Punk 57(10)

I look over my shoulder at him. The Cove? “I thought they posted a caretaker on site to keep people out.”

He shrugs, a mischievous look in his eyes.

Oooookay. “Well, if we get caught, you two are the first ones I’m throwing under the bus.”

“Not if we throw you first,” Lyla sing-songs, staring out at the road.

Ten laughs behind me, and I shake my head, not really amused. The thing about being a leader is that someone’s always trying to take your job. I was joking with my comment. I don’t think she was.

Lyla and Ten—a.k.a. Theodore Edward Neilson—are, for all intents and purposes, my friends. We’ve known each other throughout middle school and high school, Lyla and I cheer together, and they’re like my suit of armor.

Yeah, they can be uncomfortable, they make too much noise, and they don’t always feel good, but I need them. You don’t want to be alone in high school, and if you have friends—good ones or not—you have a little power.

High school is like prison in that way. You can’t make it on your own.

“I’ve got Chucks on the floor back there,” Lyla tells Ten. “Get them for her, would you?”

He dips down, rustling through what is probably a mountain of crap on the floor of the 90’s BMW Lyla’s mom passed down to her.

Ten drops one shoe over the seat and then hands me the other one as soon as he finds it.

“Thanks.” I take the shoes, slip off my sandals, and begin putting them on.

I’m grateful for the shoes. The Cove will be filthy and wet.

“I wish I’d known sooner,” I say, thinking out loud. “I would’ve brought my camera.”

“Who wants to take pictures?” Lyla shoots back. “Go find some dark little Tilt-a-Whirl car when we get there and show Trey what it means to be a man.”

I lean back in my seat, casting a knowing smile. “I think plenty of girls have already done that.”

Trey Burrowes isn’t my boyfriend, but he definitely wants the perks. I’ve been keeping him at arm’s length for months.

About to graduate like us, Trey has it all. Friends, popularity, the world bowing at his precious feet... But unlike me, he loves it. It defines him.

He’s an arrogant mouth-breather with a marshmallow for a brain and an ego as big as his man-boobs. Oh, excuse me. They’re called pecs.

I close my eyes for a second and breathe out. Misha, where the hell are you? He’s the only one I can vent to.

“Well,” Lyla speaks slowly, staring out the window. “He hasn’t had you, and that’s what he wants. But he’s only going to chase for so long, Ryen. It won’t take him long to move onto someone else.”

Is that a warning? I peer at her out of the corner of my eye, feeling my heart start to race.

What are you going to do, Lyla? Sweep in and take him from under me if I don’t put out? Delight in my loss when he gets tired of waiting and screws someone else? Is he doing someone else right now? Maybe you?

I fold my arms over my chest. “Don’t be concerned about me,” I say, toying right back. “When I’m ready, he’ll come running. No matter whom he’s killing time with.”

Ten laughs quietly from the backseat, always in my corner and having no idea I’m talking about Lyla.

Not that I care if Trey comes running or not. But she’s trying to bait me, and she knows better.

Lyla and I are both brats, but we’re very different. She craves attention from men, and she’ll almost always give them what they want, confusing shallow affection for real feelings. Sure, she’s dating Trey’s friend, J.D., but it wouldn’t surprise me to see her go after Trey, too.

Winning a guy makes her feel above us all. They have girlfriends, but they want her. It makes her feel powerful.

Until she realizes they want anyone, and then she’s right back where she started.

Me, on the other hand? I’m weak. I just want to get through the day as easily as possible. No matter who I step on to do it. Something I learned not long after that picture of me sitting alone on that bench on Movie Night was taken.

Now I’m not alone anymore, but am I happier? The jury’s still out on that.

Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know, all you did suffer is what you did sow.

I smile small at Misha’s lyrics. He sent them to me in a letter once to see what I thought, and they make a lot of sense. I asked for this, didn’t I?

“I hate this road,” Ten pipes up. His voice is filled with discomfort, and I blink, leaving my thoughts.

I turn my head out the window to see what he’s talking about.

The headlights of Lyla’s car burn a hole in the night as the light breeze makes the leaves on the trees flutter, showing the only sign of life out on this tunnel-like highway. Dark, empty, and silent.

We’re on Old Pointe Road between Thunder Bay and Falcon’s Well.

I turn my head over my shoulder, speaking to Ten. “People die everywhere.”

“But not so young,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Poor kid.”

A few months ago, a jogger named Anastasia Grayson, who was only a year younger than us, was found dead on the side of this very road. She had a heart attack, although I’m not sure why. Like Ten said, it’s unusual for someone so young to die like that.