I start at the corner, hammering in a row of black shingles, and my dad reminds me how to place them and how many nails to put in and tells me it’s okay to go slow. Meaning don’t screw this up trying to get out of here. By the second row I’m in the groove and feeling pretty confident about what I’m doing. And by the fourth row I’m pretty sure my dad isn’t going to talk to me the rest of the day. I work my way across the roof and it’s slow, hot, and silent. So I didn’t need to worry after all.

Chapter

Twelve

AIDEN

This may be the weirdest date I’ve ever planned.

Actually, it may be the only date I’ve planned. If it’s even a date. In retrospect, maybe I should have been clear about that. Inviting someone to an “epic art adventure” is the definition of vague, but Olivia is obviously committed to this idea of letting chance decide, so I needed to lock down a few days with her. I couldn’t worry that every time I asked her to do something, I’d need to hope that luck was on my side. There’s enough pressure without worrying about that too. And I’ve been thinking about this ever since ArtPrize—I want to try out some ideas I have, to see if I’m even any good at large-scale art. Just because my vision is too shitty to do the small stuff well, it doesn’t mean I’ll be good at this.

I carefully place the jar of gunpowder into the cardboard box, alongside the spray paint, twine, and wood stakes. I’m putting the box and the small piece of plywood into the trunk of my car when Olivia comes up the driveway on her bike. She has a backpack that looks so stuffed it may topple her over. I grab it from her as she pulls her arm out of the strap, and set it on the ground. It’s not heavy but it looks like she probably had to sit on it to zip it.

“You know we’re not leaving the state for the weekend, right?”

She rolls her eyes and pretends to look annoyed. “I don’t, actually. I don’t know anything about what we’re doing.” She picks the bag up by a strap and sets it in my open trunk, next to the box. “I assume we’re driving?”

“We are.”

She smiles. “Great, now I know something.”

I’m a little nervous she actually did pack thinking I was taking her somewhere that required multiple changes of clothes, and shampoo, and whatever else is now in my trunk. “What’s in the bag?”

“Let’s see.” She looks up, like she can see the list in her head. “My bathing suit, flip-flops, sneakers, a sweatshirt, yoga pants…”