The Vindictive Vandal

CHAPTER ONE

I stood there, blow-torch in hand, in the middle of the scorched football field. Green grass juice stained the knees of the my faded jeans, but the green of the field was visible only as small tufts of grass in what was otherwise a sea of burned and ashen field. The chain-saw I had previously used in an attempt to cut down the goal posts lay on the bleachers some 20 feet away from me. The sound of metal on metal had been so loud that I was afraid someone might come find me, and sparks had flown into my face when I had tried to mow the metal poles down. Now, the left goal post by the scoreboard had a large gash at the base of the pole, and, hour after hour, the post continued to tilt more and more to the right. I grinned at the half-finished work. Maybe it was better this way. A completely cut down pole meant an entirely new goal post, but this half-assed attempt to bring it down would leave the administrators with a dilemma of replacing it or not. I gazed across the whole stadium, admiring the blackened playing field. This would be all the damage I would be able to do today. The sky was turning a misty, magenta color as the sun began to lazily inch its way up across the horizon. Facing the football field, I gave it a final smirk before making my way out of the vandalized area. School was definitely going to be interesting today.

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“Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

She didn’t answer.

I walked up to the bulletin board next to her and read the newest post.

“The Vindictive Vandal Strikes Again.”

I silently smirked. This vandal character was becoming quite the celebrity at school.

“What did he do this time?” I asked, curiosity dripping with every word.

Shannon gasped. “Oh no.”

Down at the bottom of the article was a picture of the football field--black and scorched. Exactly the way I’d left it this morning. Another picture showed the mutilated goal post which, by the time they had taken the picture, was leaning heavily to the right. It looked like an anorexic Leaning Tower of Piza.

I let out a sudden laugh. I congratulated myself on only cutting halfway into the goal post. Yet another victory point for me.

“It’s not funny,” Shannon whined.

“Oh, let up. What’s not funny about it? I’m a fan, whoever this Vindictive Vandal is.” The voice came from behind me. I turned around to find an underclassman I’d seen in the hallways a couple times.

“Careful, people might think it’s you,” I warned lightheartedly.

“I’d be honored.” He grinned. “This guy is just what this school needs. Such a refreshing wake-up call. God, he’s brilliant.”

“Well, whoever he is, I hope he gets what he deserves.” Shannon crossed her arms. “It’s so embarrassing to go to a school that’s constantly vandalized by some stupid kid who doesn’t have anything better to do with his life. Do you have any idea what the kids from Whittier and Richardson think of us? This entire school is a joke to them.”

“Why do you care so much?” the boy asked with a slight air of dismissal. “Everyone knows Whittier’s full of snooty, rich kids who can’t do anything without their parents’ credit cards, and Richardson’s practically a rehab for former juvies. Hell, this vandal could be from Richardson for all we know.”

“Still...” Shannon drawled. “I guess this means we’re not gonna have a home game for Homecoming.”

“Aah, stop complaining.” I wheeled her around, and with a quick wave to the boy, we headed for first period.