Chapter Nineteen

Things are running smoothly, and within a few hours, we’ve filled the first garbage bag with empty cans. The black bag rests at Ken’s feet, and he’s even let go of the railing…with one hand, anyway.

Ken has proven himself useful in directing the light where needed without flailing it about in a way that would call more attention to the tower than necessary.

Now that it’s later, I’m feeling more relaxed about someone spotting us. I figure once we hit around 2:00 a.m., we’ll be in the home stretch, since in my experience, folks who prefer the shroud of darkness are less inclined to be snitches.

As we gradually finish the initial foundation layer, I fire Scott from painting, since it turns out that a Venn diagram comparing the skill sets between chainsaw sculpting and graffiti painting would show very little overlap. That one commonality is the fast-moving pace of both art forms, but Scott has been layering on way too much paint, and it’s a good thing I brought extra.

He makes himself useful running supplies back and forth to Hayes, Kat, and me. Before long, we develop a shorthand system whereby we call out “black” or “gray” or some other color, and no matter where we are, we have fresh cans of paint in our outstretched hands within moments.

A few hours later, we’re finally ready to ditch the enormous stencil that’s now covered in so many dripping colors it looks like it could be an abstract art piece on its own. Like, if Jackson Pollock had taken his action painting in a more random direction.

At my guiding, Scott and I climb our opposite ladders and get busy undoing the tape that holds the stencil between us. Everyone stands back and watches as the giant cardboard cutout floats to the metal catwalk below.

“Wow,” Scott says, and we all stop to admire our mural so far.

The lion is still a faint, floating form, and big sections of his body need to be filled in. But he’s ready to start moving from ghostly to lifelike.

Ken gives an amazed, “Nice,” and in the dark, I nod my agreement.

Hayes is the first one to jump right back to work.

“Looking good!” Kat calls and shakes her spray can, making it clink happily.

Scott climbs down the ladder and starts gathering up the used stencil, while Ken kicks at it helpfully from where he stands, holding the railing.

Kat and Hayes and I are all working as fast as we can, but everything seems to be taking longer than I planned. I can’t believe I ever imagined I could do this alone, but if things flow smoothly from here on out, we just may finish before sunrise begins.

But we might not.

With a deep breath, I shove that thought down and start in on the most important part of the whole thing—the details of the lion’s face.

Kat bellows, “Orange!” to request a new full can, and in a hiss-whisper, she calls up to me, “This is amazing, Rory.”

“I know, right?” I don’t look away from the open mouth of fangs I’m carefully outlining.

A loud, metallic clatter explodes into the night, followed by an unhelpful round of shushing as we all turn to see what’s just happened.

Scott stands beside Ken with his hands raised in surrender. Ken hisses at Scott, “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“What happened?” I ask.

Scott and Ken gesture to the scattered cans at their feet. Scott says, “I just kicked over a whole shitload of cans.”

“Well, then, straighten them up.” I turn back to the lion’s mouth. “And pass Kat a can of orange while you’re at it.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Scott says. “There is no more orange. Or red or green and now we’re almost out of black.”

“What are you talking about?” Hayes growls from where he’s standing on the ladder opposite me. “There was just plenty… Oh.”

“What?” I’m annoyed by all the distractions at a point when I really need to concentrate. “Why are you guys just standing there looking down over the edge?”

“Because.” Scott covers his forehead with the palm of his hand. “That’s where half the paint just went.”

“You kicked the cans of paint over the edge?” I resist the urge to wing the spray can I’m holding at Scott’s head. But only because it’s still half-full and apparently we’re almost out of black. I desperately need black to shade in the rest of the face.

Hayes asks, “Was this whole thing not challenging enough for you?”

“It was an accident,” Scott says. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s great. Just great.” I scramble down the ladder to make a quick assessment of the damage. Looking over the cans, I’d say we’ve lost more than a dozen.

I glance up at our lion and catch my breath. It looks amazing. But we really do need those cans to finish. “Shit.”

“I’ll go down, see if I can find them. I think they fell mostly off to the right.” Scott heads for the ladder.

“No, we need you handing out what’s left of the paint,” I say. “We’re running out of time.”

Ken’s voice is strong. “I can hand out paint.” He stands staring at Kat for a moment, looking like he’s telling his hand to let go of the railing while his hand refuses to let go of the railing. “You need orange,” he says to Kat. “Will gold work?”

She smiles. “I can work with gold.” And we all stand, watching with amazement as Ken bends down and picks up a can of paint with a gold lid. He stretches as far as he can toward Kat while still holding on to the railing and, finally, pulls himself away from it.

“Ken!” Kat stretches toward him.

Walking like a zombie, Ken stomps along the grated walkway, holding up the can of paint as if it’s an Olympic torch. Like these are the opening ceremonies of some twisted tournament for the walking dead.

We all stand, watching speechless as Ken hands the can off to Kat in a slow-motion display of willpower and courage against overwhelming odds. We all break into whispered cheers of celebration at his triumph.

Ken has moved a grand total of about three feet.

“Nice,” I say. “Now, everybody, back to work. Scott, grab a flashlight and go see what you can salvage.”

“Already on my way.” Scott grabs an empty backpack before moving to the ladder and quickly disappearing into the dark abyss below.

I look up at the blank expression on the lion towering over our heads, trying to come up with an alternate plan in case Scott can’t find those missing cans.

“You okay?” Hayes asks from halfway up the opposite ladder he’s been working from. He’s holding a can of paint poised over the lion’s still-forming back.

I look at him through the darkness, wishing I could shine a flashlight to read his expression. “Mistakes happen, right?”

“All we can do is keep on trying,” he says.

I’m hopeful that he’s not just talking about our mural as I make my way back up toward our lion’s still-forming face.

• • •

Fortunately, Scott manages to get down and back up fairly quickly. Unfortunately, he only finds about half of the lost cans, and even more unfortunately, most of our black is now gone.

“It was hard spotting the black cans with the black caps in the dark.” Scott holds open the pack, showing me the cans he’s salvaged. “I am so sorry, Rory.”

“It was an accident.” I consider the remaining supplies and quickly map out a new plan in my mind. All my creative synapses are sparking.

Quickly climbing up the ladder where Hayes is working, I hand him the final two cans of black paint. “Finish up the back end with these as best you can. Then that’s it for black.”

He gives me a nod in the dark and continues working.

Moving to the front, I lean back, debating how I can make the rest of this work without black. I’ll be forced to keep some of the underlying color from the Sparkle ad and use it for accent lines.

I picture the ways I’ll incorporate the faded pink into the lion’s mane and facial features, and realize that, no matter what, the lion will be more pink than I’d planned. And, of course, we have plenty of pink spray paint left too.

I think about Mom’s approach to unplanned obstacles when she was making art.

I’m remembering an endless series of different pieces that she trashed when she was unable to get things just right. In particular, a beautiful clay bowl that she pounded down until it was just a useless lump because she couldn’t make it perfect.

Maintaining her artistic vision was what mattered.

I sigh. I’m way too stubborn to be a true artist because I don’t give a shit if he’s dripping and deformed and his colors are all wrong, wrong, wrong; this lion is going to freaking roar at the break of dawn.

• • •

I’m working on the lion’s right eye and just noticing how tired my arm muscles are getting when I hear a faint beeping sound coming from below. It sounds oddly familiar but I can’t quite place it.

“What the hell is that?” Kat shout-whispers.

“Where’s it coming from?” I call down and see Ken already riffling through the empty supply bags.

The sound gets louder as Ken holds up a lit smartphone. “It’s someone’s cell phone. Who has the red-and-black case that says OBEY?”

OhmyGod. “Turn it off. Turn it off.” I race down the ladder toward him as fast as I can while my phone continues to stroke out with a frenzied alarm.

“What’s your passcode?” Ken is swiping at the face of it.

“No, I mean Shut. It. Down!”

I reach him just as he swipes right to turn off my phone and I see the notification for only a split moment before it disappears. But I don’t need to read the notification to know what just happened.

My screen goes black too late. My dad has just traced my cell phone and locked in on this location.

And I don’t need any notifications to know a few other things too. He’s already pissed and he’s heading this way.

Everyone is frozen, watching me. I realize my lungs are empty, and I slowly inflate them.

Stepping back until the railing presses against my butt, I take the flashlight from Scott and sweep it from top to bottom, over our full design.

It’s definitely looking very lionlike. But it’s not quite done yet. And we’re completely out of time.

The mission has failed. I look from face to face, all watching me.

I have to at least try. “Okay, guys. That was my dad tracking my phone. I need you all to clear out. Now.” Nobody moves, and I shout, “The cops are coming!”

A harmony of groans rises up, and Ken lets out a panicked squeal as cans rattle and everyone moves quickly toward the exit ladder.

I start shaking my spray can, and Kat looks back and asks, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’ll be fine. I should have time to at least finish most of the details on the face before my dad gets here.”

Everyone turns to look at the design, and Scott says, “The body looks like his fur is molting or something. There are too many unfinished places. I can’t believe I fucked up so bad, Rory. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not all your fault.”

“Just mostly your fault,” Ken chimes in.

“I way underestimated how long things would take,” I say. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get as much done as I can before my dad climbs up. He’ll have to handcuff me if he wants to stop me from painting.”

“He is going to straight-up arrest your ass,” Kat says.

“You don’t know that,” Scott says. “He might not arrest his own daughter.”

Hayes turns to me. “We can’t let you take the fall for this whole thing.”

“Well, I won’t forgive myself if you guys get into trouble.”

Ken says, “Maybe we can block his way or something? Make it so he can’t come the whole way up here?”

“And what?” I say. “You think he’ll get bored and go away? You have clearly never met my dad. He’ll have a task force surrounding the tower and helicopters buzzing around our heads.”

Scott says, “Maybe your dad didn’t get a lock on your phone before Ken shut it off.”

Kat turns back to the lion and begins spraying again. After a moment, Hayes moves back into position and stretches out his arm. The sound of their cans hiss into the sprawling night. Our big, crazy night that will all be over very, very soon.

“Come on, guys. You’re running out of time. You need to clear out. Leave the rest to me.”

Between spray strokes, Hayes says, “Not. Leaving. You.”

Kat stops spraying a moment. “Accept it, you’re not getting rid of us.”

I look back and forth from Scott to Ken. “You guys should really get out of here.”

Ken looks at Kat and says, “I’d rather spend the night in jail than walk away from what is happening up here tonight.”

Kat turns around and strides directly up to him. Grabbing the back of his neck, she kisses him firmly before releasing him to go back to painting.

Scott and I look at each other with raised eyebrows, and he smiles. “Well, I’d like to stay and see how all this plays out.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “This really goes above the friend-zone pay grade.”

He gives my shoulder a light punch. “Depends on the friend.” He grabs a new can of silver paint and heads up the ladder toward a big section that desperately needs to be filled in. My eyes shift immediately to Hayes.

He was watching us but turns his attention back to the portion of the lion’s chest he’s been working on and starts spraying again. It’s looking really good.

Kat says, “Get your fine ass back to work, Rory. Time’s running out.”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice.

I call out, “You guys are all my favorite. Seriously!” I fly up the rungs to finish work on the lion’s face, hoping it comes out well enough to express even half of the feelings churning inside of me right now.

We are working double-time and things are finally coming together with calls of, “Finished the back!” and “Done with the haunches!” coming at a more rapid pace.

The tiny hope that my dad didn’t get a lock on my location is just starting to grow into a midsize hope when I hear the faint, far-away crunch of tires driving on gravel.

Hope dissolves in acid.

I lean over the railing, looking far below, and in the glint of moonlight, it’s clear that the car is a squad car.

The roof lights aren’t flashing, which would be a good sign except that the headlights are also turned off completely. Which must be bad.

Is my dad planning to pull off some sort of sneak arrest?

The sound of the car door slamming shut floats up to us, and I call, “Look alive, people.”

Ken has moved the garbage bags filled with empties, so they cover the opening where the ladder joins the catwalk, and he’s piled all the bags and remaining supplies on top. It’s not the best blockade, but it should delay my Dad enough to buy us a moment or two.

And right now, every single moment counts.

This lion needs to look fierce, but he still has a touch of amusement in the eyes that I can’t seem to get rid of. I’ve never had this much trouble with a lion’s expression before.

As sections have been finishing up one by one, Kat and Hayes have been moving closer and closer to the face that I’m frantically trying to get right.

The two of them are directly below me, working on the mane, and I feel a hand brush the inside of my knee. I look down to see Hayes is focused on the stream of paint emanating from his can as he holds on to the ladder rung between my legs.

I swallow against the tightness in my throat just as my dad’s voice comes floating up from below. “Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, kiddies?” He’s wearing his zero-tolerance voice.

With a panicked growl, I reach out with my can and quickly outline the lion’s eyelids with pink. There’s that inner angst that’s been missing.

Hayes is still just below me on the ladder, leaning so far across he’s practically horizontal. I see he’s using dark gray and ask him for the can, telling him he can switch to using my pink for that section of the mane.

We’re very nearly finished.

The sound of metal cans shifting against each other rings out over the valley as Dad starts making his way through the makeshift blockade.

Kat announces her section is “Done!” and she moves back down the metal catwalk to where Ken and Scott stand watching Hayes and I work together.

We are seamless, passing our cans back and forth, moving as one. My heart is beating fast as I hear my dad grunt with the effort of shoving our big garbage bags of empties out of his way.

“Almost there,” I say, giving Hayes my hand so he can pull himself up to the rung just beneath me.

I wrap an arm around him and stretch myself as long as I can, adding just a touch of white underneath the lion’s eyes one at a time. The can slips from my fingers and I lunge for it without thinking, losing my center of balance for a split second.

Without hesitation, Hayes grabs me and pulls me back so I’m standing upright beside him on the ladder. I suck in a breath as he wraps both arms around my waist and shakes his head disapprovingly. But he doesn’t release his hold.

Everything else disappears. My dad and my friends and even our lion. There is only Hayes. I stand there, still one rung above him, so I’m taller, gazing down at his face.

His look of concern over my near fall melts as the two of us look at each other. A mass of zings ricochet between us, and I imagine him rising up on his toes to kiss me.

Judging by the look in his eyes, I’m pretty sure he’s imagining it too.

He does stand up straighter, moving closer and biting his lower lip as if he doesn’t trust it not to kiss me. He whispers in my ear. “You did it, Rory.”

I let my gaze shift over to our lion.

And realize the thing looks fucking amazing.

The hugest smile spreads across my face, and I have tears in my eyes as I say to Hayes, “No, we did it.”

I lean over and yell down to the rest of the gang. “We did it!”

They hoot and holler, and Ken and Scott give each other an awkward high five.

Kat calls out, “Suck on that, you Sparkle Soda assholes!” And Ken moves to give her a dramatic dip and kiss that is eight hundred times smoother than his high-fiving.

“Sorry to interrupt.” My dad’s voice booms over the celebration sounds. “But I believe you are all trespassing on private property right now.”

I untangle myself from Hayes’s embrace and call down, “They did it all for me, Dad. I’m the only one who should be in trouble here.”

Dad is looking up at the lion with his hands on his hips. After complete silence for a full three minutes, he finally gives a long, low whistle.

I’ve always thought that my dad’s angry voice is the scariest sound ever. His yell could send a chill up the most hardened criminal’s spine. But for the first time, I realize that Dad’s angry voice is nothing compared to his whistle.

Because the sound of that long, low whistle is terrifying.