Page 151 of Pride High 3: Yellow

You did good. -Mom

Diego stared in disbelief. Especially when he glanced around, because Marti must have walked around the parking lot searching for his car, just so she could leave the note. Or she probably drove around, because she wasn’t dumb. He returned his attention to those three little letters at the end.Mom. That she had referred to herself in that context was enough to make a lump form in his throat.

“What is it?” Ricky asked.

“Nothing,” he said, carefully folding the note. He tucked it in the inside pocket of his jacket, next to his racing heart, and promised himself that he wouldn’t get his hopes up. “Let’s go.”

He climbed into the Trans Am, relieved when Ricky did so too without a big discussion. But of course he had questions, like he always did.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“That depends,” Diego said, watching happy families stroll across the parking lot. “Do you know where Graham Fowler lives?”

“Yeah.”

Diego looked at him sharply. “You do?”

Ricky nodded. “He lives in the same neighborhood as me. I saw him leaving his house once and always make sure to walk on the opposite side of the street.”

“No shit?” Diego grinned. Then he started the car. “Let’s go pay him a visit.”

“How come?”

When turning around in his seat to pull out, he caught the concern on Ricky’s face.

“Didn’t you see Troy trip me?”

Diego explained what had happened, and who was truly behind it.

“What a jerk,” Ricky replied with a scowl. “I wondered if that was scripted. I bet most people thought it was. Hey! I really liked the part at the end, when you were waving the gun around.” Ricky pressed his index fingers and thumbs together to form a pistol. “How many bullets are left? Enough to kill you all!”

Diego grinned. “That part is definitely cool.”

“But also sad,” Ricky said.

“Yeah, I guess. Which house is it?”

“Oh. Turn at the stop sign.” Once he had, he added, “It’s the third one on the left. No wait, the fourth.”

“Are you sure?” Diego asked, parking across the street from it.

Ricky nodded. “It’s the house with the basketball hoop. That’s how I always remember.” He turned eyes on him that were watery with worry. “What are you going to do if he’s home? Wasn’t the play about breaking the cycle of hate?”

“I dunno,” Diego said while surveying the house. The windows were dark, as was the front yard, shaded by two massive trees with entangled branches. The nearest streetlights were two houses down in either direction. “Looks like nobody is home, so we’ll leave him a message of our own.”

“I can’t get in trouble,” Ricky warned. “Not again.”

“Relax. We’re just going to TP his house. People don’t go to jail for that.”

Diego’s intent had been much more violent on the drive over. He’d wanted to duke it out with Graham and settle matters once and for all. Ricky was right though. Not about the stupid moral of the play, but that most people had probably thought he’d fallen over as part of the plot. And besides, his mother had said he’d done good. But he wasn’t going to leave without letting Graham know just how much his bullshit was appreciated. And besides, he had a buttload of toilet paper to get rid of.

“You can wait here if you want,” Diego said before getting out.

Ricky didn’t disappoint him. He showed up on the other side of the car. Then he saw the contents of the trunk and started laughing.

“Was there a sale or something?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m freaking psychic.” Diego tossed a roll to him. “Ready?”