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CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
"What the hell is this?" I hiss at Grant as he smirks.
"Operation: Shut Down B Simp," he replies with a smirk and I roll my eyes at the nickname.
"Next time, I'm making the nicknames," I announce and he chuckles. "And what are we doing at his house?"
I'd never looked at his house when I was here last. It was huge, although not mansion sized — what could I expect when his dad owns the biggest golf company in this state.
The lawns on the front garden were mowed and there were garden beds freshly that looked amazing: the contrast of colours definitely was the best I've seen in a long while.
It was no surprise to me, really, that his house was so. . . perfect. He lived in the most expensive estate in town, which his dad probably owns too.
"Did you bring the spray paint?" Grant whispers, ignoring my previous question. I nod and hand him the yellow and blue spray paint that I stole off of my dad. "Okay, you stay here."
"I thought we were doing this together," I raise an eyebrow and he chuckles.
"If I get caught, my parents simply won't care," he explains. "If you get caught, however, your parents will go ape shit. And besides, who better to record me ruining rich boy's house?"
"This is a terrible idea," I shake my head. "When I thought of Operation: Shut Down Brad Simpson, I thought we were gonna purposely bump into him when we saw him in the halls or something; not vandalise his property."
He pauses before opening his mouth and talking, "Well, let's put it this way: how many times do you live?"
"Once."
"The likelihood of you getting another chance to do this to Brad, is unlikely. So, live life to its fullest!" He tries to persuade me but I shake my head and stand up, ready to leave.
"You can stay here and damage his property if you really want, but I think the best way to get the message across to Brad is to talk to him," I say. "So that's what I'm gonna do."
⧫ ⧫ ⧫
I knock on the door with my right hand and Brad opens it with his left. He obviously wasn't expecting me as he holds a ten dollar note in his hand.
"You're not the pizza delivery guy," he mumbles and slips the note in his pocket.
"I have a cousin who works for them, does that count?" I attempt a joke but he rolls his eyes. "Can I come in?"
