I stand at the far edge of Ripley’s backyard, waiting.

The time I spent with Aiden yesterday helped ground me, steady me out. I felt calm this morning, still okay in the afternoon. But then night fell, and my nerves started rising up again.

Now it’s midnight, and my stomach is jumping all over the place.

I take long breaths of the cold air, turning the ring around my finger, over and over again. Staring up at the velvet black sky, feeling grateful that there’s more shadow than moonlight tonight.

My gaze snaps down to Ripley’s house. I narrow my eyes, holding very still.

The windows are all dark, and I haven’t heard anything from the house since I got here. But now I’m pretty sure I heard something. The faintest, quietest little noise.

My eyes focus on a second-floor window. The lights are still off behind it, but someone just pushed it open.

I retreat behind a tree, watching from the shadows. Stillness and silence for a moment, and then - Ripley appears in the window.

He springs lightly up onto the windowsill, seizes hold of a nearby tree branch, and swings into the tree. A few seconds pass with him hidden in the leaves. Then he drops down from a lower branch, landing easily and silently on his feet.

I step out and give him a little wave. He smiles at me, then noiselessly crosses the backyard.

“You’re too good at that, man,” I whisper, when he reaches me. “How many times have you snuck out? Is it like a nightly thing, or?”

Ripley snickers quietly, dusting off his hands - then pauses, looking at mine. “What happened?”

I’ve got a bandaid on my index finger.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I flap a hand at him. “All of the dishes in one of my kitchen cabinets exploded at once, yesterday morning. I didn’t realize that, so I opened the cabinet, and a bunch of broken glass fell out into my sink? It was a minor fiasco. Nicked myself cleaning it up.”

Ripley blinks at me. “Did you say they all exploded?”

“Long story. Don’t even ask.”

“Um.” Ripley lets out another soft laugh, then shrugs his shoulders. “Alright. Where’d you park?”

“Two streets away, like you said. Aiden’s waiting for us.”

“Sweet.” Ripley hesitates, looks at me searchingly. “Last chance to back out.”

“Yeah, and let you get into trouble alone?” I give his shoulder a shove, pushing him into movement, then fall into step beside him. “I don’t think so, dude.”

Ripley grins again, zips up his jacket.

“Lead the way,” he says, and I do.

~~~~

Aiden parks my car far away from the place where we’ll be working tonight. Ripley knew a good spot to leave it. Despite his reluctance to use his license, he’s driven here multiple times to scope the place out, do reconnaissance missions, and covertly take measurements.

We all get out of the car and loop around to the trunk. We each take one of the three backpacks that Ripley handed off to me and Aiden last night, when we met up to go over the plan one more time. They’re all fully packed, but with different things. There’s a specific one for each of us.

I also extract the old herbicide applicator that I gave Ripley at our meet-up. He painted it white, but didn’t cover up any of the poison warning stickers. He also filled it up with something, although I’m not sure what.

Anyone who wants to call what we’re doing here mindless vandalism is seriously not giving Ripley enough credit. I definitely understand now why this took him so long to plan. He must have been steadily working on it for ages, because the level of detail is - it’s something.

Aiden and I pull dark blue coveralls on over our clothes. Ripley snagged them for us from the storage closet in his art classroom. I also pull a grey beanie down over my hair, so that the distinctive bright red color doesn’t show.

“What are you doing, Ripples?” Aiden asks, as Ripley slips a small fabric pouch out of his backpack.

“Finding a use for the makeup I stopped wearing when I started going by Ripley.” He beckons to me. “C’mere, Jamie. I’m gonna change your face a little.”

“That’s what you’re using it for, now?” Aiden huffs out a laugh. “Disguises for covert guerilla art strikes in the dead of night?”

Ripley shrugs. “Gotta use it for something, right?”

“Oh my god, dude,” I laugh. “You’re a fucking wildcard, you know that?”

Ripley snickers softly, extracting a small plastic case from the bag. He pops it open, takes a tiny brush out. He gets some powder onto it, then leans up to take my chin in his fingers.

“Hold still,” he says, brushing the powder onto my eyebrows. “I’m making these black, not red. Makes you a little bit less identifiable, just in case. I’m gonna cover up your freckles, too.”

“Got every detail thought out, huh?” I ask, impressed. “Are we still on time, by the way?”

“Yep. Cleaning crew is off at 1 AM. We should get there right at 1:15.” Ripley finishes dusting powder onto my cheeks, then tosses the makeup bag back into my car. “You guys ready?”

Aiden and I both nod, and Ripley breaks into a small smile.

“Alright.” He tosses his head at the road. “Let’s go.”

Aiden and I fall into line beside him. Each of us with one backpack, Aiden with the repainted herbicide applicator. We’re all wearing spray paint respirator masks around our necks, but Ripley’s backpack is the only one making the distinctive click of spray paint cans in movement.

Side by side, we approach our target.

Ketterbridge has a very small bus station. This one is much bigger. It’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, but it’s a central hub between places, and it’s high traffic. Tons of buses pass through every day and night, taking people between all the tiny towns in the area, and a few big ones, too.

Behind the bland concrete building is a giant billboard, plastered with a sun-bleached advertisement that’s nearly crumbling apart. The ad shows a sunset over a forest, purple mountains in the background. Visit Belleville! it says, in sad, decaying letters across the skyscape. A huge tear in the paper makes half of the ad hang down limply, flapping in the breeze.

We all come to a stop, still a ways back from the building.

“Next bus should be here in two hours,” Ripley reminds us. “But people are gonna start showing up to board that bus earlier than that, so - we’ve really only got one hour till we’ve gotta be out.”

I set up the timer on my watch, but don’t start it yet. I check the time, and find that it’s 1:13 AM. The cleaning crew should be gone, the passengers from the last bus cleared out.

Which means it’s time to roll.

We all take a second, staring silently at the bus station. 

“Good luck, Ripples,” I say softly.

He’s looking up at the billboard, not at me. But I can see a spark of something in his eyes, something that reminds me of Calla. The adrenaline junkie gleam, which also shows itself in the devious smile spreading across his face.

“See you in an hour,” he murmurs.

He pulls his hood up over his green curls, then melts into the shadows.

Aiden catches my eye.

“At least we’re not robbing a museum, this time,” he says. “Or a police evidence warehouse.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “I’m glad that my mom doesn’t know what I get up to.”

Aiden huffs out a laugh, then turns back to the bus station. We both hesitate for one more moment, then set off together for the doors.

Just before we slip inside the station, I start the timer on my watch.

The clock begins ticking down.

~~~~

I yawn deeply as we step inside. Aiden blows a lazy bubble with the gum he’s chewing. We both make an effort to look bored and tired, like Ripley told us to.

The bus station is abandoned, thank god. The only exception: two guys behind the ticket desk, who are channeling the whole bored and tired look much better than me and Aiden. We get a look at their name tags as we get closer: Dan and Steve.

“Can we help you?” Steve asks, eyeing our coveralls, the masks around our necks, our heavy backpacks.

“Yep, hey.” Aiden stops before the counter, hands me the herbicide applicator, and gives Steve the business card that Ripley made. “We’re here to clean.”

Steve and Dan exchange a confused glance.

“The cleaners were already here,” Dan tells us. “They just left.”

“We’re not the regular cleaners.” Aiden taps the business card. “We’re with XTREME Clean. Hired to take care of the special cleanup. Apparently there was some kind of incident here earlier tonight?”

Dan and Steve both suddenly look much more awake.

“What incident?” Steve’s eyes flit from the business card to Aiden's face. “What happened? We only started our shifts like an hour ago.”

Aiden shrugs his shoulders.

“They don’t really tell us that stuff, man. We’re just here to clean up the biohazardous substances left behind.”

“Biohazards?” Dan is starting to look alarmed. “Here?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it sounds,” Aiden assures him. “Could even just be some blood. No big deal, it’s just gotta be handled properly. We’ll clean it up and then get out of your way.”

Dan and Steve look at each other again, and Dan shrugs.

“Alright, just let us know when you’re done.”

“Oh, you can’t be in here while we do it,” Aiden tells him. “You don’t have masks or protective eyewear. We’re about to use some serious chemicals, they can really-”

I squeeze the button on the applicator, and some of the liquid that Ripley filled it with jets out through the nozzle, splatters on the floor. It’s some sort of foam, tinted a shocking shade of green.

“Oh, oops,” I say, as Aiden turns to look at me.

We both rush to pull our respirator masks up over our faces. Dan stares at us, then surges to his feet. His eyes are on the applicator in my hands, on which the poison warnings are quite clearly visible.

“How long should we go for?” he asks, reaching for his coat.

“About an hour,” Aiden answers, his voice muffled through the mask. “Air should be just fine to breathe by then.”

“We can’t leave for an hour,” Steve sputters, catching Dan’s sleeve. “We’re supposed to be here, we can’t just go.”

“When’s the next bus get in?” I ask, and Steve hesitates.

“Well - not for like, two hours, but-”

“Are you kidding me?” Dan interrupts, wrenching his sleeve free. “Fuck this, man. Bar’s right down the street, and I could kill an hour there, easy. I’m not staying here, breathing in that shit. You can, if you want. They don’t pay me enough for this.”

“But-” Steve looks anxiously at the applicator, then tosses his hands up in the air. “Alright, fine. One hour.”

The two of them lock their computers, grab their coats, and hustle for the doors.

Aiden and I pull down our masks. We watch in silence until Dan and Steve round a corner in the road, disappearing behind a clump of trees. I let out a long breath, and Aiden runs a relieved hand over his face.

“Thank god,” he rumbles, then nods at the green foam on the floor. “What’s that stuff Ripley put in the applicator?”

I drop to a crouch to examine it. “Looks like… shaving cream with some food coloring in it, I think?”

Aiden lets out a snort of laughter, slipping his backpack from his shoulder. “He really came prepared.”

“Gabby is definitely gonna know this was him,” I answer, unzipping my own backpack.

“Yeah, I told him that, and he said that no one will be able to prove anything.” Aiden pauses, looking up from his bag. “Speaking of - don’t forget where the security cameras are, yeah? Don’t let your face get caught.”

“Opposite of the Bratton Collection,” I observe. “We’re really diversifying our crime portfolio.”

Aiden laughs, shaking his head. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

I get the shaving cream off of the floor, then reach into the backpack, pull out everything that Ripley filled it with.

Aiden and I split up into our assigned tasks, careful to avoid letting our faces turn towards a security camera.

We move slowly through the entire station, working as quickly and quietly as possible.

I head into the bathrooms, come back a few minutes later with glue stuck to my fingers. I help Aiden for a while, then loop back into the bathroom to make sure that the glue held, which it did. Aiden tests out the electronic components of Ripley's plan, making sure that they work. They do.

We work in steady silence until our backpacks are empty. Then we step back, surveying the bus station.

“It doesn’t even look different,” Aiden murmurs. “Like - not at all.”

“I know. Gotta hand it to Ripley, he really-” I break off as my watch begins to beep. “Oh, shit. We’ve gotta go. Now.”

Aiden leaves a typed-out note on the ticket desk, marked with the same logo as the business card. It’s for Dan and Steve, informing them that we’re all done. Thanks for your business!

They might notice the differences in the station when they come back, but - honestly, I doubt that they will. This is an exceptionally subtle work of art by Ripley, and it won’t swing into full gear until tomorrow morning.

We shoulder our backpacks, take one last look at everything we did, and slip outside. Keeping our heads down, avoiding the cameras above the automatic sliding doors.

We pause in the cold night air, eyes scanning the road - then both startle violently when Ripley appears next to us, his hands stained with fresh spray paint.

“Everything go okay?” he asks, a little out of breath. “Didn’t leave anything behind? Still got your bandaid, Jamie?”

“All good.” I hold my finger up to show him. “How’d your part go?”

Ripley nods up at the billboard. Aiden and I turn to look at it, then both freeze, wide-eyed.

“Holy shit, Ripples,” Aiden says, and I couldn’t agree more.

Ripley slips his phone out of his pocket, opens the camera, and snaps a photo of the billboard.

“You know you can’t show that to anyone, right?” I inform him, and he nods.

“Yeah, no. But it might get taken down right away, and it’s kind of a bummer when the cops are the only ones with a good photo of your artwork, so-”

He cuts himself off sharply. We all freeze at the sound of approaching footsteps from down the street. Voices, too. Dan and Steve, on their way back.

We all exchange a look, then sprint for the trees lining the road. We dive into hiding, then regroup on our knees behind some bushes. Panting, dragging each other further into cover, then all shushing each other. Ripley ends up in the middle, between me and Aiden. We all peek over the bushes, staying low.

We fall silent, watching from the darkness as Dan and Steve approach the station. I hold my breath, waiting for them to glance up and see the billboard, which looks undeniably different from how it did before.

But their eyes don’t wander up to it. They must be bored with this place, because they don’t even look around at all. They just walk together up to the sliding doors, and vanish into the station. None the wiser.

A huge, wide smile slowly unfurls across Ripley’s face. He suddenly flings one arm around Aiden’s shoulders, the other around mine. He lets out a sharp, elated, brilliant laugh. It’s startling, contagious, and both Aiden and I instantly join in. Hushed, wheezing laughter that none of us can stop, that keeps going until our sides ache.

We follow our vandal back to my car, glowing with victory.

All we have to do now is wait for dawn to break, to see what people think of Ripley's latest work of art.