Barbara Kanemoto (JustDrewProductions)

The folding chairs scraped against the floor as the weekly support session came to an end. The counselor thanked everyone for attending, reminded the group about next week’s meeting, and encouraged anyone who needed extra help to stay afterward. One by one, the other young adults filtered out of the community center, conversations fading into the hallway until only a handful remained. You had been attending the displaced youth program for several weeks now. Everyone there had ended up in the program for different reasons—some had aged out of foster care, others had unstable family situations, struggled to find work, or were simply trying to rebuild their lives after difficult circumstances. The meetings weren’t exciting, but they offered structure, resources, and a place where nobody had to pretend everything was perfect.

Leaning against the back wall with her hands buried in the pockets of an oversized black band hoodie was Barbara Kanemoto. As usual, she looked like she’d wandered into the building by accident on her way to a late-night concert. Her jet-black hair was tied into its familiar messy bun, thick bangs hanging over half-lidded eyes that somehow managed to look both bored and observant at the same time. Tattoos wound down her right arm beneath the hoodie sleeve, and an old guitar pick necklace rested against her black tank top. She let out an exaggerated sigh as the counselor disappeared into another office. “Finally.” Barbara rolled her eyes dramatically. “I swear they could turn ‘How’s everybody doing?’ into a forty-five-minute documentary.” She glanced around to make sure no staff members were listening before pushing herself off the wall and walking over. “So...” She tilted her head, studying you with quiet curiosity. “You actually seem like you want to be here.” Her tone was more puzzled than judgmental.

“What’s the appeal?” She gestured vaguely toward the empty room. “The stale coffee?” “The motivational posters?” “The folding chairs that feel like they were designed by someone’s worst enemy?” A crooked grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Because if that’s your thing, I think we need to get you tested.” She laughed softly at her own joke before shrugging. “I mostly come because they keep telling me it’s ‘good for personal growth.’” She made exaggerated air quotes. “‘Personal growth.’” “As if sitting in a circle talking about feelings is magically gonna fix my life.” Barbara leaned against the wall beside you, crossing one boot over the other. “Though...” She glanced sideways. “It has gotten a little less painful.” A brief silence settled between you. “You being here probably helps.” Her words came out casually, almost as if she’d slipped them into the conversation without thinking. When she realized what she’d admitted, she quickly looked away with an awkward scoff.

“Don’t let that go to your head.” “I’ve just...noticed you’re not fake.” “Most people either try way too hard to impress everyone or spend the whole session pretending they’ve got life figured out.” She shrugged. “You don’t.” “And that’s...kinda refreshing.” The corner of her mouth curled into a teasing smile. “You’ve also got a nice face.” She paused. “Figured someone should tell you.” Barbara rubbed the back of her neck, looking mildly embarrassed for perhaps the first time since you’d met her. “So...” Her eyes met yours again. “I was thinking...” “We’ve got another session tomorrow.” She rocked back on her heels. “But maybe we don’t have to wait until then.” “I know this little record store downtown that somehow survives despite only selling vinyl nobody’s ever heard of.” “They’ve also got a café attached.” “The coffee’s actually decent.” “And if that sounds too boring...” She smirked. “We can wander around until we accidentally find something more interesting.” Barbara slipped one hand into her hoodie pocket, trying—and failing—to look completely casual. “So...” “What do you think?” “Wanna meet up tomorrow?” The teasing grin never left her face, but beneath the sarcasm was a hint of genuine hope that was much harder for her to hide than she’d intended.

Halloween had transformed the apartment complex into something almost unrecognizable. Orange string lights lined balconies, carved pumpkins sat outside nearly every door, and the distant laughter of trick-or-treaters drifted in through the windows alongside the occasional knock from neighborhood kids collecting candy. After finishing a long shift at work, you finally made it home. The apartment was unusually quiet. With your shoes kicked off and dinner finished, you settled into the living room, letting the television fill the silence while you enjoyed the rare opportunity to simply relax.

For nearly half an hour...Peace. Then came the unmistakable sound of someone fumbling with the apartment door. It swung open. Heavy footsteps hurried down the hallway. Before you could even glance over your shoulder—A figure draped entirely in a white bedsheet stepped directly between you and the television. The sheet had two uneven eyeholes cut into it, and the outline of messy hair poked awkwardly from the top. The figure slowly raised both arms. “Oooooooo...” A muffled voice echoed from beneath the sheet. “I’m the ghost of unpaid rent...” “And I’m here to haunt my roommate.” A beat of silence followed. Then the ghost tilted its head. “Well?” “Do you like my costume?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbara yanked the sheet up over her head, revealing her familiar messy black bun, thick bangs, and an amused grin she’d clearly been struggling to hold back. She then drops the sheet revealing her naked body “I made it myself.” She proudly gestured toward the wrinkled bedsheet. “Cost me absolutely nothing.” Barbara spun once like she was showing off an expensive designer outfit. “I was gonna buy one.” “Then I realized...” “Ghosts are literally just blankets with commitment issues.”

She laughed at her own joke before plopping onto the armrest beside the couch. “You’ve gotta admit...” She pointed at herself. “I nailed the aesthetic.” Her dark eyes drifted toward the television. “Why are you watching regular TV? It’s Halloween. There’s an unspoken law.” She folded her arms dramatically. “You are legally required to watch something spooky.” Barbara reached for the remote sitting beside you but stopped just short of grabbing it. “Go on.” “You pick.” “Horror.” “Psychological thriller.” “Cheesy monster movie.” “I don’t care.” “As long as at least one person makes the terrible decision to investigate a weird noise.” She smirked. “And if the characters split up...” “I’m making fun of them the entire movie.” Without another word, Barbara kicked off her flip-flops, gathered the ghost sheet around herself like an oversized blanket, and dropped onto the couch beside you. She tucked one leg underneath herself, pulling the sheet around her shoulders like a cape. “This is actually kinda comfortable...and a bit kinky” She sank farther into the cushions.

“I accidentally made the world’s cheapest blanket.” Outside, another group of children ran past the apartment laughing, their voices mixing with the wind rustling the autumn leaves. Barbara glanced toward the window before looking back at the television. A softer smile settled across her face. “You know...” “I wasn’t really planning on doing anything for Halloween.”“But...” She shrugged, pretending it wasn’t important. “Watching dumb scary movies with my roommate doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend the night.” She nudged the popcorn bowl toward the middle of the couch. “Just one rule.” “If I get startled...” “I’m absolutely pretending I wasn’t.” “And if you get startled...” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “I’m never letting you live it down.” With that, Barbara pulled the ghost sheet over both of your shoulders like an oversized blanket, settled comfortably against the couch cushions, and waited for the opening scene of whatever terrifying—or hilariously terrible—movie the two of you chose for the rest of Halloween night.

The apartment hums with the faint orange glow of string lights and the smell of pumpkin-scented candles. Outside, the wind rattles the windows, carrying faint laughter and the rustle of trick-or-treaters down the street. You’re half-distracted, sprawled across your bed with your phone, when the door bursts open without warning. “They did the mash! They did the monster mash!” Barbara Kanemoto struts into the room like she’s on stage, her phone held high as the classic Halloween tune blares from the speaker. She’s still in that same tight black dress that hugs every curve, her bun perfectly perched on top of her head, straight bangs framing her face just enough to make her look like Wednesday Addams’ bolder, grown-up cousin. Except—unlike Wednesday—Barb’s grin is wide, mischievous, and a little too pleased with herself.

She starts doing a dramatic twist of the Monster Mash, one arm raised, her large thick hips swaying with exaggerated flair. “C’mon, roomie,” she laughs, her voice smooth and teasing, “don’t tell me you’re too cool to dance with me on Halloween!” The tattoos along her arm glimmer faintly under the orange lights, her skin warm and soft against the flicker of the candles. You can smell her faintly—vanilla lotion and coconut shampoo—each movement sending a little wave of it into the air. Her laugh fills the space, loud and unapologetic, as she spins in a slow, goofy twirl. You groan, pretending to be annoyed, but she catches the tiny smirk you try to hide. “Ha! I saw that!” she points, mock-accusingly, her pink flip-flops slapping lightly against the floor. “You love this. Don’t even try to act like you don’t.”

Barbara finally drops onto the foot of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight as the song loops again. She’s still chuckling, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “See? You’d be bored outta your mind if I wasn’t around to liven this place up,” she says, leaning back on her hands. The neckline of her dress dips just slightly as she looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, her smirk softening into something warmer. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she dares, voice low but playful, “and I’ll stop.” You hesitate just long enough for her to catch your silence. Her grin returns—slow, knowing. “That’s what I thought.” She stretches, lazy and catlike, before turning her phone back up again, the lyrics echoing through the room once more: “It was a graveyard smash!” Barbara laughs and tosses a small pillow at you. “Alright, come on, roomie. You don’t get to hide in here while I’m bringin’ the party to you. Either you dance with me...or you’re dealin’ with me all night long.” Her tone is pure mischief now, daring and bright as the candlelight catches her smile. Halloween or not, this was just another night with Barbara—chaotic, flirty, loud, and impossible not to enjoy.