Tagged (9 page)

We were quiet for another moment. Eli looked at the dashboard clock, which was fast by a full hour, and turned the headlights back on.

“I'll talk to her tonight,” he said. “I promise.”

I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, then pulled my hand toward his lips and kissed it lightly.

We were silent on the ride home. There didn't seem to be anything to say. But Eli held my hand the entire time, and when we pulled in front of my house, he didn't let go.

“Would it be okay if—”

I didn't let him finish. I leaned over, kissed him good-night and hopped out of the car. I hoped he would drive straight to Reva's house. I knew it would be difficult, but he could end it immediately and we would deal with the aftermath together.

I stayed up late to watch the news with my parents that night, and sure enough, there was a three-second shot of me handing someone their coffee. Eli wasn't facing the camera, but I loved seeing him on TV, even if it was just his beautiful lean back. It was strange to have that moment captured on film. It was only an hour after that, I realized, that we were kissing in Brady's car.

Lan wasn't answering her phone, which probably meant the battery had died, so I gave up trying to call her and went to bed, excited that I had news to tell her and hoping that she had news to tell me.

I barely slept that night. I could still feel Eli's lips on mine as I gazed at the stars on my ceiling. The constellations had never seemed more clear to me.

I
DIDN'T SEE
E
LI AT SCHOOL
the next morning, which wasn't unusual, but I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the parking lot or the hallways or even near my locker. I lingered a little longer than I usually did before class, scanning the crowd for his face.

“You'll see him at lunch,” Lan reminded me as we sat down at our desks for first period history.

I frowned. “I'll see Reva there, too.”

I was already dreading the time—and I knew it was coming—when I would have to face Reva. Even if Eli left my name out of the breakup conversation, she would know soon enough that I was a factor. I remembered the hard stare she had given me the day before, and it made my stomach ache.

Mr. Gildea was taking attendance, which gave Lan and me a few minutes to chat.

“So what's going on with you and Brady?” I whispered.

Lan glanced over her shoulder at Brady's desk, but he wasn't there yet.

“Kate, he is so nice. I mean, he's not the kind of guy I'd usually go for, but I think—”

“Has anyone seen Mr. Barber this morning?” Mr. Gildea asked. People shook their heads. Mr. Gildea marked his attendance sheet and began class.

“I'll tell you later,” Lan whispered. I nodded.

The morning debate was focused, of course, on the newest gorilla.

“It's one thing to tarnish a deserted building,” Tiffany began, her voice full of confidence. With Brady absent and Lan supposedly backing off in return for an invitation, I think Tiffany felt she could run the discussion without anyone opposing her. “But the coffee shop is actually open. This vandal is costing a small business money. And it makes our town look bad.”

I had wondered why Tiffany was so concerned with the graffiti. She wasn't the type to get upset about something that didn't directly concern her. But the graffiti, I realized, did affect her—or the way she would be perceived when the camera crew returned to town in just two weeks. She didn't want her half hour of televised fame to be marred by the murals, or worse, to be remembered forever as the girl who lived in the gorilla town.

I looked over at Lan, as did several others, to see what she was going to say in response. Without Brady to back her up, maybe she wouldn't say anything. Or maybe she had thought about it and she really did want to attend the party despite what it would cost her.

“But how does the owner feel about it?” asked someone from the back.

“Ask Kate. Doesn't she work there?”

People were now looking at me, which I hated. I self-
consciously touched my hair, wishing I had a bobby pin. Mr. Gildea raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know how your boss feels about it, Kate?” he asked.

“Um, yes, actually.” My voice sounded wobbly. I cleared my throat. “Bonnie—she's the owner—well, she likes it,” I said. “It increased business yesterday. Plus, we had all that free publicity. She plans on keeping it up.”

“So that ugly thing is going to be permanent?” Tiffany asked in disgust. “Are you kidding me?”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Mr. Gildea said mildly. “Let's take an informal poll. How many of you think the gorillas are ugly?”

Tiffany immediately raised her had. A few other people raised theirs, but a little more uncertainly. Slowly, other people raised their hands until it looked like nearly half the class was in agreement with Tiffany. Looking around, I realized that every single person with a hand up had been invited to her party—or wanted to be.

“Okay. So about half of you think the murals are ugly. Now how many of you think they're beautiful?”

A few hands, including Lan's, went up before Mr. Gildea could finish asking the question. I raised my hand, but a little more slowly. A few people didn't vote at all, but Mr. Gildea didn't push it.

“So we're about half and half,” he said.

“I don't find them to be ugly or beautiful,” said a girl in the back. “I think they're interesting.”

“We have another opinion,” Mr. Gildea said. “How many of you think that the gorillas are interesting?”

This time, most of the class raised their hands. Tiffany sighed loudly.

“Yes, Miss Werner?”

“Mr. Gildea, you're missing the point.”

“And what point would that be?” He kept his voice calm, but I knew Tiffany was edging very close to the line with our teacher. The second he thought Tiffany was being outright disrespectful, he would call her on it.

“The point is, you can't tolerate crime just because some people think it's cute.”

“I think the term used was ‘interesting,' but you do have a point, Miss Werner.”

Tiffany sat back, satisfied.

“However,” Mr. Gildea continued, “I think the point our class has focused on for the past month is centered on whether or not this truly is a crime. Vandalism or art? I trust you remember the papers you wrote in January.”

I had nearly forgotten about it. Mr. Gildea usually gave our graded assignments back within two weeks.

“There goes my B average,” Lan muttered. I nodded. That paper had not been my best effort—not even close.

Mr. Gildea opened a manila folder. He walked down the aisles, handing us our essays.

“There's no grade on mine,” someone said. I looked over my paper. There was not a single red mark on it anywhere. Mr. Gildea was known for passing back papers that were so heavily corrected they appeared to be bleeding.

“There is not a grade on any of them,” he announced. I sighed in relief, but most of the class was annoyed.

“I worked hard on this!”

“I was up for hours typing it.”

“This is so not fair.”

Mr. Gildea held up one hand. “Let me explain. There is not a grade on it—yet.”

There was more confused rumbling, which Mr. Gildea seemed to enjoy. “We have discussed this issue at length for over a month now,” he said. “Many of you—” he looked directly at Tiffany “—have asked me what the point of the debate has been. The point, quite simply, was to get you to look at the issue from different perspectives.”

He walked slowly back and forth in front of us with his hands behind his back, something he did when he was thinking. “I want to see if our class debate has changed the way you think about this topic. Your assignment is to reread your essay and decide whether or not it still reflects the way you feel about the definition of art.”

Our homework was to read our own work? Easy, I thought.

“If your definition has not changed, simply add a sentence to the end of the paper saying so. If your definition has changed, you must explain how and why. I am giving you two weeks to complete the assignment. It will be worth a test grade.” He wrote March 5 as the deadline on the board and began his history lecture for the day.

We all knew it was a devious scholastic scheme. When a teacher gives you two options, and one of those options is to basically do nothing, it's a trap. It was strange to me that he was giving us two full weeks to complete the revisions, when he had given us only one night to write the original draft. What was he trying to do besides confuse us completely?

I tried to focus on the Roman Civil War and take notes,
but there was too much to think about. I was counting the minutes until lunch. I just wanted to see Eli.

 

L
AN WAS GIDDY
. We'd barely had a chance to talk all day, but we'd been slipping each other notes in the hallway, which made me feel like we were in middle school again, but I didn't care. I was looking forward to lunch, when I could talk with Lan and finally see Eli.

I nearly ran to the cafeteria when the bell rang. I was the first one at our table, and I made sure that I picked a seat that had the best possible view of Eli's table across the room. Lan was next to arrive, and she began talking as fast as possible.

“So Brady and I hung out for hours,” she said, almost breathless. “And he was so sweet.”

I was listening to Lan, but I was also glancing over to my right every few seconds. Eli's table was nearly empty. Just a few guys sat there. No Eli and no Reva, either.

Ten minutes into the lunch period I realized that he wasn't coming. It was strange how Eli, Reva and Brady were all absent.

“Did Brady say he wouldn't be at school today?” I asked Lan. Something felt off.

She shook her head as she chewed on her sandwich. I barely had an appetite, but managed to eat some fries and half an apple before the bell rang. I saw Trent as I was heading toward English and I walked a little faster to catch up to him.

“Trent!”

“Hey, Kate,” he said casually. He slowed down and zipped up his gray jacket. I was a little out of breath from trying to catch up to him—Trent had long legs and his normal pace of walking was like running to me.

“Do you know where Eli is today?”

Trent stopped in the middle of the hallway. “He's not here?”

“No. Neither is Brady. Or Reva, for that matter.”

“Huh.” Trent furrowed his brow. “I'll look into it,” he said, and before I could ask him anything else, he turned around and walked to the doors leading to the student parking lot.

I didn't see Trent the rest of the afternoon. Lan gave me a ride to work after school, and as we pulled into the parking lot, I knew it would be another busy day. There was a line of cars, which was unusual for three in the afternoon.

“I'll call Brady as soon as I get home,” Lan promised as I got out of the car.

“Let me know if you find out anything.”

Bonnie was making drinks when I walked in, and an unfamiliar woman was manning the cash register.

“Kate, dear, this is Lila,” Bonnie said. “She's my neighbor. She'll be helping out while Eli's gone. Would you make a chocolate praline cappuccino?”

“I've heard so much about you!” exclaimed Lila. She was plump and pretty, like Bonnie, and her bright silver hair was piled on top of her head in a loose bun. She smiled at me and I tried to smile back, but my mind was racing.

I grabbed a bottle of praline syrup from the shelf above the cappuccino machine and made the drink on autopilot. I was still stuck on Bonnie's words.

“Eli's gone? Where?”

Bonnie handed two drinks to Lila, who passed them through the window to a couple in an SUV.

“I'm not sure, exactly. He'll be back next week, though.”

“Tell her about your idea, Bonnie,” Lila said excitedly.

“It was Lila's idea, really.” She paused. “Banana lattes.”

Bonnie and Lila both looked at me, waiting for a response, but I was still trying to figure out a reason why Eli would miss a week of work. During the past two years he had been late maybe three times, and he rarely missed a full shift.

“Well?” Bonnie asked.

“Sounds good,” I said.

Lila clapped her hands together. “It's going to be wonderful! We'll start giving out sample cups tomorrow.”

There was still a line of cars at the window, and we quickly returned to preparing drinks. “Business has been steady all day,” Bonnie told me as we worked side by side. “I don't know how much longer this will last, but maybe this new drink will help keep our momentum.”

“Eli didn't say anything about where he was going? It's not like him to miss work.”

Bonnie looked at me. “I'm sure he's fine, Kate. He called me this morning and told me that something had come up. He wasn't specific, but I know Eli. It must be important.”

How important? I wondered. I hoped Lan had been able to get hold of Brady. Not knowing was driving me crazy. I tried to focus on work. We were busy, which usually made the hours go by faster, but I couldn't keep my mind off Eli, and everything dragged. I made a couple of mistakes with orders, which I never do, and flinched every time the phone rang.

Dad was late picking me up, so I used the time to take a few pictures of the gorilla before calling Lan from my cell phone while I waited in the parking lot.

“Find out anything?” I asked as soon as she picked up.

“Sort of,” she said. “I called Brady. He couldn't talk long, he was in some sort of meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“Something's going on, Kate. Something
big
. I don't know what, but it has something to do with Eli. Check your e-mail when you get home. Maybe he sent you a message.”

Dad pulled into the parking lot and I said goodbye to Lan.

“How was your day?” Dad asked. He sounded cheerful.

“Fine.”

“I've got some interesting news.” I barely listened, instead staring out the window at passing cars, but then he said something that caught my attention.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I said, we caught the gorilla guy last night. Well, the police in Henryetta, Oklahoma, did.”

“Who is he?” I was trying to put together a timeline. Was it possible to drive from Cleary to Henryetta in the same day? Could one person do it by themselves?

“A college student. I guess he was driving across country, painting a gorilla in each of the towns where he stopped.”

“And he came back to Cleary four times?” It didn't make sense.

“That's what we're trying to figure out. We think he had help, but he's claiming it was all him. A few of the businesses want to press charges, so I don't know why he would want to take the blame for all of it.”

The first thing I did when I got home was check my e-mail and, sure enough, there was a message from Eli with the subject line Sorry.

 

Hey, Kate—

Wish I could talk to you in person, but this will have to do. I talked to Reva last night. Not good. I can't explain right now—and not like this—but I promise I'll tell you everything later. For now, it's probably best that we keep some distance between us. I'm really sorry. There's just a lot going on right now. It's like you were saying last night—chaos comes all at once. I'm hoping it will calm down soon, and then we'll talk, okay?