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Directions Alternative High School was, “You’re late, Sprout.”
    â€œSo what, Zook?” she shot back. “And my name’s not Sprout, you retard.”
    The kid answering to “Zook” loosed a goofy, lopsided grin and raised his arms in mock surrender. “My name’s James Bradford, not Zook, but do I get all pissy? Nooo.”
    Zook was a tall kid with a thatch of dirty blond hair, inquisitive eyes, and a pair of arms giving new meaning to the term rangy. Under her breath she said, “Jesus, Zook, it’s not even nine-thirty and you’re baked. What’s up with that?”
    He shrugged and flashed the off-kilter grin again. “A little weed to take the edge off. No big deal.”
    â€œIdiot,” she hissed before stomping off to join a knot of students across the room. They were huddled around a printing frame, where a local artist was demonstrating the fundamentals of silk-screen printing. It was the part of the week when the school brought in volunteers to turn the kids on to the arts, a break from the grind of juggling academics with their lives on the street.
    A year earlier a local artist had taught the class the basics of stencil art. That’s when the idea hit Kelly—maybe she could combine climbing and stenciling to leave graffiti in places that would really piss the city off and make them wonder how she’d gotten there in the first place. She hadn’t tagged since she got busted, and the terms of her probation forbade it. But this was too sweet. A step up from being a scribble monkey. And a challenge. Rupert had told her the idea was reckless and a waste of her energy, but she didn’t care. Putting a sharp stick in the Man’s eye would feel good.
    Her first pieces were modest and tentative, and she hid her identity more out of fear of being ridiculed than anything else. But as her confidence grew so did her resolve to stay anonymous. Her best friend, Kiyana, had her suspicions, but the rest of the world assumed K209 was a guy. This gave her good cover and provided a ton of motivation, too.
    â€œLeave some of that energy for the part of the day that counts toward your diploma,” one of her instructors chided Kelly after she complained about having to wrap up her first stencil project to begin studying math. The academic subjects left her, if not cold, certainly cool. But that was more out of interest than ability. Kelly was a voracious reader, a whiz in math, and on track to graduate from high school early.
    But that morning the art of silk-screening held no interest for Kelly. Her calf, ankle, and elbow ached, and her anxiety about postponing the cell phone purchase built like steam in a pressure cooker. She’d seen enough cop shows to know the first twenty-four hours of a murder investigation were critical, and although what she had to tell the cops seemed inconsequential, she wanted to help put away the monster who’d shot that poor woman.
    Kiyana caught her chewing her lip. Six feet tall with broad shoulders and lustrous, dark skin, she had intimidating eyes and a set of dreads that gave her a badass look. “What’s with you, baby girl?” She nodded at Kelly’s elbow. “What’d you do to your arm?”
    This was dangerous territory. It was hard to keep anything from Kiyana. “I tripped getting off the bus, and I feel a little whoozy.” Kelly forced a smile. “Just call me Grace.” Might as well go for all of it, she thought. “And I, uh, took my backpack off when I sat down to check out my leg. I looked around and the pack was gone. Some A-hole just picked it up and walked off with it. In all the confusion, I didn’t see a thing.”
    Kiyana’s eyes got huge. “No! They ripped off your backpack? What’s the matter with people? That really sucks. Well, get outta here then. You ain’t gonna miss nothin’.”
    Around ten-thirty, Kelly took Kiyana’s