by Tom Ryan
He trots behind the toolshed and comes back a moment later with the pack.
“Thanks, buddy,” I say, turning to make my getaway. “Remember to brush and floss, and don’t play violent video games!”
Back at the hedge, I hand the pack to Candace.
“You’ve got one hell of a heavy hobby,” I tell her. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once we’re in the truck, she rips open the pack and rifles through it, pulling out cans of spray paint and plastic bags full of markers.
“Awesome,” she says. “Everything’s still here. I don’t know why I even bothered to take this shit with me. It’s not like there’s anyplace worth painting in this bullshit town.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge if I were you,” I tell her.
ANDREA
Granite Ridge got its name from the abandoned quarry that’s half hidden in the woods on the east side of town. Because one side of the quarry is a steep wall of granite that rises above the tree line, everyone calls it the Ledge.
When I was a kid, my mom made it very clear that I was to stay away from the quarry. She said it was a place where bad people went to do bad things. When I was eight or nine, I saw Dirty Dancing on TV, and for a while I was convinced that the Ledge was a hangout for people like Patrick Swayze and his dance crew. I pictured girls with giant blond hairdos and tight leather pants hanging off guys with slicked-back hair and denim jackets with the sleeves cut off. In my imagination they built bonfires and passed around bottles of whiskey before choreographing elaborate dance routines under the moon.
When I got a bit older, I overheard my brother talking to one of his friends about a party at the Ledge, and it occurred to me that if it really was a place where bad things happened, Brad was one of the people responsible. By the time I reached high school, it was clear that the Ledge was just a place where pretty much every teenager in my high school went to party.
Except for me. I’ve never been to a Ledge party, and I know I’m one of the very few people in my grade who hasn’t. Even Bethanne goes sometimes. She’s tried to convince me to tag along, but I’m just not interested. The occasional house party is okay, but hanging out in the woods with a bunch of drunk people isn’t my idea of a good time. I’d rather stay home and read.
Although I’ve never been there, the trail is easy enough to find. I’m amazed at how much garbage people have dropped along the path. Every couple of feet, a beer can or fast-food wrapper has been dropped on the ground or thrown into the bushes. I haven’t gone very far before the trees thin and I walk into what must be the quarry. It isn’t very big or impressive, just a gravelly area that’s been cut into the side of a hill. Some beat-up old chairs and a couple of milk crates have been dragged into a circle around a charred hole in the ground. The hole is full of even more garbage, which is blackened and melted.
I walk around and check the place out. The bottom of the wall is covered with lame graffiti, stuff like Karl loves Marla and GRHS Grads of ’95. I obviously haven’t been missing much by staying away.
I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I take a seat on a milk crate anyway.
Maybe if I was the kind of girl who thought it was fun to party at the Ledge, who was able to smuggle booze into her room without getting caught, who hasn’t always listened to her mother, I wouldn’t have to chase Justin. Maybe he’d be the one chasing me.
Then again, I did jump out of my bedroom window. I did make a mad escape from Terry Polish’s house. Besides, it’s stupid to think that the best way to get a guy to like you is to act like an idiot.
My cell phone rings and I pull it out. Mom, for the millionth time. I turn off the ringer and shove it back into my pocket.
What’s the use? I’m not going to change anything by staying out all night. I’m just making my mother angrier the longer I stay away. I’m about to walk home and face the music when I hear voices.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe some college kids home for summer break and looking for a trip down memory lane. I can tell you what I’m not expecting: Paul York, some sullen girl I’ve never seen before and Roemi Kapoor in a full tuxedo with purple-satin accents. In the complicated social scene at Granite Ridge High, Roemi Kapoor and Paul York are not what you’d call best friends.
“Andrea?” says Roemi as they push through the bushes and into the clearing. “Why aren’t you at prom?”
“Looks like I should be asking you the same question.” I point at his outfit.
“Yeah, no kidding.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s a tragic story. I don’t really wanna talk about it. This is Candace, by the way,” he says, pointing at the new girl. “She’s me and Paul’s new best friend.”
I look at Paul. He shrugs slightly and gives me an embarrassed smile.
“Hey,” I say, holding out a hand to the new girl. “I’m Andrea.”
She has a backpack hanging over her shoulder by one strap. She stares at my hand and then shifts the weight of her pack to reach out and shake. She seems annoyed by the effort.
“What are you guys doing here anyway?” I ask.
“It’s kind of complicated,” says Roemi. “Candace here is a hard-boiled criminal, and she almost got caught in the act by the cops, but she made a daring escape and then took me and Paul hostage, and now she’s forcing us to participate in her evil schemes. Speaking of which,” he says, turning to Candace, “this is the place I was telling you about! Ta da!”
I have no idea what they’re talking about. Candace must notice the confused look on my face. “I was bombing,” she explains. “Doing graffiti. Or trying to, I guess. Anyway, these guys said this might be a good spot.”
Graffiti? Seriously?
She drops her backpack on the ground and walks over to look at the Ledge.
“For real though,” says Roemi. “Why aren’t you at prom?”
“Well, I guess the main reason is my mom’s a bitch,” I say. I tell them about the hidden booze and getting grounded. About jumping out the window and the scene at Terry’s house. I obviously don’t mention Justin.
“It’s kind of my fault that your mom showed up at Terry’s house,” says Paul. “She cornered me in my driveway. Sorry, Andrea. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known what was going on.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I know better than anyone how pushy she can be. Why are you here anyway? Did you and Lannie break up or something?”
Paul shakes his head. “Nah, nothing like that.”
“Don’t even bother trying to get any info out of this guy,” says Roemi. “Paul’s being very mysterious this evening.”
“Well, what about you?” I ask. “You’re obviously all dressed up with nowhere to go.”
Roemi closes his eyes and sighs deeply. “If you must know, I was stood up.”
“Oh that’s right,” I say. “You had some big date planned, didn’t you? First gay prom couple at Granite Ridge?” He’s been talking about it for a month.
“Yeah, had is the right word. As in, I’ve been had. The bastard left me crying at the altar.”
“Did he have an excuse?” I ask.
“Nope, just a one-line message on Facebook saying he was sorry. He’s sorry, all right—he’s a sorry son of a bitch. Anyway, what can you do?”
Candace walks over to us. “This isn’t going to work,” she says, pointing at the rock face. “There aren’t any good spots left.” We look at the wall. She has a point. Every square inch is covered with crappy paintings and Sharpie autographs.
“It’s no big deal,” says Candace. “It was worth a shot.”
“Okay, wait,” says Roemi. “We’re already missing out on prom; we can’t have a massive fail with this too. There must be someplace for you to get all artistic and shit. What are you looking for? What would be the perfect place to do this?”
“Something smooth and flat,” she says. “Something that doesn’t have a bunch of other shit already painted on it.” She cranes her neck and points up the
side of the wall. “Like up there.”
“It’s, like, fifteen feet high,” says Roemi.
“That’s a total heaven,” she says.
“What do you mean?” asks Roemi.
“A heaven is a hard-to-reach place,” she says. “Hard to get to and hard to remove once it’s been painted on.”
“Kind of dangerous, don’t you think?” I ask.
“Exactly,” she says. “As in, you could die and go to heaven.”
“If it’s so dangerous, then what’s the point, exactly?” I ask.
She shoots me a dirty look. “The point?”
“The point of risking your life to get to someplace dangerous just to paint graffiti,” I say. “I guess I don’t understand why anyone would want to do that. It’s only going to end up upsetting people anyway, isn’t it?”
She looks at me with such contempt that I instantly feel as if I’ve just said the stupidest thing ever.
“I really don’t give a shit if it upsets someone,” she says. “And I definitely don’t give a shit that you don’t understand.”
Roemi lets out a long, low whistle. I shrug and try to look like I’m not bothered by her rudeness. It’s not like I’m trying to offend her. I really don’t understand why anyone would want to climb up a cliff to spray-paint something that’s just going to annoy people. Plus it’s illegal.
“Would it help if you had an extension ladder?” asks Paul. “There’s one in the back of my dad’s truck.”
“Are you kidding me?” asks Candace. “Can I use it?”
“No problem,” he says.
The thought of being an accessory to a crime isn’t very appealing to me, especially since I’m already in big trouble with my mother.
“I think I’m going to get out of here,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Andrea,” says Roemi. “Live a little. What else are you going to do? Exams are over, remember? There’s nothing left to study.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t really want to be involved in, you know…”
“Breaking the law?” asks Candace, half laughing, half sneering. “Let her go,” she says. “She’s scared. Big deal.”
“Come on, Andrea,” says Paul. “It’ll be fun. Something different.”
“I’m not scared,” I say.
Suddenly the last thing I want to do is give this strange girl the satisfaction of thinking I’m leaving because of her. I don’t really understand what Paul thinks will be so fun, but I have as much right to be here as anyone. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be holding the spray can. To hell with her.
“I guess I’ve got nothing better to do,” I tell them. “I might as well stick around for a while.”
“Oh goody,” says Roemi. “We’re all best friends again.”
“Whatever,” says Candace, without so much as glancing at me. She looks at Paul. “So let’s go get this ladder.”
PAUL
Candace and I walk back out to where I’ve parked the truck. I pop the door to the cap and lower the tailgate.
“So do you usually do this with other people when you’re in the city?” I ask as Candace and I haul the ladder out.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I used to, but now I keep it to myself. It’s easier that way.”
“What about your friends?” I ask.
“What about them?”
It’s obvious that she doesn’t want to talk about it, so I drop the subject.
“I like being by myself,” she says eventually. “It’s kind of hard to explain, but this is important to me. It’s my art, and when people think it’s stupid, I’m not going to go out of my way to change their minds.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” I say. I don’t bother to tell her that I definitely would have said it was stupid before I met her.
“Yeah, well, most people do. Your friend back there does.”
“Who, Andrea?” I ask. “Nah, Andrea’s cool. She’s just a really responsible person. I don’t think she meant anything by it.”
“I know when someone’s judging me. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
We carry the ladder back to the edge of the woods and lay it down on the side of the path.
“I’m going to grab some rope,” I say. “Safety first.”
We go back to the truck, and I rummage around until I find a coil of rope. I’m crawling back out of the truck when a car pulls up and parks behind us.
“Shit,” Candace whispers. “Five-oh.”
It’s the same cop from earlier. He gets out of his car and walks over to us.
“Well, will you look at this,” he says. “I thought I recognized this truck. You guys aren’t up to any trouble here, are you?”
“No, sir,” says Candace in her fake baby-doll voice. “We just came to the park for a stroll. It’s superduper romantic here!”
“Got to be careful,” he says. “You’ll find yourself in all kinds of trouble if you start getting too romantic in a public space, if you catch my drift.”
“Oh, for sure!” says Candace. “I’m saving myself for my wedding night.”
I choke back a laugh. She sounds totally sincere but completely naive, and none of it lines up with the way she looks.
“That hoodie looks familiar,” the cop says, pointing at Candace.
“You like it? My grandma bought it for me before she died. It really means a lot to me.” She makes a sad face.
“You guys mind if I take a look inside the vehicle?” He’s already walking around it, looking through the windows.
“Be our guest,” says Candace. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to have to take a little look-see inside the cab.” He looks at me. “This your truck?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Well, it’s my dad’s truck.”
He gets me to pull out my license, insurance and registration. He looks them over, then cheerfully opens the front door of the truck and starts to dig around.
We stand to the side, and Candace nestles up against me, shoving her face into my chest and biting on her knuckles. I put my arm around her and play along, trying not to imagine what Lannie would think if she saw this whole scene.
After several minutes, in which the cop turns the cab upside down, empties all of my dad’s toolboxes and even gets on his back and shines a flashlight underneath the truck, he stands up and reluctantly hands the papers back to me.
“Nothing in there,” he says.
“That’s what I said!” says Candace, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“Listen,” he says, “I think it’s about time you guys hit the road. There’s no good reason to be hanging out here.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “We’ll do that.”
I wait for him to get back in his car, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there with his arms folded, staring at us. “Not sure if you guys understand what I’m saying here,” he says. “I think you should leave. Now.”
“Okay, wait a minute,” says Candace. “You can’t just make us leave. We aren’t doing anything wrong, and this is a public space!”
“You’re right,” he says. “I can’t legally force you to leave, and I can’t charge you with anything if you decide you want to ignore my advice and stick around anyway. But you know, I don’t have to go anywhere either.” He looks up at the sky and whistles. “It’s an awfully nice evening to just sit here and listen to the radio.” He looks at his watch. “I’d say the prom isn’t going to be over for at least, oh, I’m guessing another few hours or so. Until then, I won’t have a whole lot to keep me busy.”
He takes a step toward us. “I’ll tell you something else. I don’t trust either of you as far as I can throw you. I knew there was something fishy going on back at the convenience store, but you convinced me that you weren’t the girl I was looking for. Now I’m pretty sure I was right all along. Give me some credit, guys. You think I don’t know about the Ledge? I know you kids don’t go
in there to play board games.”
I don’t see any point in arguing with him, especially since he’s right, but that doesn’t stop Candace.
“And people wonder why teenagers hate cops,” she says.
“Nah,” he says. “Nobody wonders about that. Everyone knows teenagers hate cops because cops are always keeping teenagers from doing dumb shit. It’s pretty straightforward. I’ve been around awhile. I might not be able to prove anything, but I promise you that if you give me any reason at all, I will have no problem making hay with it. I take vandalism very seriously.”
“Come on,” I say, putting my hand on Candace’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“You should probably listen to your boyfriend, sweetheart. You guys go home and make some popcorn and stay out of trouble. By the way, you must really think I’m stupid if you think I’m buying that fake voice you’re using.”
Candace makes a face at him but follows me to the truck and jumps into the passenger seat. She rolls down the window and sticks her head out. “Oh hey, officer,” she says in her normal voice. “I’ve got some advice for you too. Don’t call girls sweetheart. It’s sexist, and it makes you sound like a pervert.”
I pull away from the curb.
“Asshole,” she mutters.
“What should we do?” I ask as I circle out of the cul-de-sac. “I can’t leave my dad’s ladder back there—he’ll kick my ass.”
Candace turns around and looks out the back window. “What the fuck? He’s still following us!”
I check the rearview. She’s right; the cop is trailing close behind us. I turn onto one street, then another, and he follows me both times. He’s definitely sticking to me on purpose.
“Okay,” says Candace. “This is starting to feel like creepy hillbilly shit. Doesn’t he have anything better to do?”
“I doubt it,” I say. “There’s not a hell of a lot going on around here tonight. At least, not until prom is over. He’s just messing with us because he’s bored.”
“Stupid cops.”
I pull onto the main drag, then into the parking lot at Bizzby’s. Sure enough, the cop pulls in and parks a few spots away from us. We look over and he grins and waves at us.
