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"Did you seat Ghostface and Jason Voorhees in the back booth?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"Why did you do that?"

"What do you mean? It's Halloween week. People are allowed to be festive. Hey, actually, my roommates and I are having a party tonight; you should come. You, of all people, need to fucking unwind."

I barely hear her, my eyes still locked on the two men in the corner. I can't tell, but I think they're looking at me, too.

"They have coffee," I say. "So, are they drinking it? Did they take the masks off?"

They ordered food, so they must plan on taking them off, right?

"Oh, no," she says. "They took their straws, and they're just kind of—you know—wedging them up under the masks. It's kind of hilarious."

"It's kind of fucking creepy."

"I can take them the food if you're that scared," she says.

I look back at the table. Ghostface is definitely watching me; he cocks his head to the side as my eyes meet the place where his should be. I begin feeling queasy and set the plates on the counter, gripping the corner and looking down at my feet while I catch my breath.

"Lilah?"

"I don't like masks," I whisper.

It's true—I've never liked masks. They remind me of the story my grandmother used to tell me, which reminds me of the other reason I can't sleep.

Fuck.

"It's okay; I'll take care of this," Zoey says, her expression still confused.

But she's right, isn't she? It's Halloween this week, and he's only looking at me because he wants his food.

"No, I've got it," I tell her.

I fix my face, hold my chin high, and walk right over to that table, refusing to allow fear to take over. "Okay, who had the club sandwich?" I ask in my practiced server voice.

Jason lifts one gloved finger, and I set the plate down in front of him.

"That must make you the soup of the day," I say, setting the other in front of Ghostface. "Anything else I can get for you two?"

Ghostface shakes his head from side to side, almost comically slow.

I try to think of a question that would require an answer beyond yes or no. "Where are you from?" I ask.

Ghostface looks at Jason before shrugging.

And I'm annoyed. I'm way too high-strung for this shit right now, and so fuck my phobia and my tip; they probably wouldn't leave me one, anyway.

I scoff, shaking my head. "You know it's rude, right? Someone talks to you; you don't bother to reply. Someone brings you food, and you can't even say thank you."

Ghostface cocks his head again, then slowly lifts his gloved hands, curling them together to make a heart.

A fucking heart.

Across from him, Jason shakes with silent laughter.

"Okay," I say, fuming. "Yeah, you're fucking welcome."