Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

“Nothing destructive,” she ordered me. “Nothing mean.
It’s got to be funny. And like…easy to clean up. You know?
Something elegant.”
“Something middle school,” I corrected her snidely.
She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again, smiling
to herself.
I relaxed into the headrest, pondering what I had in my
trunk. My buddies and I had all been summoned back to town
from college to host Devil’s Night tomorrow night, and as
soon as we got back today, we’d gone supply shopping. I had
bottles of liquor in my trunk, but Winter didn’t want to start
any fires. There was plaster, glue, flashlights, and the guys had
some other shit, like rope, smoke bombs, and sledge hammers.
Most of this stuff we probably wouldn’t use tomorrow, but
we’d been so into it after having not taken part in the Thunder
Bay night of mischief for a couple years, we lost our heads and
got excited.
Something non-destructive, though.
We didn’t do anything non-destructive.
And then I remembered. I also had some air horns and duct
tape in my trunk.
Jesus. Well, that was it then. I knew what we had to do.
I couldn’t believe I was sinking this low, for Christ’s sake.
“Buckle up,” I told her, shaking my head at myself. “I
know what we’re going to do.”
She held the back of my sweatshirt, following me as I jogged
down the pathway, around the corner, and past the elevators.
I’d been forced to come to Bridge Bay Theater dozens of times
growing up to see performances my parents sponsored or to
visit my mother when she deigned to perform as if the town
should be so grateful to have a genuine Bolshoi ballerina in