Tagged. Mara Purnhagen

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СКАЧАТЬ a difference of opinion,” he said, grinning. He loved a good debate. “You both present a valid point. Where is the line between art and vandalism?”

      He went on to say that archaeologists had discovered graffiti in Roman ruins and that, in a way, it was one of the earliest art forms known to humans. Tiffany seemed to think that Mr. Gildea was taking Brady’s side over hers.

      “Art belongs in a museum, not smeared across a concrete wall,” she announced. Well, this got the entire class talking, and I was glad that most people disagreed with her. I wanted to jump into the conversation, but I couldn’t think of anything remotely meaningful to add. I wasn’t like Tiffany, who could sum up her thoughts in one clear sentence. And I wasn’t like Brady, who could always be counted on to come up with an idea no one else had thought of yet. Part of me wanted to be good at those things, but part of me knew that announcing my opinions out loud would automatically expose me to judgment, and that was something I could do without.

      Mr. Gildea let the class debate the issue for a while before handing out our textbooks.

      “I can see this isn’t going to be resolved in one class period,” he said just before the bell rang. “So we’ll pick it up again tomorrow. Your assignment for tonight is simple—define art. Three hundred words.”

      Everyone groaned, and Tiffany snorted. “This has nothing to do with history.”

      Mr. Gildea smiled. “On the contrary. Art is a reflection of history. And this class owes you its thanks, Miss Werner. I wasn’t planning on assigning homework today, but you brought up such a good point, I thought we should build on it.”

      Most of the class turned to glare at Tiffany while I smirked and Lan gave me a friendly nudge. If Tiffany thought she was going to run Mr. Gildea’s class, she had another think coming.

      The bell rang and I gathered up my things. As I was walking down the aisle, I tripped over Tiffany’s foot and stumbled a little.

      “Watch it,” she snarled, glaring at me.

      “Sorry,” I mumbled, then immediately felt stupid. Why was I apologizing to her? She was the one sitting with her leg stretched across the aisle.

      The rest of the day was pretty much the same. Everyone was talking about the gorillas on the wall. Trent wasn’t seen at lunch, and everyone assumed he had been suspended.

      “This is really odd,” Lan said as we stood at our lockers at the end of the day. “No one knows what’s going on. No one.”

      I put on my jacket. “I’ll find out and let you know.”

      “You going to ask your dad?”

      “Even better,” I said. “I’ll ask Trent.”

      2

      I WORKED INSIDE A PURPLE triangle. It was probably the only building in the entire state of South Carolina that was shaped like a slice of pie and painted the color of a grape popsicle. It was a little coffee drive-through place called Something’s Brewing. I loved it because the hours were good, the coffee was great and, best of all, there were no crowds. Something’s Brewing was designed to fit two employees, a wall of coffee machines, a tiny storeroom and an even tinier bathroom in the back. Cars pulled up, people placed their orders, we handed them coffee in insulated paper cups, and they drove away, happy and fully caffeinated. Best job ever. Plus, I got free coffee, which I always seemed to need right after school.

      Some days I worked with Bonnie, my boss. She was a grandmother who was supposed to retire years earlier, but opened Something’s Brewing instead. “I just couldn’t stay retired, you know? It got boring,” she said to me once as she knitted a green sweater. I loved Bonnie. She was really easy to work with and was always in a good mood.

      Most days, though, I worked with Eli James, another junior from my school and one of Trent Adams’s very best friends. Trent usually gave Eli a ride, which I was hoping would be the case that day so I could find out what was going on. Lan was counting on me. She loved knowing things other people did not, and this was the biggest scandal our school had seen since Trent filled the teachers’ lounge with Styrofoam peanuts the year before.

      When I arrived at Something’s Brewing, Bonnie was there, wiping down the counter. “Hello, dear,” she said. “What can I make you?”

      She didn’t really need to ask. Bonnie always made me a caramel latte. She put in just the right amount of caramel—they were perfect.

      “The usual,” I said, and Bonnie began to steam milk. “I thought Eli was working today.”

      “He is. Just running a little late, I guess.”

      That was interesting. Eli was never late. What if they had suspended Trent and Eli couldn’t get a ride? I wanted to call Lan immediately, but a car pulled up and I had to take the order. While I was doing that, another car pulled alongside the building. I heard a door shut, and the next moment Eli walked through the back, running a hand through his chestnut-colored hair and apologizing to Bonnie for being late.

      “Not a problem, dear.” Bonnie treated us more like her grandchildren than her employees. She even knitted scarves for Eli and me—her “two favorite workers”—and gave them to us as Christmas gifts. She once spent a month trying to teach me how to knit, but I didn’t have the patience for it. I managed to make half a scarf, although it looked more like a very fluffy dishrag. I was disappointed, but Bonnie said that not everyone had a knack for knitting.

      “It’s not your talent, dear,” she’d said. “But don’t worry, you’re good at so many things.”

      I wanted to ask her to name some of those things I was supposedly so good at because, honestly, I didn’t know. I had tried to knit because I thought it could be a retro kind of hobby, something I could be really creative with. I envisioned myself making funky sweaters and bright hats for Lan, who always made me pieces of jewelry for Christmas. The most imaginative thing I’d made for her was a CD of our favorite songs.

      I placed lids on three double espressos and handed them to my customer while Bonnie gave Eli the inventory list. “I need you to check this,” she said. “Especially the small cups. I don’t think they sent us enough this time.”

      Bonnie gathered up her purse and coat, told us to have a great day and left. As soon as I saw her car pull away, I turned to Eli.

      “So?”

      He gave me an innocent, surprised look. “What?”

      “You know exactly what,” I said. “What’s going on?”

      He plopped down in one of the two little chairs Bonnie had set up for us. “I need a strong drink, Katie.”

      Eli knew I hated being called Katie. People always assumed that my name was short for Katherine, but it wasn’t. My parents had named me Kate. Just Kate, pure and simple. They said they didn’t want anything fancy or something that could be turned into a nickname, which was fine by me. Still, sometimes I wished I had a more sophisticated name, like Isabelle or Olivia.

      I glared at Eli. “If I make you a drink, will you tell me everything you know?”

      “Depends on how good the drink is.”

      I turned to the coffee СКАЧАТЬ