Punk 57

She rears back, giving me a WTF look and then narrows her eyes, looking angry. “You want to be left alone?” she asks. “I can do that. We can all do that, because we’re sick of your shit.” Her eyes fall down my body, surveying me like I’m a piece of crap. “Always disappearing, treating Trey like crap…and don’t think it’s escaped anyone’s attention all the little looks you and Masen Laurent are giving each other. If you want to play with that piece of trash, do it quietly, because I’m not going to act like I like it.”

I squeeze the plastic shaker in my hand and take a step, advancing on her. Bitch.

But then a guy steps between us, Misha’s friend with the Mohawk, and grabs a grape out of a fruit bowl. He pops it in his mouth, looking at Lyla. “Hey, baby. Wanna fuck?”

She grimaces, and I nearly snort. What the hell?

Her mouth falls open, staring at Mohawk guy, but then she spins around—probably having lost her train of thought—and storms back to wherever she came from.

Mohawk guy turns to me, winks, and then leaves.

What was that about?

I run a hand over my eyes, adjusting my baseball cap, and feel a sudden need to crawl in a hot shower and sit there for a year.

Turning back to the lunch line, I see Misha on my other side and jump, my heart skipping a beat.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

I move around him and continue down the line. “I don’t want you here, Masen.” And then I stop, correcting myself.

“Misha. Just go home. Go back to Thunder Bay.”

“I can’t.” He comes up behind me, placing his hands on the counter, blocking me in. “I have no life there if you’re not in it. You’re part of everything good I’ve ever done, Ryen. Please.”

People come up in the line and veer around us, continuing down to the cashier. I want to push away from him, but I can feel eyes on us already, and I don’t want to make a scene. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I know better. Lyla is taking note of everything I do.

“You’re in the music.” His low voice falls across my ear. “You’ve made me strong. I won’t do anything with my life if you’re not there. I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this—”

“You broke my heart,” I cut him off, turning around and looking up into his eyes. “I look at you, and I don’t see Misha.” Sadness burns my eyes, and I don’t care if he can see. “All the years, all the letters, it’s getting further from my memory now. Like Friday night clouded everything.”

His stare narrows.

“You tainted it all,” I tell him. “All the history. And soon, I’ll barely remember you or how we used to be friends.”

I leave my food and push his arm away, walking over to where Ten sits.

I don’t know if everything I said to Misha right then was true, but my head is in a constant fog. My feelings are clouded, and maybe I just need a long nap, a long swim, or a long drive to clear my head.

All I do know is that I can’t look at him. Hell, I don’t even think I can look at myself right now.

I sit down at the table and snatch one of Ten’s fries, nibbling just so I can do something.

“What about your parents?” J.D. asks Trey, obviously in the middle of a conversation.

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask.

Trey looks at me, and I can feel the chill in his body language. “I’m having a party, remember?” His tone is clipped. “My parents are out of town for the night, but they didn’t say I couldn’t have people over. I don’t suppose you’ll still be able to make it.”

He says it as if he already knows the answer, and I hear Lyla and Katelyn snicker.

A party. I look over my shoulder, seeing Misha plop down in a seat with all of his friends, and I don’t miss the glare he shoots my way.

“Will there be drinks?” I ask, turning back to my table.

“Of course. Lots of drinks.” Trey smirks.