You’re Welcome, Universe

Six stencils in and it’s gone. Okay, the tag vanished by Number Two, but I have a point to prove. I’m not covering up your scribbled slur with just anything. I’m making art here. I’m creating. I’m on fire.
I’ve never thrown up such an intense piece-I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pull it off in time. My arm flies across the wall, pink paint striping across the last stencil. It looks like it’s going to work out. I chuckle to myself. This is what it’s all been for, the hours of paint-pen practice, filling up every inch of every sketchbook with tags and words and pictures. All my hard work has paid off, and it’s all up here on the wall.
I know I shouldn’t be tagging the school. I know that. But I wasn’t the first, and that mess had to go. Jordyn told the prin- cipal that someone tagged the gym, she had to. The vandal singled her out, and word gets around real quick at Kingston School for the Deaf. But three weeks went by, and “Jordyns a SLUT” was still there on the back of the gym for all to see. And good ole Principal Howard hadn’t done a damn thing.
No one gets to call my best friend a slut, especially not up on a wall, not on my turf. She asked for help, and I took matters into my own paint-stained hands. I designed a killer piece, cut out the stencils, shook up the cans, and got to work.
    I’m getting away with it. I’m about to get up. On my way
to becoming an all-city queen of street art. I rip down the last stencil, take a step back, and admire my work. It’s killer. You’re welcome, Universe. I check over both of my shoulders again, eyes on constant watch. I can’t rely on my ears, so my eyes work overtime. It’s nice and dark. I pretend I’m nothing but a shadow.
I’m so proud I just can’t help myself and I text Jordyn a picture of the new mural on my way back home.