“I wouldn’t say no,” she whispers.
Her eyes are deep and hurt; she’s still not over the way Dylan trashed her reputation. Once people think you sleep around, it doesn’t much matter if you do or not. So I let the idea develop fully before speaking. It’s deliciously awful, and I put away my misgivings. He’s earned this. And if we’re careful, we can get away with it.
“Do you know where the spirit squad stores their supplies?” I ask.
Lila nods. “Why?”
I tell her. And her smile is both wicked and luminous.
After school, we raid the closet and take poster board, balloons, and streamers. Since the girls sometimes decorate players’ vehicles, at first glance, nobody will realize there’s anything wrong with Dylan’s truck. But wait until they read the messages. Giggling like mad, we sneak into an unlocked classroom after school and get to work. We have to be fast since the team’s at practice now.
Lila scrawls half the messages and I cover the rest. Most of them are childish, taunts about his habits and personal hygiene. I’m a nose picker. I eat them, too. I wet the bed until I was 12. My favorite porno mag is Grannies Gone Wild. I’m afraid I will die a virgin. But I save the best for last, writing in huge block letters: I CRY WHEN GIRLS TOUCH MY WIENER.
Since we don’t care about neatness, it doesn’t take long to finish up. In stealth mode, we creep out to the parking lot, which is deserted at this hour. The teachers are gone except for those who sponsor afternoon activities. Students in clubs haven’t come out yet; the rest are on the way home. I forgot how good it feels to be bad. This is a rush, but I remind myself why we’re doing this. The justification definitely matters.
Lila and I keep watch while duct-taping the signs, balloons, and streamers all over Dylan’s black truck. I cross my fingers that someone sees it before he and his buddies arrive. But still, just humiliating him in front of his teammates is better than nothing, more of a comeuppance than he usually gets. One of his asshole friends drove Jon Summers to his death. Dylan didn’t lead that witch hunt, but he didn’t stop it, either.
“We should get out of here,” Lila says.
“Agreed.”
We take off before anyone spots us and I’m on pins and needles all night, wondering about that asshole’s reaction to our prank.
The next morning, I’m locking my bike up when Dylan’s truck screeches into the lot. The evidence is gone, but people are still laughing like crazy when he parks.
One kid yells, “Maybe you’d like wiener touching better from a dude, bro!”
I glance over, and he’s waving his phone. Even at this distance, I glimpse a photo of our handiwork. A few seconds later, my phone pings, as Kimmy’s forwarded the picture. I guess that means everyone knows, because I hear text tones all around me, and the laughter gets louder. To make matters worse, Dylan’s given his mom a ride to school; she looks so confused and upset, especially when she hears what the guy said. She touches Dylan’s arm and he shrugs her off, looking mad as hell. Since Shadow Sage was running the show, I didn’t think about how he’d feel about his mother’s reaction. I’ve given him the shittiest Valentine’s Day ever, and … I feel crappy.
Yeah, there’s always fallout to being bad. Always.
He comes over to me, smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know you did this. And I’m going to make you sorry you were ever born.”
I meet his gaze, trying to seem calm. “Good luck with that.”