didn’t know or didn’t care. Trent seemed happy enough to take credit for the prank at our school, and everyone seemed happy enough to give it to him. His adoring league of freshmen followers quickly squashed any rumors that he wasn’t responsible for the popular artwork. Still, something felt off to me, although I wasn’t sure what it was. I guess part of me hoped that Cleary did have a resident graffiti artist. The mural had caused a commotion and shattered our boring routine, if only for a little while.
On Friday, the gorilla mural at school changed. Someone had added to it. “This is art” was stenciled in the right-hand corner of the wall. One of the gorillas was now holding a paintbrush while another grasped a spray-paint can. Again, it looked professional. And again, it caused an uproar.
“It’s just stupid,” Tiffany Werner proclaimed during our first period debate. “I mean, they’re going to sandblast it this weekend, right? So what’s the point of adding to it? It’s a desperate cry for attention.”
I was reminded of the quote I had used in my paper defining art. I had written that it wasn’t art if it did not endure. At the time, I’d believed it. I mean, all truly great art had endured, right? How old was the Mona Lisa?
Lan raised her hand, and Mr. Gildea nodded at her. “If he wants attention, then why has the artist remained anonymous?” she asked. “What if he doesn’t want anything but for us to look at it, to enjoy it? Isn’t that what art is for?”
I knew Lan was just disagreeing with Tiffany for the sake of disagreeing with her. Lan had come to school on Tuesday wearing her favorite orchid pin, the one made with hundreds of little stones in different shades of ivory and red. Tiffany noticed it and stopped in front of Lan’s desk before class began.
“Are those real rubies?” she demanded in front of everyone.
“Of course,” Lan said, making sure to look Tiffany directly in the eye.
Tiffany just smirked. “I’ll bet,” she said before walking away. Lan was furious and since then had been looking for any reason at all to make Tiffany look bad in public. So far, she had achieved only minor success.
Brady Barber agreed with Lan’s opinion about the graffiti artist, and the debate was soon picking up speed—and volume. Mr. Gildea finally had to quiet everyone down and tell us to open our books. We were already behind, he said, but we could debate for ten minutes every morning as long as we remained civil with one another.
“Debate is probably the best learning experience you’ll ever have,” he said. “Second best, of course, will be learning about the Carthaginians. Turn to page sixteen.”
I was relieved to finally get off the topic of the school gorillas. It was getting a little crazy. The local paper had featured a picture of the mural on its front page, and of course our student newspaper dedicated two whole pages to it, interviewing nearly everyone. I’d heard that some kids were planning to protest the sandblasting, scheduled for Saturday, but figured it was just another one of Trent’s crazy ideas. He had a real knack for self-promotion.
I was still thinking about it when I arrived at work. I was expecting to find Bonnie, but Eli was there, working on his math homework.
“Bonnie’s not here?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, she left you something,” he said.
A tall cup of caramel latte sat on the counter. I smiled and took a sip. “You know, I have these five days a week, and I’m telling you, they just keep getting better.”
“You keep drinking those and you’re going to become a caramel latte,” Eli muttered. He was furiously erasing a problem in his notebook. I was about to offer him some help when I heard the toilet flush.
“I thought you said Bonnie left?”
“She did.”
The bathroom door opened and Reva Abbott sauntered out. There were two things I always noticed about Reva: her heels and her nails. She wore tall, spiky heels that made a sharp clipping sound against the floor. I tried wearing high heels to school once, but my feet were killing me before the end of second period. I didn’t know how Reva did it. Also, she had the longest nails I’d ever seen on a girl. They were like talons, and she painted them in bright, unusual colors like turquoise or orange. That day they were deep purple, like an eggplant.
Reva stopped when she saw me, gave me a thin smile and turned to Eli.
“I’m leaving,” she said. Eli barely looked up from his work. Reva bent down and whispered something into his ear, her dark nails tickling the back of his neck. I turned away, flustered by the intimacy of it.
I stared out the window, watching cars and warming my hands around the steaming cup of latte. When a blue SUV sped past, I immediately thought of Kevin. He had driven a similar car. After prom we had spent some time in the backseat. Nothing too heavy, just a little making out while Black Sabbath played in the CD player. Kevin was really into classic rock.
“Sorry about that.”
I was pulled from my thoughts by Eli. When I turned around, I was surprised to see that Reva was gone. I hadn’t heard her leave.
“Oh, no problem.”
“She gave me a ride,” Eli explained.
“Right. You don’t have a car.”
I didn’t have a car, either, mainly because of my dad. He said he’d seen too much to let a teenager behind the wheel. “When you’re eighteen, we’ll talk,” he’d promised. When I complained to Mom that it was completely unfair, she sided with Dad. “We just need to know that you can be responsible,” she said, which was infuriating, because when had I ever not been responsible? I did well in school, went to work and came home every night for dinner. Most parents would consider me their dream child. My parents saw me as one tenuous step away from a tragic life of wild teenage debauchery.
“This summer,” Eli said. “That is, my parents said they’d get me a car if I pass math.” He ripped a page from his notebook and wadded it into a sharp ball. “So maybe I won’t be getting a car,” he said with a bitter laugh.
“What are you working on?”
“Precalculus.”
“You are so lucky you know me,” I joked as I sat down next to him. “Because I just happen to be a precalc expert.”
“Lucky me,” Eli agreed, although he sounded less than enthusiastic. A car pulled up to the window and Eli automatically got up while I read over his book. After he had finished with the order, Eli slumped into the chair and sighed. “It’s no use,” he informed me. “I can’t learn this stuff. Trust me. My brain cannot process numbers.”
I wondered if Eli’s dark mood was due more to Reva’s brief visit than from problems with precalculus. I sensed there were problems between them. Eli always seemed to pull away from her, to be uncomfortable with her, in a way. Or maybe he was just embarrassed by public displays of affection. He was one of those guys, I thought, that liked to stay in the background, someone who didn’t like or need the glow of the spotlight.
Reva, on the other hand, was more outspoken. She wore heavy red lipstick and always smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. On the rare occasions I had heard her laugh, she was loud. I got the impression that she wanted people to look in her direction and see her with one arm draped across Eli.
I wasn’t sure why Reva disliked me, but Lan had a theory. “She’s the possessive type. She’s suspicious of any girl within a mile of him, and you work next to him every day.”
“So? It doesn’t mean I want to date him,” I argued.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lan had replied. “You’re a threat.”
It was laughable to me that anyone would see me as a threat, but I knew Lan had a point. I thought about this as I leaned over to help Eli with a calculus problem. He smelled very clean, like soap and mint mouthwash. I