Page 27 of Tagging Bases

“Yeah, you know. City boys. Trust fund kids.” His beaming smile takes the sting out of his words. “Where I’m from, the biggest drama was when Old Man Noble’s prize pig got loose and ended up in the town square.”

Daniel snorts. “Seriously?”

“Hand to God.” Charlie raises his right hand solemnly. It’s big, bigger than mine, but leaner than Daniel’s. I don’t know whyI notice that, but I do. “It took half the town to wrangle that sucker back into its pen.”

I try to picture Charlie as a young farm boy chasing after escaped livestock. It’s so far removed from my childhood spent in stuffy parlors and at fancy prep schools that I can hardly wrap my mind around it.

“The closest I ever came to nature as a kid was when our housekeeper forgot to trim the topiary in the garden,” I tell him.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Poor little rich boy.”

“Hey, those unruly hedges were straight out of a little shop of horrors,” I joke, bumping my fist against his bicep. “I’m lucky I made it out alive.”

We end up lost in our thoughts, the weight of our shared confessions hanging heavy in the air.

It’s Daniel who finally breaks the quiet. “So, Price. Not that I’m not enjoying this trip down memory lane, but why exactly did you bring us here tonight?”

A spark of mischief ignites in my chest. “I thought you’d never ask.” With a grin, I crouch down and pull aside a moldy cardboard box to reveal a nondescript black duffel bag. Beside it, a collapsible ladder is propped against the wall. I unzip the bag and pull out cans of spray paint in every color of the rainbow. “Gentlemen, tonight we’re going to strike a blow against the establishment and leave our mark on this soulless monument to corporate greed.”

Charlie scratches his head with his index finger. “Meaning…”

“We’re going to tag the ever-loving shit out of my parents’ building.”

Chapter 11

Goody Two-Shoes

Daniel

Talkto anybody from my childhood, and they’ll all say the same thing. Daniel Hollingsworth is a rule follower. Prone to panic attacks if he so much as puts a toe out of line.

While my friends were sneaking out to parties, I was at home, wrapped in a blanket and doing my homework. When they were getting high, I was getting straight As in AP Chemistry and volunteering at the local animal shelter. When everyone else was hanging out at the skatepark or skinny-dipping in the city pool after hours, I was taking piano lessons and learning how to speak fluent French.

All my life, I’ve been a Goody Two-Shoes. Never in a million years did I think I’d be here, spray paint can in hand, staring up at the pristine wall of a condominium owned by Harrison’s parents.

A thrill runs through me at the thought of finally shedding my angelic image. To finally be someone different. Someone daring.

A rebel.

Charlie clears his throat. “Uh, what are we supposed to draw?” His voice wavers slightly; if there’s anyone who’s ever lived on the straight and narrow more than me, it’s him.

“Anything that represents the excess and greed of thewealthy,” Harrison says. “Think of all the ridiculous things rich people blow their money on—designer clothes, fancy cars, lavish parties. We want to make a statement.” He rises to his feet and slaps his palm on the wall. “You could show a fat cat in a suit lounging on a pile of cash. Or a bunch of rich snobs sipping champagne while the world burns around them. The sky’s the limit, boys.”

“H?”

Harrison glances at us from over his shoulder. “Yeah, McManus?”

“One little problem with all of this.”

Charlie sweeps his hand around and almost smacks me in the face. “Watch it,” I hiss.

“Danny Boy and I aren’t artists. The most I can draw is a dick.”

Harrison snickers. “That could work.”

“Really?” Charlie and I ask in unison.

“Oh yeah. A big ol’ dick could definitely symbolize what I’m talking about.” He strides over to us, his blue eyes practically glinting in the moonlight. “Think about it—what’s more emblematic of their selfishness and entitlement than an obnoxious, in-your-face phallus?”

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