But he couldn’t snitch. There’d be no coming back from that kind of betrayal. Zed and Apollo might forgive him, visit him, but Kai would erase him, banish him with that unique Black Girl Magic, that ability to hate severely, completely, eternally, a product of generations of disloyalty. And Sol, she’d already taken the heat for him once, ramming her fists into their thieving private tennis instructor just because he’d asked her to. “I wish I could fight her,” he’d told her, complaining about practices the instructor kept skipping, taking his dad’s money. Sol had maintained that she was defending herself after the instructor had gotten upset during an intense one-on-one lesson, but Theo knew that she set up that Sunday afternoon session specifically to kick the instructor’s fit black ass. Sol had lost her independence at Independence Park. How ironic, Theo always thought, unsure of whether it was irony or a coincidence. Sol had done that for him, out of pure friendship.

The interior of the Civic plunged him back into those crackling flames. He’d take the heat, all of it. He owed everyone for fucking up the night with his shitty planning, for not replanning once things started to—literally—go downhill, for not standing strong after they decided to go through with it, for not being honest with himself. He had started this, and he would finish it. Fuck Six Flags. Fuck H&M. Fuck Mr. Brown. He had real work to do.

He quickly found the contact number for Tilly Erickson and dialed it, sweat exploding out of his face. No one answered, but he left a long, detailed message, speaking slowly and clearly, energized by his newfound conviction. Finished, he cranked on the car, cracked the windows, and reversed out of the parking lot. Hot air swept his face as he blitzed through anxious Thursday traffic, but he didn’t flinch. Apollo was right.

chapter 15

Zed loaded a box of paint cans into her car, wondering how the night would unfold. After closing the rear door, she turned around to catch the sunset, fuchsia streams lingering in the sky, resisting the inevitable darkness. Crows cawed in the distance, their primal screeches strangely calming. The garage door opened, but Zed didn’t turn around. She knew it was her mom. When she approached people, her footsteps were always cautious, reluctant to interrupt, yet interrupting nonetheless.

“What are you doing tonight?” her mom asked, stepping into the driveway and peeking into the trunk of Zed’s MINI. “Paintballing again?”

“No,” Zed answered, turning away from the sunset to face her mother. “Tonight, I’m going on a street art tour.”

“In Atlanta? That explains the sketchbook in the back.”

“Yeah.”

“Take some nice pictures! I hear that BeltLine is really beautiful, much prettier than the rest of the city.”