Fake Me To Church

Chapter 3.2 - The Writing on the Wall

- STEVEN -

"I can't believe you're making me do this," Grace muttered as we pulled up to EdgeWay that night.

I parked my car, then got out and went to the passenger side to open the door for Grace—what a gentleman I was.

Grace scowled at me as I helped her out.

"After you," I mused.

"Whatever," she spat, drudging forward and stomping up the steps of the back entrance to EdgeWay.

I kept moving forward like I didn't hear her, forcing open the double doors to the school and easing my way inside.

"Do you have the paint?"

She sighed. "Yes, Steven, I have it."

She handed me a cylindrical silvery bucket of red paint.

"This is awful. Just imagine how upset he's going to be tomorrow."

I continued walking.

"Are you even listening to me!?"

"Oh, shove it, Grace!" I countered. "After everything that happened this morning, you owe me."

"We were talking about biology," Grace tried again. "I swear that's all we were doing."

"Are you seriously chickening out on me right now?"

"Chickening out? I was just explaining—"

"Explaining what? How you're 'just friends' with the kid who's casually trying to steal everything I love about this school?"

"Steven, everything you love about this school is playing ball and playing hookie. I doubt you could pay Ahmed to try and steal your underachiever status."

I looked down. "Basketball isn't the only thing I love about this school," I mused. "I love you too, and I thought you loved me."

Her eyes fell. "Steven..." she began slowly.

"Do you really think I'm just some dumb jock, Grace?"

"No," she sighed. "I'm just saying I wish you'd trust me the way you want me to trust you."

"But how can I when I find you flirting around with guys like Ahmed?"

She frowned up at me.

"I'm sorry." I wasn't. "I know that's not fair." I moved over and covered her hand in mine, stroking the tender insides of her palms. "Just help me with this, and I promise things can go back to normal between us. I love you, Grace."

"If you really love me, then why all this? Why are we vandalizing that poor kid's locker?"

I sighed. "Because you're my girl. And I don't want anybody thinking they can come between us." I bent down and kissed her on the lips. "Please?"

She shoved the paint bucket into my arms. "Fine, Steven. I'll help you. But I'm not painting the locker."

"Okay," I relented. "Be lookout then."

"Lookout? Lookout for what?"

"Sometimes my dad and a few of the church staff come to pray in the Chapel at night," I explained. "Stand over there by the door next to the stairs. If you hear footsteps, tell me—the last thing we want is to get caught."

Grace rolled her eyes and skulked over to the stairwell.

Once I was sure the coast was clear, I retrieved a paintbrush from my backpack and pulled off the top of the paint bucket, ready to slather a masterpiece of acrylic malevolence upon the locker before me.