Tanq peers at the balled-up comforter, thinking, thinking, thinking. . . . “Let’s attach it to the rear bumper of the Lexus,” she says. “It will look like the train of a nasty wedding gown.”

I’m not sure it will look like that at all, but the blob definitely did not look like Obama, so who even cares? Trey and I rush to comply.

Tying a comforter to a bumper proves difficult work, but we manage it. When we’re finished, Tanq hands me the tire iron. “The honors?” she says. Her eyes are measured, like this is some kind of test.

I take the tire iron from her and eye the Lexus’s left headlight. I suppose some kind of screaming is in order, but I’m not sure what she wants me to say. So I take a guess.

I holler, “Just one!” Crash. “Of these cars!” Crash. “Could have paid!” Crash. “For Tanq’s college!” Crash.

I’ve obliterated both headlights and the right side-view mirror and put a huge spiderwebbing dent in the windshield. I stand back, breathing hard, my shoulders throbbing with the impact. Vandalism, it turns out, is really hard work.

I look up and discover that Trey is trying not to laugh. Emmaline is so trusting of all of us now that she has taken it all in stride and is busy licking one of her paws. But Tanq stares at me with wide-eyed wonder. “It’s perfect,” she whispers. “The Lexus is perfect.”

“You want to do that Caddy next?” Trey asks, pointing to a giant black brick of a car, one I didn’t have a name for.

She blinks for a moment, seemingly a little stunned. “You know, I think . . . it’s fine. I think I’m done now. No, wait. Just one more thing.”

Tanq reaches for her pack and retrieves a can of pink glitter spray paint. She shakes the can as she heads toward the Cadillac’s fender. A grin splits her face as she carefully paints a large oval with a diagonal line through it. The null sign, in sparkling pink.

“You a Null fan?” Trey asks.

“I admire his work,” Tanq says, gazing at the Caddy with pure smugness. “I wish I owned a phone. I’d take so many pictures of this shit.”

After cleaning off as much paint from our hands and clothes as possible, the three of us are gathered with Emmaline around the kitchen island.

“So what now?” I say. “Do we go back to Coach Buckell’s house?”

“Not gonna lie,” Trey says. “It makes me nervous to drive anywhere. Every time we do it, we’re taking a huge risk.”

“All our food is back at Coach’s house,” I remind him.

“There’s plenty here,” Tanq says. “I see you’ve already found the Coke. Oh my god, Francie would die if she knew you drank some.” Then she choke-laughs. “I mean, I guess she died anyway, yeah?”