Punk Love

Me. With my bag of high school drama and side of bad reputation.

He even did the emoji he always sent me when we texted— :D meant a really happy face. He used it sarcastically when we texted. For instance:

Alex: Imma pluck Ryan’s eyeballs and make soup with them for dinner. Want some? :D

I was buzzing. Bubbling with excitement, and pride, and happiness. Alex was in love with me. This was everything I’d ever wished for and more. Suddenly, each and every one of my problems shrank to nothing. Everything blurred out of focus and the only thing that mattered was right in front of me. The graffiti.

Morning assembly, however, was a pain in the neck.

“Again?!” Principal Prems bellowed, pacing back and forth on the basketball court, his loafers squeaking against the floor. “What is wrong with you people?”

The answer, naturally, was everything. Everything was wrong with us. We were teenagers, for crying out loud.

Brent sat next to me during that assembly, too.

“Your boyfriend’s really into you, huh?” He seemed amused.

I puffed my chest out, grinning. “Yeah. We’re kind of crazy about each other.”

When I got to my first class for the day, English lit, one of my classmates was standing in front of the blackboard. She used the chalk to draw :D, and was debating with a few people whether it was an emoji, or the word ID.

“Lar.” She threw a piece of gum my way as soon as I walked into class. I caught it and shoved the gum into my mouth. “Maybe you could shed some light on the subject—what did your boyfriend, and we all know it’s your boyfriend who did that, mean when he made this sign?”

I smiled. I wasn’t going to out Alex. I didn’t trust anyone anymore.

“I don’t know who did it,” I said, “but I guess whoever it was meant the emoji.”

“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes, grinning. “That’s some bold-ass move.”

“Maybe this guy likes his girlfriend.” I hitched a shoulder up.

“Doesn’t sound like a guy who’s been cheated on.”

“No.” I laughed. “I agree.”

The girl smiled and winked. I knew it was the beginning of the end of Ryan’s campaign. But strangely, that didn’t make me feel happy or elated. The truth was, I found my happiness elsewhere long ago.

I was free.

Alex picked me up that day from school.

I think he wanted to see the look on my face after he told me he loved me for the first time. Or rather—graffitied it.

He didn’t wait for me in his car, like he always did. Instead, he was leaning against a lamppost by the gate, looking all casual. Just another Nordic king waiting for his mortal girlfriend.

He was so beautiful to me, and I didn’t think I would ever get over how fully mesmerizing he was. Not just because of his high cheekbones and straight nose and those smart, chocolate eyes. But also because he was mine, truly mine. A steady constant in my chaotic life.

I ran to him, flung myself over him, and kissed him silly, lacing my arms over his shoulders bringing him close to me. I never wanted to let go.

“I love you, too,” I murmured into our kiss, the words pouring out of me in a rush of desperation. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled, prying my arms off him after a few seconds of intense making out. He pushed the flyaways from my face, grinning down at me.

“I really love you,” he admitted softly. “It’s kind of annoying.”

“I know,” I groaned. “I can no longer form one coherent thought without you springing into my mind. You’re like…a mental flasher.”

His eyes were still on me, but a different, vicious smirk spread across his face now.

“Hey, don’t look, but Ryan is behind you. He looks like we just kicked a litter of puppies on our way to kill his family.”

I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him again.

“Let. Him. Look.”

My sweet sixteen was approaching at record speed, the days melting together like gummy bears under the sun.

But, before my birthday there was still summer break to think about.

I dreaded the lengthy vacation, because Pauly was going to Greece with her boyfriend and Alex had made plans with his mysterious cousin from Sweden before we’d met.

Those plans included driving through Europe and chasing their favorite anarcho-punk bands, hopping from one music festival to another. They were going to rent a van and make pit stops in Germany, Poland, the Netherlands, before visiting another cousin of theirs in Belarus. The whole thing was going to take three weeks.

Three weeks of them getting smashed, attending shows, and, presumably, having lots of sex with random girls. Something my fifteen—almost sixteen—year-old brain just couldn’t compute.

“You’re not going.” I flung myself over his bed, shaking my head.

He laughed, collapsing next to me on the plush mattress, gathering me into his arms. I loved how large he was and how small I was. You know how some lovers would take a bullet for their girlfriends? He would take one for me, even if he wouldn’t mean to, simply because he could cover my body three times over with his. He had managed to fill in even more during the months that passed since we’d started going out.