It’s 3:30 a.m., and we’re up in the quiet hills of Griffith Park with Talia, Maria, Nell, Brian, Toby, and Mac.
This past week, Jack and I went to every fabric store around the city and bought red cloth to cut into “string.” The actual string I typically use, the kind that’s thinner than floss, would’ve taken literal months to wrap the sign.
As a team, we went over the camera and motion sensor locations, what to wear, and how to wrap the forty-four-foot letters of the sign. Everyone contributed ideas and thought through ways to work more efficiently. We’re synced on the exit strategies with A and B alternate routes. The FATE mission team pushes boundaries every day, and their willingness to do this is more proof of that. For this, though, we’re Team Hollywood.
Talia and Nell are working on the second “L” while Toby and Mac take care of the “Y.” Brian and Maria are wrapping the two “O”s, and whoever is done first will take the “D.” The Hollywood Sign letters are relatively climbable from the back with metal beams to stand on.
Down below, the sweeping view of LA is showstopping. Themoon is a crescent but the city sparkles like the ocean in sunlight, even at this hour. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.
On handheld radios, I check in with the group. “Two hours down. How’s everyone doing? We have three hours until sunrise, but I think we can get out of here sooner. We’re making good time.”
Jack and I pick up our paces and walk the roll of cloth around the “L” as carefully as we can.
“I’m keeping Sprinkles,” he says so casually that it takes me a moment to process it.
The news stops me in my tracks. “Jack, that’s wonderful! What changed your mind?”
“We’re basically best friends at this point. I can’t leave her.” Beneath Jack’s cautious voice is something heartfelt.
“She’s lucky to be on the receiving end of your love,” I say, my eyes darting up to him.
Jack’s eyes find mine, locking in place. We hold our stares for a stretched moment until someone on the team shouts for more cloth. Jack clears his throat and continues wrapping. “You’re going to be leaving a mark. That’s exciting to think about.”
I smile. “But not a mark on these signs. Remember, no damage.”
“Right. No damage,” he says very seriously.
We continue our stringing, passing by each other on opposite sides of the sign.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Jack says when we meet back on the same side. When I agree, he asks, “Have you ever seen the video?”
I twist the cloth in my hands. “I’ve seen it once. When it went up for sale in 2010, I went to the auction. They played it to attract interested buyers.”
Jack’s quietly waiting for more. For the truth. He stops wrapping and looks at me intently.
“He was at the birth,” I finally say after tying off cloth on one of the metal bars. “JR.”
“JR was there. Why?” Jack asks, stalling with me at the base near the tall side of the “L.”
“I wonder the same thing. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen his face. I was born, and he wouldn’t even hold me. Not once.” I close my eyes. “He walks away as soon as I start crying, and the look on my mom’s face, well, I’ll never forget it. That was the last time we were in the same room together.”
There’s compassion behind Jack’s eyes, not pity. “Rooney, I’m so sorry. I can see why you wouldn’t want that to be out there. You don’t want to relive it again. Or for your mom to.”
“She doesn’t regret the video or me, but people don’t need to see that,” I say. “If I can buy it, I can move past it. We can be done with him.”
Jack nods. “I was looking at how much I have saved up, and if you need more money, please let me know how much. I want to help.”
“That’s nice of you, but you’re already helping,” I say, tucking leftover cloth between the folds. “Hopefully after this, money won’t be a problem. I made Hollywood-themed string art pieces that will be available to buy tomorrow morning. They’re priced pretty high. More than I’ve ever asked for.”
“That’s good. Your work is worth it,” Jack says.
“A portion of proceeds from those sales will go toward helping fund art programs for kids,” I ramble. “The budget cuts have been terrible.”
Spikes of nervous energy are starting to poke through, and Jack can probably tell. I clamp my mouth shut. There are so many things not to think about: my feelings of inadequacy, the auction, this big risk not working, kissing Jack. What I do need to focus on instead is wrapping these signs and not falling down the mountain.
“You’ll already be using your voice for good,” Jack says as excess cloth spills out of his arms. He’s quiet for a moment, and when I don’t respond, he says, “Did you know, on the morning after a clear night, the temperature continues to drop even after sunrise?”
I frown and shake my head no.
