Chapter Ten

Striding through the woods toward my cabin a few hours later, I text Hayes to come and meet me as soon as he can. It’s time to get to work.

The place is trashed from my late-night interruption from flow. I straighten up quickly and get busy reworking the stencil piece I ruined at the end.

In broad daylight, it’s harder to push away the sense of impending doom that, even with two people, this project is actually impossible.

I’d hate to attempt this and fail. A half-finished Sparkle-ad-and-lion mash-up looking over the town as my legacy? No thank you.

I hear heavy footsteps approaching, and for a moment, I’m afraid my dad has actually traced my location from the original hit he got on my phone last night. I hold my breath.

Two quick knuckle raps make me relax. Dad would’ve barged right in.

I call, “Come on in, Hayes.”

The door swings open, and Hayes strides in with a pack on his back and his hair still wet from his morning shower.

“Good morning,” he says, interrupting my brief daydream of picturing him in his morning shower.

“Morning. Glad you could make it.” I stand up and the tingles in my legs make me realize I’ve been working so long they’ve begun to fall asleep.

“Came as fast as I could.” He grins and drops his pack by the door. “Ready for my vandalism lessons.”

I give him a wry smile. “Welcome to the dark side.”

“It’s a colorful side, anyway.” His eyes slide over me and land on the spray cans I’ve lined up in order. A job this big requires meticulous organization.

“Color is the one element you don’t need to worry about,” I say. “That’s my department.” I guide him over to the cabin wall that I’ve prepped with a blue-gray paint, close to the shade of the water tower. “Today’s lesson is all about technique.”

He raises one eyebrow at me. “I like the sound of that.”

“No flirting now. Just painting.”

“I love it when you take charge.”

I stop and glare at him with my hands on my hips.

He holds up his palms. “I wasn’t being flirty. Just…okay, teach me everything I need to know.”

I lean over, aiming my back assets seductively in his direction as I pick up a can of spray paint.

He blushes. “Hey, come on now.”

I turn around, slapping the can into his right hand. “Keep your mind out of the gutter, Hayes. You’ve got a lot to learn.”

He takes the can from me and switches it to his left hand. With a few strong shakes, he makes the bearings clink loudly, considers the blank wall for just a moment, and then looks me in the eye with a knowing smirk.

My face is a giant question mark because he’s clearly hiding something.

He turns and rushes the wall with the can of red paint.

I’m shocked into silence as he works quickly and smoothly. It’s obvious this guy has spray-painted graffiti before.

In fact, he’s moving like a pro.

I stand, mutely watching as he fills in the letters he’s thrown up on my wall, a large, 3-D outline that reads HMM with an ellipsis at the end.

When he’s finished, he tosses the can into the air, allowing it to whirl around before catching it with one hand. I look back and forth from him to his tag and he shrugs. “Just my initials.”

I shove him so hard he has to step back to keep his balance. “I can’t believe you kept this from me. How long have you been doing graffiti?”

He laughs and rubs his shoulder where I hit him. “I’m not a real artist like you or anything. I’d just mess around sometimes, go out tagging with my friends in Brooklyn. It’s the other reason why I was so drawn to your lions.”

I cross my arms and consider his design. “Hmm…” I read. “What’s your full name?”

“Hayes Michael Mcallaster.” He looks uncomfortable when he asks, “What’s yours?”

“Rory Capers. No middle name.” I’m still studying his initials. “Do you do any effects?”

He picks up a can of gray and goes to work. As he paints, he tells me a story about him and his friends getting chased by a gang one night and almost getting caught.

“We didn’t realize we’d shown disrespect by painting over this one guy’s tag,” he says as he switches spray cans. “Let me tell you, things got real. We thought we were so tough going out, painting our graffiti, but that was the night we realized we were actually just a group of soft rich kids from the suburbs who had no business wandering outside our neighborhood after dark. I never ran so fast in my life.”

He steps back to show off the letters, which now look like they’ve been cast in cement with cracks running through them. One corner of the letter H looks like it’s crumbling into rubble.

He’s just brought an urban edge to my little cabin here in the woods. Moving closer, I inspect his work. “This isn’t bad. I can give you a few pointers, but actually, I need to see what angle you used for this.” I point to a section of the rock crumble.

With a smile, he shows me, and for the next few hours, the two of us take turns working on the big wall, teaching each other spray techniques and effects.

Hayes is a natural with a spray can, and he picks up new tricks quickly.

He even shows me how to use a razor blade to create a cap stencil, which is way more of a turn-on than that may sound.

Each time our hands touch, a current of attraction runs so strong I’m surprised it doesn’t manifest in an actual glowing spark between us.

For the rest of the morning, we have some serious sitcom-worthy, will-they-or-won’t-they, romantic tension happening between us.

I prime over our practice area with a layer of white and say, “Go ahead. Forget the initials and the spray techniques. Let me see you paint something original. Anything you’d like.”

He looks at the blank wall in front of him, tilting his head from side to side, considering. This moment of watching him draws out long, and the anticipation inside me builds. But there is no way I’m ever making the first move with Hayes again.

On impulse, I grab the closest paint marker, and with a few quick flicks, I draw a purple doodle of a cup of coffee on his bicep. He laughs as I add a goofy face smiling over the rim of the cup. I pick up a can of silver spray paint and quickly complete the piece with a small swirl of steam flowing up his shoulder.

“Thought you could use a little caffeine boost,” I say.

“Thanks.” He holds up his arm to consider my work. “It’s perfect.”

Turning his attention back to the wall, he runs the fingers of his right hand along the surface. Nodding to himself, he begins.

Keeping the nozzle close to the wall so his lines are ultra thin, he moves the can fast and smooth. His broad strokes begin to connect, forming the image of a detailed cartoon lion wearing a gangster-looking suit. I laugh as he adds a top hat and a red rose in the lion’s lapel. Finally, he gives his lion a spiffy cane and labels his drawing across the top: “A Dandy Lion.”

“Okay, so that’s adorable. And not bad for your first freestyle lion.” I point to a few drips running down from the red flower in the giant cat’s lapel. “But it looks like someone shot him. You want to be sure to check the pressure anytime you switch cans.”

Hayes laughs. “Yeah, I should’ve realized the pressure was way too high.”

I look at him, and his eyes shift to serious for a beat. It’s as if we can read each other’s minds in that instant. Of course he feels this too.

I break the tension by looking back at the wall. “So, the more we practice, the more precise we’ll be up there on the tower, and the faster we’ll finish.”

“I want to be ready, Ro, but can we maybe take a little break? We’ve been at this for hours and I could use an actual caffeine hit.”

I sigh. “Fine. We should eat something too. I have protein bars around here somewhere. Want one?” I move toward the bin that holds my emergency provisions in small, airtight containers. “Most all of them involve some form of peanuts or peanut butter, so I hope you’re not allergic.”

“That’s okay. I actually brought a little lunch for the both of us.”

I’ve wrenched the lid off one of the bins, and I’m holding a shoebox container filled with prepackaged bars out toward him.

He pulls a largish cooler bag from his backpack and pats it invitingly.

“I’m good with a bar,” I say. “But thanks anyway.”

Fishing one of the whey protein bars out of my box, I rip the foil wrapper open with my teeth and shove the container back inside the plastic bin it came from.

When I turn around, Hayes is stepping out of the cabin’s door with the cooler bag in his hand and a tablecloth folded under his arm.

I follow him outside as I bite into my bar. The texture inspires me to check the expiration date printed on the wrapper.

Hayes glances back at me as he spreads the small tablecloth on a nearby rock and I resist the urge to spit the dry bite of protein bar out onto the ground. Instead, I swallow the crumbly mass and head back inside for my water bottle.

I stop when Hayes asks, “Can I interest you in a refreshing beverage?”

“Did you bring water?”

“I have infused water.”

I squint at him. “Infused with what? Anything fun?”

He smiles. “Just cucumber. But I also made you an iced coffee, if you like.”

I feel my face light up. “Gimme.”

Perching on a nearby log, I hug my cold tumbler of deliciousness as I watch Hayes unpack baggies filled with sandwiches, pita chips, two apples, and a plastic container of strawberries.

“You’re really going to eat all that?” I’m suddenly ravenous.

He gestures to the opposite side of the rock. “I told you, this is for both of us. Come sit.”

I move closer as he holds out a wrapped sandwich. “Thanks, but I’m a little fussy. I can’t stand mustard or pickles or—”

“Good ole PB&J.” He smiles as he shakes the sandwich enticingly.

I take the bait. “My favorite. Thanks.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“What kind are you having?”

He holds it up. “It’s called a Cubano. Roast pork, ham, and Swiss, with extra mustard and pickles all toasted on a panini press.”

I aim my nose in the air and make a face that makes him laugh.

We unwrap our sandwiches and bite into them. The bread on mine is whole wheat but the soft kind, which I consider one of the most important features of a proper PB&J. I take a sip from my tumbler.

I say, “You need to teach me how to make amazing coffee like this before you go back home to Lawng Eyeland.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, it’s just…” How do I say this without making it sound like I’m only lowering my guard and letting him into my life because he’s leaving at the end of the summer? “You eventually do need to go home, right?”

He takes a swig from a glass bottle with cucumber wedges floating at the bottom. “I don’t know. There’s a chance I might decide to stay here.”

I shove the rest of my PB&J half into my mouth to hide my expression. “You graduated already?” The question is muffled by sandwich.

“One year to go. I can finish up here at New Paltz High School.”

“Ugh. That sadistic hellhole.”

“The place can’t be that terrible.”

Actually, school wasn’t so bad before everyone turned phony over my mom dying and I had to go full-on antisocial, but I’m not telling Hayes this. I shrug. “I’m sure you’d do just fine—jump into sports, join a bunch of clubs, and make heaps of friends.”

“Will you be my friend?” He bats his eyes at me playfully.

I shake my head. “Nope. I don’t do friendship.”

“Of course you do.” He gestures to the picnic lunch in front of us. “You’re doing it right now.”

“This is… I don’t know what this is, but it’s temporary.”

“Unless I stay here.”

“Did you really leave that big of a mess for yourself back home?”

“No. But I did leave a lot of unhealthy ‘brother’ bonds based on episodes of binge drinking that I’m better off letting go of. Even going out to run around and paint graffiti usually meant getting bombed first, which was just stupid and the reason we got into trouble with that gang.”

“You’d get bombed to go bomb?” I joke.

His expression stays serious. “There’s no good reason to risk my sobriety when I’m going to college in another year anyway.”

“So you’re being real right now? You might actually move here?” My spark of happiness at this thought disturbs me, and I stamp it out like an old campfire.

“Well, if I do, will you be my friend?”

“Let’s not get carried away defining things, okay?”

He laughs. “Okay. We’ll just go with the clichéd ‘it’s complicated,’ and leave it at that.”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to explain to my friend Kat the other day—oh shit. Kat.”

I grab my phone and hit the little icon with her face on it. Including Kat, there are only three Favorites on my phone, and one of those is Dad, who I’m not speaking to. The third one is Hayes, you know, for convenience, but he doesn’t need to know this.

Kat picks up on the first ring. “Hey, girl, talk to me.”

“Did today’s shipment come in yet?” Hayes is watching my face as I try to keep my voice calm and casual.

“What?”

“Um, the supply shipment? I forgot it was being delivered today, and I need you to do me a favor.”

“The supplies came in, sure. Ken’s in the back unpacking the boxes right now. Of course, he’s taking his time—”

“Listen to me, Kat. I put in a special order.” I stand up and start pacing. “I have the cash all set to make the purchase when I come in, but nobody can know what’s in those extra boxes.”

“How am I supposed to stop him? If I volunteer to inventory the shipment myself, you know he’ll be suspicious.”

“That could… I mean, you can at least… No, you’re right. He’ll immediately know something’s up if you volunteer to do extra work.” I wrap one arm over my head. “I am so screwed.”

There’s a pause, and then Kat says, “Leave it to me, sweets. I’ve got your back.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I have an idea. Which supply company?”

“OhmyGod, thank you! There will be a decent-size box that will say it’s from Scrap Yard and two big, heavy boxes from Krylon. Are you sure about this?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll see you for your shift in a few hours.”

“You are a giant cherry lifesaver, Kat. Good luck and I owe you big.”

“You have no idea how big you are about to owe me, but you’ll get me back.”

“Yes. I will. I promise to get you back.”

I thank her once more before hanging up. She didn’t even ask what the supplies were for, but I’m pretty sure she’ll guess if she looks up Scrap Yard. It’s a graffiti supply store in the city that I once took the Trailways bus to visit by myself. It was smaller than I’d expected, but of course it was packed with pure awesomeness.

Even if Kat doesn’t google it or check inside the boxes, I’m pretty sure Krylon is universally known for selling spray paint.

I tell Hayes, “Kat is probably about to figure out my secret identity.”

“No. I liked being the only one who knew you as Graffiti Girl.”

I give a superhero pose, with my fists on my waist and my head held high. “Picture me with a cape,” I say as I use one arm to mime a flow of fabric blowing behind me. “Graffiti Girl, to the rescue!”

Hayes says, “To be honest though, I don’t think this is such a terrible thing. I’ve been thinking maybe Graffiti Girl needs to come clean. If you open up to your dad about your lions, it could be the first step to help you two start healing your relationship.”

“What? No!” My arms drop to my sides. “Why the hell would I tell my dad? Kat will keep my secret. She’s already covering for me with our boss.”

“Listen, Rory.” He’s eating strawberries with a metal fork, which seems a bit formal for a picnic. “I go to a lot of AA meetings at all different times during the day. I get to hear a lot of people’s stories. Each of us is there because we lost something due to our drinking. Some lost their jobs, some their cars…” He rolls his eyes and raises his hand. “Some lost their whole identities. But the thing that people regret losing the most? The trust of their loved ones. Those relationships are what truly matter, and once they’re gone, they’ll never be the same again.”

The adrenaline from my frenzied call to Kat settles into my nerve endings, and I turn on him. “Are you freaking kidding me? My dad has a secret relationship with some woman, and you think I’m the one who needs to risk everything and confess to him about my graffiti?”

Hayes stands to look me in the eye. “The way you acted in that restaurant was wrong, Rory. There’s no other way of seeing it. I completely understand why you flipped out, but you’re the one who should be apologizing.”

“This isn’t any of your business.”

“It is because I care about you. If your dad finds out what you’ve been up to, it will change things between you two forever.”

“Good! I want things changed. You have no idea what it’s been like, living under his thumb all this time.”

“I get that you feel like he’s trying to control you, but he can’t be all bad.”

I can feel the pressure building as Hayes continues to undermine my frustration. “I’ve always hated my dad.” Even as I say it, I can feel it isn’t the truth, but I double down on my lie. “I can’t wait to never see him again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Says the guy who wants to move ninety miles north of all his problems. Are you seriously going to lecture me, Mr. It’s Complicated? I’ll bet that could describe all your relationships, huh?”

“Rory, come on. You know I want us to be together. I just need to finish my step work.”

“Oh. My. God!” I try to control my volume because I’m afraid someone will hear us from three miles away if I release my full rage.

First, he completely disregards how impossible my dad is, and now he assumes I’m just pining away for some big, fat, fairy-tale happy ending with him.

“You think you’re some sort of prince who rode in on his rainbow-shitting unicorn to rescue me? I do not want a relationship with you, Hayes. I wanted a simple hookup and then you got all in my business and now you won’t stop trying to get into my head.”

“Rory, wait, I didn’t—”

But my wild lions are roaring and they refuse to be tamed. I practically shout, “I’m in control here, and I say this is no longer complicated or complex. This is very simple. Good-bye.”

I storm back into the cabin, and as soon as I see the wall Hayes and I have been working on together, I collapse in tears. I don’t even know what just happened. His “dandy lion” stands there, mocking me politely.

There’s a knock at the door. “Rory, you okay?”

I try to make my voice sound as normal as possible. “Go away.”

“Rory? I’m coming in.”

My sobs are getting worse, and I can’t pull myself together enough to respond. My feelings are rising up faster than I can shove them down, like some game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Dad has a girlfriend. *Whack.*

Hayes is taking Dad’s side. *Whack.*

Kat is taking risks for me that could wreck our friendship. *Whack.*

My mom is gone. My mom is gone. My mom is gone. *Whack-whack-whack.*

The door starts to swing open, and I slide backward so I’m blocking it. “Go away, Hayes. Go back to Long Island or wherever you want. I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”

“Rory, I can hear you crying in there. You can’t expect me to—”

I stand up and grab his backpack, quickly swing the door open, and fling it directly at his head. I close the door before I can see whether or not I hit him. “Go. Away.”

Too much caffeine is obviously bad for me anyway.