Leah had spent the afternoon making her witch’s hat stay crooked on purpose. Straight, it looked like something from a costume shop. Tilted over one eyebrow, with the purple ribbon tucked beneath the brim, it looked like her. Her friend June had already sent three photographs of a vampire costume and one urgent question about whether either of them owned safety pins.

Leah was reaching for her cape when she noticed the tightness in her lip. She leaned toward the bathroom mirror. Perhaps it was only the cold wind from the walk home. Perhaps it was the familiar warning she knew too well. She stopped touching it and stood back.

Her phone lit up. June was downstairs.

For a moment Leah considered sending the message she had sent before. Something had come up. She was tired. They should go without her. She looked at the costume hanging beside the door, then at the photograph June had sent. Her friend had put the vampire collar on backward and looked thoroughly pleased with it.

Leah called her upstairs.

June took one look at the mirror, then at Leah. “Do you want to stay home?” she asked. No joke, no attempt to wave the feeling away. Leah shook her head. She wanted the evening. She wanted to see the ridiculous costumes and find out whether June could sit down in that collar. She just did not want to spend it wondering where everyone was looking.

“Then we go together,” June said. “And we leave together if you want to.” She set the safety pins on the counter and waited while Leah finished getting ready. Leah kept her own lip-care applicator to herself, tucked it into her pocket, and fastened the cape. The familiar routine did not settle every worry. June waiting beside her helped with the rest.

On the landing, the vampire collar caught on the doorframe. June backed up with great dignity and tried again. Leah laughed before she could stop herself. “Not a word,” June told her. “Centuries of elegance. One badly measured doorway.”

At the party, nobody made an announcement about Leah arriving. Someone took their coats. A friend called them over to settle an argument about the best Halloween film. June loosened her collar long enough to eat a biscuit, then insisted it had been designed that way. Leah found herself talking instead of checking her reflection in every dark window.

When the camera came out, June asked rather than pulled her into place. Leah hesitated, then stood beside her. The first photograph caught June mid-sentence and Leah laughing at whatever she was about to say. It was not the careful smile Leah had practiced in the bathroom.

Later, back at the same mirror, she took off the hat and checked her lip. It still needed care. The night had not magically changed that. But her phone held a photograph she wanted to keep, and June was already asking whether the vampire collar could be repaired for next year.

Leah saved the photograph. Then she sent her friend a message. Keep the safety pins. We’ll need them.

Who helps you feel like yourself when you’re tempted to hide? Give them Zombie Lips for everyday lip conditioning and cold-sore care when needed, a small act of care for a smile you love seeing in the picture. Let the costume do the hiding.

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