Punk 57(100)

“You don’t match,” my sister retorts, and I look up to see her entering the foyer.

She’s dressed in her skimpy sleep shorts, probably for Misha’s benefit, and I fantasize about putting vinegar in her mouthwash.

Match? Like his tie and my dress?

But Misha looks at her and places his hand on his heart, feigning sincerity. “We match in here.”

I snort, breaking into quiet laughter.

My sister rolls her eyes, and my mom shakes her head, smiling.

“Alright, let’s go,” I say.

I lean down to take the bag, which my mom thinks contains a change of clothes for the parties we’re not going to later.

But she shouts, “Pictures!” And I stop.

Letting out a small sigh, I step down the last stair, and he turns me around, putting my back to his chest.

“Traditional cheesy prom pose,” he explains.

“Oh, well, then. If we must.”

My sister folds her arms over her chest, looking discontented as she watches my mom snap shots of us. Of course, I want pictures. I’m not a party pooper. But I have that first picture of us at the scavenger hunt, and I feel like Misha’s just doing me a favor, coming along with the boys and me. I don’t want to put him on the spot.

But surprisingly, he seems to enjoy this. Turning me around, he wraps his arms around me and looks into my eyes, my mom taking a couple of quick pics.

My heart is already thumping hard, and I stare at his mouth, feeling my body warm up. I’d really just rather be alone with him tonight.

“Ugh, get a room,” Carson whines and turns around, heading back into the living room.

I continue to stare at Misha.

“Ryen, be home by two,” Mom says.

“It’s prom,” I point out. “It’s kind of an all-night thing.”

“Two,” she repeats, looking between us, her warning clear.

But I argue anyway. “Seven.”

“Three.”

“Three, and Misha can come back for breakfast in the morning,” I press.

She nods easily. “Fine. But beignets. Not jalapeno bagels.”

“I know.”

I take the bag gingerly, careful not to make the cans bang into each other, and whisper to Misha as I head past him, “Hopefully you’ll be here extra early, because I’m not going to let you leave.”

He laughs quietly and opens the door, leading me out. He probably doesn’t want to risk getting on my mother’s bad side now that they’ve met, but he knows he won’t be able to say no to me.

We walk down the steps, and he takes the bag from me as I spot the limo sitting at the curb. Walking over, I stop and let him open the door.

“Hey!” voices drift out.

I see J.D., Ten, and Manny all sitting inside, snacking and drinking sodas, but if I know Ten, there’s alcohol going on somewhere in here.

“Hey, why didn’t you guys come in?” I ask as I climb inside.

“A prom picture with four guys?” J.D. teases. “Think of what Lyla would Facebook about that.”

Yeah, right.

But then the car door closes, and I dart my eyes over to see Misha leaning down and peeking in the open window.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’ll see you at prom.”

What?

He starts to walk away, and I stick my head out of the window. “Misha!”

He turns around, walking backward, and I notice his truck behind him. He must’ve driven here and the guys pulled up after. “Don’t worry,” he calls, “and have fun. I’ll be there.”

I stare after him, completely confused. He’s taking the bag with him, too. He’s not going to do anything without me, is he?

Dammit.

I sit back in my seat, frowning. Now I don’t get to walk into prom with four men.

I feel the limo start moving, and I notice the inside is also silent. Looking up, I see Manny, Ten, and J.D. all staring at me.

And then J.D. speaks up. “Who’s Misha?”



The Baxter Hotel is decked out when we arrive. White lights glow in the trees and beautiful, turn-of-the-century lanterns flicker with small flames, leading us into the ballroom. The fast music vibrates out into the lobby, and I can already smell the food.

We sent the limo back, hoping Misha will have his transportation when he gets here, but as we enter the prom, I still don’t see him.

The room is exquisitely decorated in black and green—our school colors—with balloons, candles, and white linen table cloths. I look up to the stage, where the band is playing a cover.

“Do you see him?” I yell into Ten’s ear.

He winces, turning away from his conversation with Manny to answer me. “I haven’t looked for him.”

Okay. Relax. We just got here.

But things have finally calmed down between Misha and me, and we’re having fun. I just don’t want something dumb to screw it up.

I came clean to the guys in the car, figuring there was no harm anymore in telling them Masen’s real name. Misha said he wasn’t coming back to school, and I have real friends again. I feel awkward about lying.

“Do you want something to drink?” Ten asks, indicating his breast pocket.

I wave him off.

“Wanna dance?” J.D. asks at my other side.