rita used to rotate who got to sit out each year, since I loved it when I was little and always insisted on being George Harrison. Until one year I wanted to be Belle from Beauty and the Beast, which, to put it mildly, did not go over well. (Mom suggested that I dress up as Benedict Arnold instead.)

  Dad, who was always the John to her Paul, adjusted his fake mustache. “Now, Becky, remember when the Beatles rehearsed for their first Ed Sullivan Show appearance? George had the flu. They had to go on without him.”

  “This isn’t a rehearsal. Plus” — Mom pointed at me in my orange costume — “we’ve got our George.”

  “That isn’t the point.” He nudged her playfully. “It will still be great. In a couple of years, Penny won’t be here and we’ll have to do with just the two of us.” He twirled her around while serenading her to “Two of Us.”

  I quickly snuck a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup into my mouth while they were distracted.

  The doorbell rang to the familiar tune of “Love Me Do” as Mom ordered us to get to our places. I adjusted my orange hat with a green feather on top of my head and glanced longingly at the clock. I only had to serve time for two hours, and then I’d be free to hang out with my friends.

  “Showtime!” Mom said as she opened up the door to a chorus of “Trick or treat!”

  “Goo goo g’ joob!”

  For two hours we had a steady stream of trick-or-treaters, none of whom commented on the fact there were only three “Beatles” handing out candy. But honestly, we could’ve been dressed up as the Manson family and people wouldn’t care. Free candy.

  In my room, I donned my second costume and then carefully covered it up with my Sgt. Pepper’s outfit. Even though I was done with my obligations to my parents, they would not be happy if they knew I was going out dressed up as anything but a Beatle.

  The Lonely Hearts Club was meeting up at the diner in our costumes before stopping by a haunted house the Student Council was doing for a fund-raiser. We’d decided that the Club would have a theme, but it wasn’t Beatles related. It was much, much better.

  Fabulous females.

  Besides a lack of my own costumes or good candy, another thing that drove me crazy about Halloween was how some girls used it as an excuse to dress up in as little clothing as possible. Sexy Nurse, Sexy Teacher, Sexy Nun — notice a theme? Are they really dressing up in a bra and hot pants for themselves? Of course not! It was always for a guy. Or to get attention from a guy.

  We were so above that.

  Our costumes would be positive role models for girls.

  “See you later!” I called out to my parents as I dashed down the stairs and opened the front door. I waved at Tracy in her waiting car, but lost my balance as I slid on something and fell flat on my butt.

  “Are you okay?” Dad rushed over to me.

  My hands and shiny pants were covered in pumpkin guts. Our pumpkins, which had been intact all during trick-or-treating, were smashed and smeared across the front stoop.

  “Not the Abbey Road one!” Mom knelt down to examine the damage done to the pumpkin with the outline from the Abbey Road cover.

  “Don’t worry, Mom, your baby daughter is okay.” I scowled at her as I hauled myself back up onto my feet.

  “That was super graceful, Pen.” Tracy walked up the driveway.

  “Tracy!” Mom exclaimed upon seeing my best friend. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. We should’ve asked you to be the fourth!”

  She’s still on this?

  “Mom,” I warned her as we went inside to the kitchen so I could clean up the mess.

  “Oh, no!” Mom tugged at my pants. “They ripped.”

  There was a two-inch tear on my right side where I landed.

  “Wait a second.” Mom dug her finger into the hole. “What are you wearing underneath?”

  Busted.

  “Ah, it’s cold out, so I thought I’d wear jeans.” I gripped my bag tighter, not wanting my contraband to be discovered.

  Mom studied Tracy’s outfit: green cargo pants, black hooded jacket, and hair pulled back in a fancy braid. “Who are you dressed as?”

  “Katniss Everdeen,” Tracy said as she turned around and struck a pose. “My bow and arrows are in my car.”

  Great. What the world needs is for Tracy Larson to be armed with a deadly weapon.

  “That’s nice,” Mom said, although it was clear that she’d been living under a Beatles-sized rock and had no idea what Tracy was talking about.

  “Yeah,” Tracy continued, “we’re all dressing up as strong, awesome women. Although is there any other kind of woman? Boys, on the other hand, are all stupid and silly. No offense, Dr. Bloom.”

  “None taken,” Dad chuckled as he headed outside with a broom.

  “What do you mean you’re all dressing up as strong
women?” Mom asked.

  Armed or not, Tracy was going to pay for this.

  “Mom.” I held my bag even tighter. “The Club is waiting for us. We can’t be late.”

  “What’s in your bag?” Mom eyed me suspiciously.

  “Nothing, just homework,” I lied.

  “Penny Lane.” She held out her hand.

  There was no avoiding it.

  “Fine.” I pulled down my pants and took my jacket off. I was wearing a dark blue button-down shirt tucked into a matching pair of jeans that were cuffed, paired with black hiking boots. I took a red handkerchief with white dots out of my bag and tied it around my head. I then held up the blue sign with “We Can Do It!” in white lettering above my head as I flexed my right arm. “I’m going as Rosie the Riveter.”

  Rosie the Riveter was most likely going to go over the heads of most of my fellow McKinley High School students, but she was a cultural symbol during World War II, representing all of the women who worked in factories — many of whom took the jobs of men who were in the military. She was the ultimate feminist icon.

  But by the look on Mom’s face, I might as well have dressed up as Hitler.

  “If you wanted to dress up as a strong woman, you could’ve dressed up as Linda McCartney. I’d have even tolerated Yoko Ono.” She scrunched up her nose begrudgingly. “But really, Penny —”

  Dad walked in with a dustpan full of pumpkin goo. “What a mess. Who would do such a thing? Hey!” He lit up when he saw me. “Rosie the Riveter!”

  “We should get going.” I took Tracy by the hand and tugged her toward the car. This was the best time to get out of my mom’s way (and tirade).

  Tracy and I carefully stepped over the mess on our front stoop.

  “I can’t believe someone would do this,” I said, feeling bad for my parents, who put so much work into their pumpkins.

  “Has it ever happened before?” Tracy asked as she got into the driver’s seat of her car.

  “No.” Even though Halloween was often a time when houses were egged or toilet papered, we never had a problem in our neighborhood. Parkview was a relatively safe town.

  “Well, don’t worry.” Tracy gestured to the backseat at her quiver full of arrows. “If we find out who did this, I’ll take care of it.”

  Now I was worried.

  It had only been two months since I came up with the idea for The Lonely Hearts Club. Originally it was just something I did for myself, a way to get over Nate Taylor, my former childhood crush and boyfriend who decided that dating me wasn’t enough. I caught him cheating on me. I felt used. I was devastated. My heart was broken. My solution? Put my friends and myself first. Oh, and stop dating boys entirely while in high school because they are so not worth the trouble. Never did I think that anybody would want to join me.

  Then Diane Monroe came along.

  Diane used to be my best friend. We went way back. Like, we were in diapers when we became friends. Yep, you’d think that kind of friendship could withstand anything. But not when it came to guys. As soon as Diane started dating Ryan Bauer in eighth grade, she became that girl who gave up her friends when she had a boyfriend. So it didn’t really surprise me that much when she wanted to rekindle our friendship after they broke up this summer. Of course she wanted me back; she didn’t have a boyfriend anymore. But I was hurt from the horrific summer I’d had, and Tracy (who had a case of the boy-crazies herself) refused to understand why I would choose to not date. So I let Diane in. And Tracy finally caved.

  From there, the Club steadily grew. A few new members here, a sophomore or a girl from Spanish class there. A couple of weeks ago, our school paper, the McKinley Monitor, featured an article on the front page about the Club. A revolution had started and now every Saturday, the Club meetings have gotten bigger and bigger.

  Sure, there were some people who thought we were crazy (mostly the guys at school, especially Todd Chesney). But what did we care? They were silly, little boys, and we were women forging real relationships: friendships.

  A smile spread across my face when I opened the door to the diner to see twenty girls who have quickly become a second family.

  “It’s our fearless leader!” Morgan, dressed as punk legend Patti Smith, called out to me.

  “Yes, it is I,” I said with a dramatic rolling of my eyes. I always felt uncomfortable being pegged the “leader” of the group, even if I was the one who had formed the Club.

  Diane got up from her seat to give me a hug. She looked as gorgeous as ever, even with a baseball hat covering the pin curls I knew had taken hours. The entire basketball team decided to dress as the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League players from the 1940s. “I ordered you cheese fries.”

  “You rock, you Rockford Peach.” Even though we basically hadn’t spoken for four years, Diane still knew the way to my heart (which is always through my stomach).

  “Tracy.” Kara, her hair teased beyond recognition, pointed her wand at Tracy. “I believe we need to do a duel of the young adult book characters.”

  Tracy placed her hands on her hips. “Yeah, Hermione, because your wand is a match for my arrow. Let’s do this thing.”

  Erin, dressed up as Eighties Madonna, and Kara both gasped and stood up quickly. Their jaws were almost on the floor.

  “Guys, don’t worry, they’re not going to actually fight.” At least I hoped not. Tracy wasn’t one to back down from challenges, even ones made in jest.

  “Oh my God!” Erin’s gaze was over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  I turned around to see what the fuss was about.

  It was Amy, covered head to toe in shaving cream and dressed in what used to be a Harriet the Spy costume.

  “My outfit!” she cried as we all got up to help her. “I should’ve used my flashlight to bash those little punks’ heads in.”

  “What happened?” I asked as I wiped clumps of cream off her raincoat. At least that was coming off easily. Her hair was going to be a different matter.

  “I was walking down the street and saw a group of middle-school boys coming toward me. A little voice in my head said to cross the street, but that’s ridiculous. Why should I be worried about a bunch of kids?” Her voice wavered. “Then as soon as I went to go around them, they circled me and started laughing while they doused me with shaving cream.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I patted her back.

  “Yeah, but there is a bright side,” Amy said, looking directly at Erin. “Your brother was one of the kids.”

  “That little punk.” Erin’s eyes narrowed. “How dare he attack one of my friends! Oh, he is going to pay for this.”

  “What are you going to do?” Morgan asked, her fists tightly clenched.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Tracy’s lips were curled into her troublemaking smirk. “As a connoisseur in the art of revenge, I think it’s a dish best served en masse.”

  While we had official rules for The Lonely Hearts Club, there was one that didn’t need to be written down. It was understood.

  You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us.

  The high school parking lot was full of cars and people in costumes on their way to the haunted house.

  “Isn’t this great?” Diane remarked. Student Council was one of the many school organizations Diane took part in. She was just the insider we needed to pull this off.

  We got out of Tracy’s car and waited for the other members to arrive.

  “Well, well, well …” a voice called out from a few cars away. “Let me guess, you’re dressed up as … a lesbian?”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Todd.

  “Wait, no,” he recanted. “A mechanic … who’s also a lesbian.”

  Todd believed that every girl in the Club had to be a lesbian because he couldn’t fathom why any girl would choose to be single when he was available. It was honestly shocking that he hadn’t turned any of us off to the male species altogether.

  “Wow, Todd,” I
said with forced sweetness, “how original. I see you dressed up as an imbecile.”

  He scoffed and gestured down to his Chicago Bears sweatshirt and jeans. “I don’t have a costume on.”

  “Exactly.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows trying to figure out what I must’ve meant, but quickly gave up and went back to talking to his standard group: Brian and Don, with their respective girlfriends, Pam and Audrey. The word “respective” was only in reference to which girl dated which guy, since, by their outfits, there was absolutely no respect going on. Pam was dressed as a referee in black hot pants and a black-and-white shirt that was buttoned so far down you could see her black bra. I wasn’t entirely sure what Audrey was dressed as, since she had cropped jean shorts and a red-and-black plaid shirt tied up so her midriff was exposed. And it’s the end of October. In Illinois.

  Stay classy, ladies.

  “Let’s wait inside,” Diane suggested as we made our way past the cars.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” Todd called out. “It’s lame.”

  Tracy kept walking, but Diane stopped short for a second. As with everything she did, Diane put in a lot of work designing and decorating the haunted house. She spent hours all week after school and was only able to meet us for dinner that night because she needed a break.

  I turned back around and approached Todd, who was sitting on the bumper of his truck.

  “You know, Todd” — I crossed my arms — “while I normally would take your word for it since you’re an expert in all things lame, I —” I became distracted by something sticking out of the bed of Todd’s truck: a baseball bat that had pumpkin seeds stuck to it. I grabbed it to examine it closer.

  “Hey!” Todd jumped up and reached his hand out. “That’s mine!”

  “Funny,” I said as I began to twirl the bat around, “I think something just like this bashed in the pumpkins at my house.”

  There was snickering from the peanut gallery (aka Todd’s “friends”). I maneuvered around Todd to face them all. They started to spread out.

  “Come on, guys,” Don said with a smirk on his face. “What is she going to do with a bat? Seriously?”