Summer In Iron Springs by Margie Broschinsky Page B

and doing some kind of tip-toe calf exercises at the same time. She giggled at the man before returning to the story.
    “Well, he and his friends wanted to get high. Even though I don’t smoke pot, I let him pressure me into coming along.”
                  “Uh-huh.” Billy nodded his head.
                  “I had some spray paint that I borrowed from the cabinet in the auto shop building. The pot heads at my school go behind the auto shop to get high.”
                  “At my high school they hide out behind the auditorium,” Billy said.
                  “I guess every school’s got their dedicated place for the pot heads.” Phoebe shook her head and laughed. “Well, anyway, while I was waiting for Jaxon to finish, I decided to spray paint a picture of Vincent van Gogh smoking a pipe on the auto shop wall.”
                  Billy gave a loud snicker that earned him a horrified glance for the sour-faced salesman. “You did what?” He said, lowering his voice. “Tell me you did not actually paint Vincent van Gogh on the wall of your school.”
                  “I did. And, in my defense, it turned out pretty good. Anyway they got caught—and so did I.” Phoebe said over Billy’s laughter. “Then everyone assumed I was smoking pot too. So, I got in double trouble for the graffiti and the pot. But I was not smoking pot, Billy. I never have. I think it’s stupid.”
                  “I believe you Feebs.” Billy reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “But did they nail you for stealing the paint?” He covered his mouth with his hand to try and control the sounds of laughter that seemed determined to escape.
                  “Be quiet.” Phoebe scolded. “Are you trying to get us kicked out of here?” She chuckled quietly as she nodded her head toward the salesman who had gone back to his funny tip toe exercises.
                  “Okay, okay,” Billy said, struggling to control his laughter. “But, you have to tell me, did you get off on the B and E charge?”
                  “The what?” Phoebe gave Billy a sideways glance.
                  “Breaking and entering. You broke in and stole the spray paint. Did they nail you on that charge?”
                  Phoebe tried not to laugh but it was impossible. “You really think you’re funny don’t you? For your information, the cabinet where they keep the spray paint wasn’t locked—and it’s supposed to be. You know, to keep out those idiots who huff the paint to get high.”
                  Billy’s laughter was out of control. “Yeah, not to mention the budding graffiti artists who just can’t resist a free can of spray paint.”
    “I was just pointing out that I didn’t break and enter. I borrowed the spray paint. I didn’t steal it. I was going to return it.”
                  “Oh, I see. So, were you going to scrape van Gogh’s face off the wall and shove it back into the can before you returned it?” Billy’s loud laughter prompted the salesman to give him a stern look.
    Bi lly stifled his laughter and Mr. Sour Face returned to his phone call and his strange exercises.
                  “For your information Billy, the painting only improved the look of the school,” Phoebe said. “So, in reality, I actually did the school a favor.”
                  That was more than Billy could take. “Well that was very thoughtful of you.” He said as he clutched at his side. “Why Vincent van Gogh?”
                  “I’m not telling you anymore until you stop laughing.”
    “Okay. Okay. It’s just that I haven’t laughed that hard since—since ever.” Billy wiped a tear from his eye. “Okay, so, tell me, why van Gogh?”              
    “Well. . .” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you done