Step one done. Step two can’t happen until nightfall.
* * *
I’m able to get back on campus with enough time for me to score a late dinner. I don’t have a ton of expendable cash at all, so maybe I shouldn’t do this. Maybe I should reconsider.
But it’s a harmless prank.
One that could blow up in my face and backfire.
Bottom line, though, is that I’ve realized something about my father through my talk with Kyle.
My father is a bully.
And I will not allow anyone I love to be bullied, and I sure as hell won’t accept being bullied myself.
This might not be the best way to stand up for myself, but I have to do something. This has been going on for six or seven weeks now, and I’m sick and tired of it.
By the time the moon is high above me, it’s late. Super late. As in I should’ve been in bed already, but I’m too amped up to be tired. I make the long trek across campus to where the upperclassmen’s houses are. It takes me a bit to find their communal parking lot, and from there, I have to search to find their bikes.
What if these bikes aren’t theirs? Nope, that one has a plate that reads Ace. God, how arrogant do you have to be to have a plate that has your name on it? Seriously.
That one is Rob’s, and the other two have to belong to Gabe and Zac.
I shake the spray can and hesitate, not because I have cold feet but because I haven’t thought this far ahead. What do I want to draw?
Well, Ace is a quarterback. Let’s see… Hunched down by his bike, I grab my phone and look up his stats. Shit, he really is a star. Last year, he was the backup, but the starter was injured and had to sit out two weeks. In that time, Ace lit up the opposing teams to the tune of ten touchdowns and zero picks. Once the previous starter was cleared to play, he was now on the bench in favor of Ace, who dominated every week except one. His worst game was against Coral Springs, one of his only two losses for the season. He threw three picks.
Again, I shake the spray can and then draw a huge “Go Coral Springs!” on the side of his bike.
Moving on, I sneak over to Gabe’s bike. A runner. Track star. He’s right that running is a race against yourself more than the other runners. It’s not easy for me to think of anything. Most of what I think of is far too long. Whatever. They’re just going to paint over everything anyhow, so if it’s a little crammed…
“Can’t outrun your past!” is what I end up going with. Like I said, not the best, but I’m not sure what else to go with, and I need to hurry up and get out of here before someone sees me. It’s not as if shaking the can and spraying the paint is all that quiet of an endeavor, and there’s no telling when someone might head out o the parking lot or come back home to park in this lot.
As for Zac… I’m really not sure what at all to put for him. He’s not an athlete like the other two are, at least not as far as I know. Honestly, he’s the one I know the least about. He kinda keeps to himself or at least he hasn’t bragged about anything to me like the others have.
Because I can’t think of anything else, I end up writing, “Watch your back!” It’s a bit of a warning, maybe even a bit of a threat, but it’s already written, and I hightail it out of there.
When I left my room, Lauren hadn’t been there, but in case she’s back now, I enter the room as quietly as I can. There’s a huff from her bed as I gently shut the door, and I’m almost annoyed enough to call her out on touching my jewelry, but I figure I stirred enough shit tonight as it is with my spray painting the guys’ bikes so I might as well leave it alone for now.
Although I should be exhausted, given how late it is, I lie in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. It’s not so much that I’m restless as wired. It’s pretty crazy to think about what I did. I’ve never done something like this before, and it almost makes me feel more alive. Definitely more powerful, which is somewhat funny when you consider I’m a freshman and they’re juniors. Not that they’re above me. That’s just how they act.
But hopefully not anymore.
Yeah, right. I never realized what a dreamer I am until now.
* * *
Not all dreams are good ones. I don’t often eat breakfast in the café, opting instead to grab something at dinner that I can bring back to my dorm room and eat the next morning on my trek to class. At lunch, none of the guys are around, but that’s not the case at dinnertime. I’m sitting with Michaela and a few of my other friends when I hear a few people call out Ace’s name. I wince and look up. Our eyes meet, and fuck does Ace look furious. I gulp and excuse myself, standing and hurrying away toward the bathroom. Yes, I’m a bit of a coward now that push has come to shove, but Ace cuts me off.
“What the hell, Katie? You’re a real fucking bitch, aren’t you?”
I scowl. “It was harmless, and it’s not like it’ll take you long to spray paint over what I wrote.”
“I don’t give a shit about what you put on my bike, but on Gabe’s? That’s seriously fucked up.”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”
“What do I…” Ace tilts his head to the side. “What the hell did you write that? ‘Can’t outrun your past.’”