Tag Along (6 page)

“Long story,” he says. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it, so I bite my tongue. Always difficult.

“I don't want to break up your little reunion,” says Candace, “but can we get a hustle on? I don't want to be here when the cops show up again.”

“Excuse me?” I say. “Cops?”

She doesn't answer me, so I look at Paul. He shrugs. “She won't tell me,” he says.

“Okay, hang on,” I say. “I'm not helping you with anything unless you fill us in. What's the big secret? Is there a head in that backpack?”

“No,” she says, exasperated. “Nothing like that. It's nothing, it's just—it's nothing. It doesn't matter.”

We both stare at her. She lets out a long groan. “Okay, fine,” she says. “You'll think it's stupid, but whatever. I need that pack because it has all my graffiti stuff in it.”

“Graffiti?” I repeat. “Really?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was bombing the back of that school and some cop showed up and almost caught me. I threw my pack into the playhouse and ran to the nearest store. That's when I met Paul, and he told me he'd help out. I told you you'd think it's stupid, but I don't give a shit what you think.”

“Relax, Rembrandt,” I tell her. “Nobody said anything was stupid. Do you think it's stupid, Paul?”

“No,” he says. “I'm actually kind of relieved. I thought you were dealing or something.”

“As if,” says Candace.

“Is it really such a big deal to the cops?” I ask. “Graffiti, I mean.”

“Yeah,” she says. “You can get in real trouble. Vandalism charges. Trespassing. Break and enter, if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I point across the street. “I'm pretty sure that's the house the kids went behind.”

We backtrack through a couple of yards and duck behind a hedge at the back of their lot. Sure enough, the kids are in the backyard, about twenty feet away from us. They're playing some sort of game that seems to consist of the girl bossing Frankie around. The backpack is nowhere in sight. “That's them,” I whisper.

“Are you sure?” asks Candace.

I nod just as the kids stop what they're doing and turn abruptly toward the house. A screen door swings out, held open by the arm of an invisible adult. The girl seems to be having an argument with whoever is standing inside.

“I'll do it later!” she yells. She stops and listens to something, then throws her hands up in frustration and follows the arm inside. Frankie stays outside.

“Okay,” says Candace. “I'll be back in a minute.” She starts to move, but I grab her arm.

“Listen,” I say. “Don't be offended, but if you jump out of the bushes at this kid, he's going to think that he's being abducted by the angel of death. He'll be in therapy for years, if he doesn't die of shock first. Let me do it.”

I run into the yard and over to Frankie.

His jaw drops when he sees me. “Tooth fairy?” he asks, his eyes wide.

This is something I can work with. “Yes!” I say. “It's me, the tooth fairy! Where's your sister?”

“Mom made her call Grandma for her birthday,” says Frankie. “I already talked to her today, so I'm allowed to stay outside.”

“Well, boy oh boy, Frankie,” I say. “Have I got a surprise for you!”

“A surprise? But I haven't lost any teeth lately.”

“Umm, that doesn't matter! Because you—have won—the tooth fairy lottery!”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“All you have to do is answer one skill-testing question, and you get the grand prize! Just tell me where the backpack is and you'll be the winner!”

“You mean the backpack from the park? The one with all the hairspray in it?”

“Yeah, that one!”

“My sister hid it behind the toolshed.”

“Excellent! Good job! You're the winner!”

“What do I win?”

“Ummm…” I reach into my jacket and pull out my wallet. No cash, just cards. “Hang on a second.” I run back to the hedge. “Quick!” I say. “Do either of you have any cash?”

“I told you, my wallet's in the backpack,” says Candace.

“What's the deal?” asks Paul. “Is he holding it ransom?”

“I don't have time to explain. Come on, I need some cash!”

Paul digs into his pocket and shoves a five-dollar bill at me. I run back to Frankie.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks.

“My reindeer,” I say. “He carries my wallet.”

“You have a reindeer? Lemme see!”

“He's invisible. Listen, kid, I've gotta get moving. These lottery prizes won't deliver themselves.” I shove the fiver at him.

“Wow!” says Frankie. “Five bucks! Thanks, tooth fairy!”

“Yeah yeah, no problem.” I quickly glance at the house. “Where's the backpack?”

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.”