Love and Vandalism

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  “Wake up, Rory! You’re burning daylight!”

  Dad’s calling from downstairs, using his favorite wake-up phrase of all time, a phrase I hate with the fiery passion of a thousand burning sunrises. I respond by moaning loud enough for him to hear me.

  Pulling the covers over my head, I try to go back to sleep.

  I finished reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe last night and finally drifted off just as the darkness started to lift and the first birds cleared their throats.

  The next thing I know, my dad is at my bedroom door with the faithful family guard bitch at his side. “You don’t need to talk to me, but you do need to respect house rules, Rory. Out of bed, right now.”

  “I was up late reading.” I allow an adolescent whine to creep into my voice. When Dad gives me a look of disbelief, I lie automatically, “School assignment.”

  “Not buying it. And no daughter of mine is sleeping away her mornings on my watch. Now let’s go.”

  “Five more minutes.” I pull the covers up to my chin and try to look adorable. “Please.”

  Dad is apparently at zero tolerance. Taking three strides into my room, he reaches down and rips the covers off me in one sweeping motion. “Get your ass up, Rory.”

  The dog has moved to the foot of my bed like she’s waiting for me to make a wrong move.

  “Fine, fine.” I drag my head painfully off my pillow, and with a dramatic waver, I sit up.

  I give Dad a formal salute, and he gives one last look that drips with disapproval before finally turning for the door. He and Kelly walk away as one unit, leaving me alone in my room.

  Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I dive back under the covers and check my notifications.

  I texted Hayes last night at nine o’clock to say sorry for the incident at the shed and that nothing happened, and then I wrote again later saying thanks I was enjoying the book.

  Now I see that Kat texted me at 2:00 a.m. to thank me for covering her shift and to say that she had an amazing time. I smile. Go, Ken.

  But there’s still no message from Hayes. No response to my texts despite the fact that it shows he read each one right away.

  I try writing to him again, telling him about Split Rock, an amazing place to swim that all the New Paltz locals know about, and asking if he wants to check it out with me later.

  I watch as my text sends and the notice shows him reading it. The little bubble tells me he’s typing a response, and for a full minute I don’t pull my eyes from that little I’m-writing-you-back bubble on my phone.

  The bubble closes, but there’s no response and it takes a few beats for me to realize he’s not writing me back after all. I keep watching, willing that stupid bubble to open again, but Hayes has clearly moved on.

  I’m struck with an idea and open my end table drawer, pulling The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe from where I stuffed it last night. I’m still flipping through pages when Dad and Kelly reappear in my doorway. I gesture to the book. “Summer assignment, Dad. Give me a break.”

  He crosses his arms and I look down at the pages lying open in front of me. Of course I’ve turned to one of the spreads with an illustration. The drawing shows a crowd of Narnia’s mythical creatures including dryads and naiads holding harps, a few centaurs, and a unicorn. At the center of it all are two leopards on either side of the best ever lion, Aslan.

  “It’s biology.” I double down on my lie. “We’re doing, er, mammals.” I close the book before Dad can notice the horse has a horn spiraling from the center of his forehead.

  “Whatever, Rory. But you’re done sleeping in.”

  He heads back downstairs and Kelly stands, watching me, until I growl at her. “Traitor.” Her tail gives a quick wag and she turns to chase after Dad.

  I leaf back through the book and finally find the page I’m looking for. Using my phone, I take a picture of a quote by one of the Narnia characters, Mrs. Beaver, talking about Aslan being good but not at all safe.

  I send the picture with my comment, Great story. But an awful lot of beaver talk for a kid’s book.

  Again, I watch as Hayes reads my text and doesn’t respond.

  I drag myself out of bed, leaving my phone to sit blankly on the nightstand. If the one-two punch of a poignant quote followed by a solid beaver joke can’t get a response, I guess I have no choice but to give up.

  I’ve already showered and am getting ready to head to my cabin to work on my project when I notice Hayes has finally sent a photo back to me.

  He must have another copy of the book at his aunt’s house because he’s sent me a picture that shows a section of C. S. Lewis’s text as well. His quote talks about the realization that things can be both good and terrible at the same time.

  He hasn’t added a quippy comment to his photo. In fact, he hasn’t bothered to write any comment at all.

  • • •

  When I get to the cabin, I spend hours organizing all my supplies, checking and double-checking colors, and planning the layers for the lion. I consider each step carefully, trying to cut unnecessary extras for maximum efficiency, but it’s no use.

  Trying to do the whole painting in one night on my own will never work. And of course, if I do only half the painting one night, I can count on the cops waiting to bust me when I head back to finish.

  Even if I bring all the supplies up the night before and stash them somehow, it will only help me start in on an impossible mission a little sooner. It will also increase my chances of getting caught before I even begin spraying a single stroke.

  I look at the practice wall that Hayes and I did together with his “dandy lion” cheerfully mocking me.

  His cryptic text photo is still our last exchange, and I guess it’s his way of telling me that I’m both good and terrible. As final words go, I suppose they could be worse. And better.

  Giving a few metallic shakes to the can of purple paint in my hand, I draw a funny porn mustache on his cartoon lion. Then I turn my back to it.

  I need to focus on my goal. Kat is so excited about my project that I know she’s dying to help me out. Screen printing and jewelry making are more in her wheelhouse than spray-painting, but she has a ton of artistic talent and I know I can totally trust her.

  I just can’t quite picture her carrying backpacks filled with paint supplies while climbing up eighty-some-odd feet of narrow footholds on the water tower’s legs. The image of her favorite chunky platform shoes poised on those rungs makes me shiver.

  Hanging the first stencil will be the biggest challenge, and I really need some strong arms up on the tower with me. My mind spins as I try coming up with an alternative assistant.

  Once again, my brain lands on that moment I opened the door to the changing shed and saw Hayes standing there. The awful moment that I can’t undo and the one that ruined all my chances.

  I cringe again at the memory, but for the first time, my mind flips around to Scott standing behind me.

  I wonder if I can convince him to help with some of the physical work. If I have Kat helping with the painting and him on stencil duty, it will still be tough, but we might be able to pull this monster off in one night.

  Of course, after what happened, I’d rather not ask Scott for a favor. But now that I think about it, it’s good for him to know that the friend zone is not a place of eternal damnation. It’s a spot where boys and girls can support each other without expecting anything more than friendship in return.

  And maybe just a little help committing one teeny minor felony.

  • • •

  I work in my cabin for the next few hours until I’ve nicked my fingers so many times they’re just a combination of Nu Skin and Band-Aids.

  I still don’t want to stop, but my right hand is cramping up, and I decide I should probably take a break and go talk to Scott. Also, keeping all my fingers
is important.

  I swipe quickly at the blood that’s dripped onto the edge of my stencil and head out the door.

  Scott is almost always somewhere at the park, but he’s been repainting the trail markers this week, which means he could be anywhere. Unless he’s on guard duty at the lake today, tracking him down could be a problem.

  When I arrive at the beach, the place is fairly quiet, with only a few families milling about the pebbled shallow area. One amorous couple is treading water together in the deep section, and I try not to picture the day I dragged Hayes to shore in a headlock.

  An older guard named Pete is perched on the lifeguard bench, scanning the water as if on high alert, although I’m pretty sure the two people kissing are watching each other pretty closely.

  As I move to the front of the bench, I’m relieved to see Scott is sitting beside Pete, lounging in his usual position, twirling his whistle as he looks out over the length of the dock.

  “Hey, guys,” I say when I reach the chair. Scott sits up and says hello to me.

  Without peeling his eyes off the water, Pete says, “Hi, Rory. You’re off today. Did you read the schedule wrong or something?”

  “No. I’m just here to have a quick word with Scott.” When neither one of them makes a move, I add, “Privately.”

  Scott’s eyebrows jump. “You mean in the shed sort of private?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, over in those trees is plenty private.”

  “Kinky,” he says under his breath, and I slap his ankle. He tells Pete, “I’m taking five. Can you handle the beach?”

  Without looking up, Pete gives a thumbs-up. “Five minutes. Don’t get lost.”

  I say, “Don’t worry, we won’t.”

  Scott follows me into the cool shade of the trees. When we reach a small clearing safely out of earshot, I turn, and he slides both hands around my waist.

  “Couldn’t wait to get back to this, could you?” He moves in for a kiss.

  I punch him in the chest. “Are you kidding me?”

  Scott’s winded by my shot. After a few coughs, he says, “I figured that guy ghosted you after he caught us together in the shed.”

  “Hayes did not ghost me.” Did Hayes ghost me? “Or, whatever, even if he did, that doesn’t mean I’d come running to you. You and I are friends now, and I’m good on my own.”

  “Friends. Right.” Scott rubs his chest where I hit him. “Sorry.”

  “Actually, I think I know of a way you can make it up to me.”

  “I’m listening,” Scott says, although he’s not listening as closely as he did when he thought we were about to make out.

  I do manage to get his attention when I come right out and confess that I’m the one painting the graffiti lions around town.

  “You aren’t serious.” His eyes go wide. “That newer one inside the fence by the swimming hole too?”

  I nod proudly. “Yup, he’s mine.”

  “Wow. I had no idea. You’re really talented.” He laughs. “I suppose your dad banning you from art had a bit of a rebound effect.”

  “I guess so.”

  A whistle blows and he glances back through the trees toward the beach. “So why are you telling me all this? Is this some sort of friendship pact? Or are you just feeling bad for breaking my heart?”

  “You know I didn’t break your heart. Just busted your balls a bit.”

  “Yes. I was there for that part.” Scott grabs his crotch with both hands and feigns collapsing in pain. I shove his arm and he laughs.

  “Listen, I was just thinking you’d maybe be interested in helping me out with a little painting project.”

  “Yeah right.” Scott continues laughing. When he realizes I’m not kidding, he scowls. “Just because I won’t turn you in doesn’t mean I want to get involved with your illegal activity.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t get arrested.”

  “Gee, promising I won’t get arrested is not exactly turning this into a tempting offer.” He reaches out to bend a branch on a nearby pine tree. Rubbing his fingers together, he examines the sticky sap that’s come out.

  “Listen, Scott. You know who my dad is. We’ll be fine even if we get caught.” Since I’m not sure how true this is, I repeat the part I’m certain of. “My dad’s the sergeant, Scott. And with your help, we’ll finish fast and get out before daylight.”

  He looks skeptical. “I don’t know. How involved is this project?”

  “It’s pretty involved to be honest. But it will also be a good time. Doesn’t your summer need a little risky adventure?”

  He thinks for a few minutes, looking me up and down. I resist the urge to point my chest in his direction. My assets have nothing to do with our new friendship.

  Finally he asks me, “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  I give him a grin. “Yup, and I’m ready to start training you.”

  “Easy there. Slow down.” He rubs a hand over his face. “The Ulster County Fair opens tomorrow night. I want you to come with me.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “You do not strike me as the fair-loving type. Do you even eat fried food?” I gesture to his toned frame. “Plus, we have a lot of work to do if you’re going to help.”

  He crosses his arms and dips his head forward. “I have a surprise for you, my new friend. Something I think you’ll really like.”

  “And your surprise for me is at the fair?”

  “It will be.” He grins. “I’ll even treat you to a sack of fried Oreos.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I’m more of a funnel cake girl, myself.”

  He laughs. “Of course you are. You got it.”

  “And if I come with you to the fair, you promise that you’ll consider helping me with this giant spray-painting project.”

  “So now the project is giant?” He wrinkles his nose. “Just how giant of a project are we talking about here?”

  I rub the back of my neck but drop my arm when I see Scott’s eyes wander across my chest. “Well…let me put it this way,” I say. “You don’t have a fear of heights, do you?”

  “Oh God. Forget I asked.” Scott shakes his head, and we make arrangements to meet over at the fairgrounds tomorrow night.

  He heads through the pines toward the lifeguarding bench but stops before he hits the clearing. “You know, I am on the lookout for more than just some random hookup.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” We smile at each other for a minute, and then I add, “You tell anyone my secret and I’ll murder you.”

  “Being friends with you is going to be fun.” With a grin, he crosses his heart and kisses his knuckle at me before stepping back out onto the beach.

  I feel different as I retrace my steps back to my cabin. With Scott potentially onboard, this whole thing can really happen. After so much time imagining everything, I need to push down panic at the thought of actually going through with it.

  My amazing Rory lion is really starting to come to life, and he’s already scaring the shit out of me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Opening night is insanely busy at the Ulster County Fair. My mother hated the fair, considered it “crass and common,” but it’s the sort of thing that everyone has to do each year, whether they’re into it or not.

  There’s something so universally cheap and flashy and mildly depressing about the place that I can never get enough of it.

  Last summer was the first time in my life I skipped coming.

  The fair is blazing with so many lights, the twilight looks like midday when Scott and I walk through the front gate together with gloppy, green stamps on our hands stating we can ride ALL THE RIDES.

  I inhale the airborne sugar, breathing the scent of things cooking in grease. You can find any treat imaginable here at the Ulster County Fair, most of them fried and covered in powdered sugar, from pick
les to cheesecake to butter to dough. Everything’s better after a quick dip in the fryer.

  The sounds of games dinging and hucksters shouting harmonize with the distant screams of people on the rickety and roaring rides. The whole place is tacky, and I love it.

  A rusty memory pings in my chest. I was about ten, and Dad and I had been to the fair twice in one week before finally begging Mom so much we convinced her to come along for a quick visit.

  It had rained earlier that day, and so the three of us stepped carefully, trying to stick to the places where hay covered the gooey mud.

  We didn’t need to discuss where we were headed. We all knew. To the teacups.

  When it was just Dad and I, we went on the most daring rides. The more ridiculous the better. Things that swung us around and slingshot us into the air. We’d spin until we could barely stand and our shared theory was there are worse ways to die than on a cheap ride at the fair.

  But Mom would only ride the merry-go-round and the teacups, and they didn’t have the teacups here every year.

  Dad and I had already scoped them out and knew right where to go. There was a short line, and Dad put an arm around Mom while I pretended not to notice.

  When it was our turn to ride, Mom selected a pink-and-yellow teacup, and Dad and I piled in on either side of her, protecting her from the exit.

  I close my eyes for a moment and picture the way the three of us grabbed the silver wheel in the center. We spun and spun around until the rest of the world was a blur, and there was only the three of us, laughing and squealing and together.

  I open my eyes, hugging the still-warm memory close for a beat like something fresh from the dryer.

  I turn to Scott. “Okay, buddy. We’d better get our butts on some rides before you make good on that fried food promise. Riding after eating is no good; fried dough tastes way worse on its way back up.”

  Scott laughs and follows me as I stride past the barking invitations from the gaming alley.

  “Step right up and beat the Guesser.” “Try your hand at dunking Artie the Clown.” And my favorite invitation: “Hey, that’s a fine lady you’ve got there, young man. Toss the rings and win your girl a prize.”