Punk 57

And I lean over my assignment, filling out the header, continuing, “Masen Laurent is not living in the school. He’s not vandalizing the walls, the lockers, or anything else. He’s new, you’re scheming, and I’m bored with this conversation.”

“We can get it out of him,” Trey chimes in. “I can sneak into my stepmom’s office and check his file. See where he lives.”

“Hell yeah,” J.D. agrees.

The sinister tone to their voices unnerves me. Trey gets away with everything, especially since the principal is his stepmother.

I close my book and notebook, piling them on top of each other. “And how would that be any fun for me?”

Trey smiles. “What did you have in mind? Name it.”

I rest my forearms on the table and turn my head over my shoulder, watching Masen Laurent. His stoic expression is confusing. As if everyone around him doesn’t exist.

They bustle about, passing by him, their voices carrying across his table, laughter to his left and a dropped tray to his right, but a bubble surrounds him. Life carries on outside of it, but nothing breaches it.

But I feel, even though he responds to nothing going on around him, he’s aware of it. He’s aware of everything, and a chill runs down my arms.

Turning back to Trey, I take a deep breath, shaking it off. “Do you trust me?”

“No, but I’ll give you a long leash.”

J.D. laughs, and I rise from the table, pushing back my chair.

“Where are you going?” Lyla asks.

I spin around and walk for Masen, answering over my shoulder, “I want to hear him talk.”

I head over to his table, a small round four-seater on the outside of the room, and rest my ass on the edge, gripping the table with my hands at my sides.

The boy’s eyes catch my thighs and slowly rise up my body, resting on my face.

I can hear the beat of drums and guitar pounding out of his earbuds, but he just sits there, the indents between his eyebrows growing deeper.

Reaching over, I gently tug out his earbuds and cast a look over my shoulder at my friends, all of them watching us.

“They think you’re homeless,” I tell him, turning back and seeing his eyes drift from them up to me. “But you’re not eating, and you don’t speak. I think you’re a ghost.”

I give him a mischievous smile and drop the earbuds, placing my hand over his heart. His warmth immediately courses through my hand, making my stomach flip a little. “Nope, scratch that,” I add, pushing forward. “I feel a heartbeat. And it’s getting faster.”

Masen just watches me, as if waiting for something. Maybe he wants me to disappear, but he hasn’t pushed me away yet.

I take my hand off his chest and lean back again. “I remember you, you know? You were at the scavenger hunt in February. At the warehouse in Thunder Bay.”

He still doesn’t answer, and I’m starting to wonder if I have it wrong. The guy that night was of few words, but he, at least, ended up being friendly. How do you toy with someone who won’t engage?

“Do you like to go to the drive-in, Masen?” I ask. “That’s your name, right?” I look down and fiddle with his pen, trying to act coy. “The weather’s getting nice enough for it. Maybe you’d like to come with my girlfriends and me some time. Wanna give me your number?”

His chest caves with every exhale, and I feel my skin start to hum as he just holds my eyes. His deep green pools glow with a fire I can’t place. Anger? Fear? Desire? What the hell is he thinking, and why won’t he speak? I force the lump down my throat, feeling like I’m waiting for the Jack to pop out of the box.

“You don’t like people?” I press, leaning in and whispering, “Or you don’t like girls?”

“Miss Trevarrow?” a stern female voice I recognize as Principal Burrowes calls. “Off the table.”

I turn my head to acknowledge her, but then, all of a sudden, hands grab my waist and pull me forward.

I gasp, shocked, as I land in Masen’s lap, straddling him.

“I like girls,” he whispers in my ear, and my heart is pounding so hard it hurts.