Page 25 of Tagging Bases

We?My brain goes on the fritz, thinking of all the places “we can go.” There are the kosher places, like a burger joint, where we argue about whether it’s cheating to dip fries in ranch dressing. The arcade, where I let Harrison destroy me at Skee-Ball. Or a dive bar, where we crack open a couple of beers and watch sports replays until the sun comes back up.

And then there’s the one scenario I can’t quite shake. The one where we go back to Daniel’s and my place, and we destroy each other at…well, everything.

“Where to, Price?” Daniel asks, when I still haven’t answered him.

Harrison’s smile is brighter than the waning sun. “Manhattan.”

Chapter 10

Poor Little Rich Boy

Harrison

City lights winkat me from across the East River as the subway car rattles its way over the Manhattan Bridge. It’s a view I’ve seen countless times before, but somehow, with Charlie and Daniel by my side, it feels different. New. Exciting.

We reach the apex of the bridge, and the car sways gently from side to side. For the briefest of moments, it’s as if we’re floating. Suspended between two worlds—Brooklyn and Manhattan. Between the past and the future.

I sit precariously on the edge of the bench as Charlie sprawls his long legs across it, stretching out beneath theNo Smokingsign. I don’t mind. It’s worth it to see him content, grinning at his phone as he watches another ridiculous cat video. Daniel stands nearby, holding the metal pole in a death grip. His eyes are wide with terror as the car jostles us back and forth.

“Are you okay?” I ask, smirking at Daniel’s white-knuckled determination to remain upright.

“Totally fine,” he says shakily.

Charlie glances up and snickers. “You look a little pale there, buddy.”

“I’m good,” Daniel insists.

The subway car plunges into the tunnel, and the cityscapeoutside transforms into a blur of graffiti-covered walls. I admire the tags and murals flashing by—each one a declaration of defiance and creativity. Excitement runs through me; these boys don’t know what they’ve signed up for. It’s bold, risky even, but more than that, it’s a chance to show them who I really am.

Daniel’s body goes lax as we approach Canal Street. The moment we step off the subway, the pulsating energy of Lower Manhattan rocks us to the core. Up above, the streets are alive with people, lights, and noise.

I lead the way, weaving through the throngs of people with practiced ease. Charlie and Daniel struggle to keep up, their larger frames making it harder for them to navigate the streets.

“Dude, slow down,” Charlie calls out, dodging a woman dragging a suitcase. “Some of us don’t have your ninja skills.”

I peer over my shoulder and smirk. “You’re just jealous of my superior agility.”

“More like superior ability to be a pain in the ass,” Daniel mutters as he gets jostled by a guy bigger than him.

Turning down a side street, the towering buildings give way to older, more historic architecture. Brownstones line the block, their stoops adorned with potted plants and wrought-iron railings. Charlie and Daniel eye everything with interest, the hustle and bustle of the city momentarily forgotten in our quaint surroundings.

Charlie points to a huge potted fern. “Hey! A plant even I couldn’t kill.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Daniel responds with a grin, nudging Charlie playfully with his elbow. “Your record is zero days without a plant incident.”

As we round the corner, I come to such an abrupt halt that Charlie and Daniel nearly crash into me.

“What the hell, Harrison?” Daniel grumbles.

But I’m not listening. My attention is fixed on the building in front of us that is extremely out of place among the more traditional structures surrounding it. It juts out, all concrete and glass,towering over its neighbors with a sterile arrogance. The building has no soul. No warmth. Only a cold, impersonal façade that screams of wealth and detachment.

A twinge of resentment mixed with determination runs through me. This is what I ran away from. The world my parents built for themselves—and tried to build for me—without ever asking if I wanted it. Tonight, I’m taking it back. In the only way I know how.

“Welcome to Casa de Price,” I sneer.

Charlie whistles low, his eyes widening as he leans back to take in the skyscraper. “Whoa. Your folks live here? That’s insane.”

“It’s…something.” The memory of stuffy dinner parties and endless lectures on propriety suddenly assaults me. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose until they’re gone.

---