Malone pops the lid and dips her brush in, but before she can start, Wheeler says, “Wait, everyone hold up your brushes and smile in that direction.”
Standing on the far side of the parking lot where Wheeler is pointing is a lone figure aiming a camera at us with a lens that looks like it could photograph a tick on the moon.
“Who is that?” Ellie asks.
“Mark Richardson,” Wheeler says. “He’s shooting a picture for H8box.”
“But Mrs. B asked you not to do that.”
“Right, but she didn’t say anything about someone else doing it, did she? Semantics, man. They’ll get you every time.”
We all hold up our paint brushes in Mark’s direction and pause for a picture before dipping our brushes and slathering the water tower with blue paint. I’m standing next to Ellie on the end, which, if I have to risk my life up here, is the best place to be. Up until last year, Ellie’s parents forced her to wear long skirts to school. She eventually won the battle to dress more like a normal teenager, but in her parents’ minds, that means loose jeans and shirts buttoned high. Still, if anyone can rock the Puritan look, it’s Ellie.
What’s awesome is the paint we’re using isn’t a perfect match for the original blue. The district will inevitably have to pay someone to repaint the entire tower, which is a small but excellent consolation.
“So you made it back into your house without getting caught?” Ellie says.
“Luckily. What happened to you?”
“I just got a—quote—stern talking to—unquote—about temptation and the importance of our family’s reputation.”
“But they didn’t ground you?”
“No, my parents don’t do that. I think they’re afraid I’ll become like other PKs.”
“PKs?”
“Preacher’s kids. Haven’t you heard? We’re the biggest drunks, druggies, and sex fiends out there. Did Stranko call your parents yet?”
“No, not yet,” I say. “I’m betting it’ll come in the next couple days.”
“Well, if he tries, he’s not going to have much luck.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You know how I’m an office aide second period? Today I changed your parents’ phone number in the system to the childcare room at my dad’s church. It’s only used on Sunday mornings. So if Stranko does call, the phone will just ring and ring.”
“You did that for me?”
“Sure. Why not?”
It’s official. I’m in love.
From somewhere down below, someone shouts, “Hey, you missed a spot!”
Clever.
“You know what pisses me off?” Malone asks. “Knowing the Chaos Club is probably down there laughing at us.”
We all stop painting and look over the side again.
“I’m going to find ’em and kill ’em,” Adleta growls.
“And who exactly are you going to kill?” Malone asks. “No one knows who’s in the Chaos Club.”
“Oh, someone knows. I’ll find out who,” Adleta says.
“How? By beating people up until you get a confession?”
“It’s an idea.”
“Yeah, a dumb one.”
“Like you’re one for good ideas. What’s your answer? Text everyone another nudie?”
Malone holds Adleta’s eyes a lot longer than I’d be able to. Or maybe he’s holding her eyes. Regardless, I haven’t heard Adleta say that many words in all the years I’ve known him.
“Look, everyone just needs to chill out,” Wheeler says. “This isn’t a big deal.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Ellie tells him. “You don’t care about how this’ll look to prospective colleges.”
“Or how Stranko’s going to make your life hell during practice,” Adleta says, then adds, “with your father’s blessing.”
“Or what it’s like to give everyone another reason to make fun of you,” Malone says.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Wheeler says. “But let’s remember that if Ellie hadn’t given that quote to the paper about how we didn’t paint the tower, they would’ve thought we were the Chaos Club. We’d be gods. But noooo, now we’re just assclowns.”
“You’re used to being an assclown though,” Malone says.
“Yeah, but on my terms, not someone else’s.”
“What I can’t stop wondering is why us?” Malone says. “Of everyone the Chaos Club could pick for this prank, why the five of us?”
“Because we’re stupid,” Adleta says.
“Thanks for sharing. But seriously, hasn’t anyone else thought of this?”
I have. A lot. If there’s anything positive about my self-imposed isolation in the theater, it’s that I’ve had a lot of time to think. And all those thoughts haven’t been bad. I feel different, like whoever went up the tower isn’t the same person who came back down. And I do have an answer for Malone. I’m just not sure how to answer her without someone tossing my body over the railing. But regardless of the shameful way Just Max had me hiding out today, Not Max has definite opinions on what needs to be done in this situation, and he’s not about to shut up. So while I’m nervous to say anything, I have to.
“We were picked because we’re easy targets,” I say.
Malone stops painting and looks at me.