Don't Get Caught(10)

“Latch on when you get up top,” he says. “We don’t need a lawsuit if you fall to your death.”

“That’s very caring of you, sir. Thank you,” Wheeler says.

“Just get your butts up there.”

We climb the tower in the same order we did less than twenty-four hours earlier. This time though, it’s not excitement I feel but constant humiliation. The student mob has followed us from the parking lot to the tower, chanting “Water Tower Five!” the entire way.

“This sucks,” Wheeler says.

“You certainly have a way with words,” Malone says.

“And you certainly have a way with photography.”

“Enjoy this climb, Wheeler, because I’m throwing you off the tower as soon as we get to the top.”

But once we’re on the platform overlooking the parking lot, Malone doesn’t send Wheeler to his death, at least not right away. We’re all too busy looking down at the growing crowd of students pointing up at us and filming us with their phones. I can’t help but wonder if the Chaos Club is down there too, mixed in with the others, admiring their accomplishment. If they are, there’s no way of knowing it. What I do know is that the audience below is made up of a who’s who of personal tormentors.

Stranko and his lacrosse team for Adleta.

Tami Cantor for me.

The tsk-tsking youth groupers from Ellie’s church.

And Libby Heckman for Malone.

If I haven’t mentioned her earlier, Libby’s one of Malone’s former friends and, like Kate, one of the best artists in the school. More importantly though, she’s the reason every boy in this school has a picture of Malone half-naked. Last spring, Malone made the epic mistake of sending a topless picture of herself to a junior named Troy Huff, Libby’s ex-boyfriend. When the inevitable let’s give this relationship sent from the heavens a ninth chance occurred two days later between Libby and Troy, the picture of Malone wearing only an open robe appeared on everyone’s phone. Libby wasn’t exactly secretive about being the sender. And if you must know, yes, I’ve looked at that picture. Okay, more than a thousand times. It’s not something I’m proud of.

The only one of us without a ridiculer below is Wheeler. It’s not that he doesn’t have enemies. Far from it. It’s just that they’re all afraid he’ll recruit a ninja from H8box to fly around the world to lop their heads off.

“I guess we should get started,” Ellie says, picking out a brush from the bag lying on the catwalk. Beside the bag is a single can of blue paint we’re supposed to use to cover the “Assville High School—Home of the Golden Showers” message.

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!”