My heart plummets as the first hole cracks through the surface. The drunk guy throws his hands in the air victoriously and swings some more. It almost seems like the second guy is trying to talk him out of it, but before long, he’s taken up another tool and is smashing my greenhouse, too.
My chest aches and I want to look away.
“I’m sickened to say that these people are definitely high school students,” Principal Walsh says.
“Wow,” Mrs. Bradley murmurs as we watch the guys swing together at one of the corner posts. It wobbles and shakes, but eventually it falls, taking half the roof with it.
My tears have dried up, but it hurts so bad to watch these assholes rip apart my entire summer’s work. They jump on the green plastic walls, cracking them into bits so they can never be used again. My clay pots are thrown and smashed. The five gallon bucket Grandpa used as a chair gets slammed against the concrete foundation until it cracks in half.
“What is wrong with people?” I say softly as I continue to watch the destruction.
“Maybe they will get closer to the camera when they leave,” Principal Walsh says. “We need to find a way to identify them.”
We keep watching the destruction on screen. It lasts for over twenty minutes. When my entire greenhouse is destroyed, the two people stop and admire their work. They look like guys, but from the small, grainy video footage, it’s hard to tell for sure.
When they decide to leave the scene, they don’t come closer to the school like we’d hoped. Instead they just walk the property line between the daycare and the school and head back to the road. But right before they leave the camera’s pathway, they walk under the light of a nearby streetlamp.
The light illuminates the bright white logo on the front of their matching black hoodies.
The Hornets Soccer team logo.
Only a handful of students in this entire school have that jacket. They are all guys, and they’re all on the soccer team.
“It should be easy to weed out who is responsible for this,” Principal Walsh says. “And when we do, we will get restitution for you, Linda.”
Mrs. Bradley nods, then turns her attention to me. “It’ll be okay, Clarissa. We’ll get the greenhouse fixed again. I know how important it is to you.”
I nod dumbly but I’m not really paying attention. All I can think about is the memory of that video, of those complete jerks who would destroy something that’s not theirs. I think of the soccer team hoodies, how all of those popular jocks walk around wearing it all day long.
And then I think of my homeroom class where I sit next to three of them. They’re always loud and obnoxious, making jokes and whispering stupid stuff to each other when we’re supposed to be paying attention in class. Like Gavin Voss, who has a face that’s permanently cocky, and he’s so stuck up he thinks it’s okay to put his feet on someone else’s chair.
I don’t know which one of these guys destroyed my grandpa’s last project, but as soon as I find out, I will make them pay.
