Temporary Monuments: CH. 2

CHAPTER TWO: THE FINE ART OF SETTING THE WORLD

Tate crouched low, hands working quickly as he clipped the replacement banner to the rigging. The string of lights above the quad cast soft shadows across the lawn, just enough for me to make out his silhouette—focused, head down, hoodie sleeves bunched at the elbows, a smear of black paint drying along the back of his wrist.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “The cheerleaders pull that cord at the end of the rally tomorrow. Every year. They’re expecting some motivational bullshit about school pride.”

“And instead, they get… this?”

He grinned without turning. “Exactly.”

The banner was wide, thick vinyl, the edges curling slightly from being rolled too long. The message spanned nearly six feet—bold block letters in red and black, painted in the same heavy hand I remembered from Tate’s art class submissions freshman year. It wasn’t elegant. It didn’t need to be.

Amy Griffin’s nose is as real as this one—kinda like our friendship. –ATF

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