Punk 57(26)

Absolutely no one.



The rest of the school day passes mercilessly slow as I brave lunch and every single class, feeling like another shoe is going to drop at any second. But as soon as the final bell rings, I drop off my books at my locker and grab my duffel for cheer and swim, hurrying out of the school and to the side parking lot.

“Ryen?” I hear Lyla yell behind me.

But I just keep going. “I’ll be back!” I call over my shoulder.

She knows we have practice and is probably wondering why I’m leaving the school.

Making my way through the parking lot, seeing students piling into cars and hearing engines fire up, I scan the crowd for the new guy. I finally see him, stepping up to a black truck and not carrying a single thing. No books, no folders, nothing.

As I walk toward him, I notice a couple of guys greeting him while my friend Katelyn approaches him, coyly grazing her hand along the side of his truck and acting all shy and shit.

My hopes are dashed. He’s definitely on peoples’ radar.

I hesitate, watching her hug her books and talk, giggling at something she said, while he stares down at her, calm and cool, looking no friendlier than he did with me.

Why does that please me?

I guess it’s a relief to know that maybe I’m not special. He’s rude to everyone, except the guys who came up to him just a moment ago.

Or maybe I wouldn’t have liked seeing him smile at her and not at me or…

I take in a deep breath, growing impatient. I don’t want her to see me talking to him, but I need that notebook.

I walk over to them, tipping my chin up and nodding once at Katelyn. “I’ll see you at practice.”

She pauses, looking taken aback. I hold the strap of my duffel hanging on my shoulder and stare at her, waiting for her to leave.

She eventually gives a little eye roll and walks off, leaving us alone.

No doubt to tattle to Lyla.

I dig in the pocket of my bag, pulling out the locket and handing it to him.

He takes the necklace, almost gently, and stares at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. He raises his eyes to me, and something gives. For a split-second I see something different. Like he’s…disappointed or something.

“Now give me the book,” I demand.

“Sorry,” he says, holding my eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have it.”

“Don’t piss me off,” I growl in a hushed tone. “I got what you wanted.”

“What I want…” He laughs quietly to himself as if there’s something I don’t understand.

He opens the driver’s side door and climbs into his truck. But before he can close the door, I reach out and grab it.

“We had a deal.”

He nods. “We did. But right now I’d love nothing better than to piss you off.” And he yanks the door out of my hand, slamming it shut.

Starting it up, he steps on the gas, and I run my hand through my hair, despair curling its way through me. But I hesitate only a moment before I drop my bag and race up to him, jumping up on the cab step.

“You *,” I bite out, and he slams on the brakes and glares at me.

I’m probably attracting attention, but I’m not taking any more of his shit.

“Get off the truck.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know who you are or where you come from,” I snarl, “but I don’t get pushed around. In case you haven’t heard.”

He jerks his chin, indicating something behind me as he smiles. “I guess we’ll see.”

I turn and see Lyla and Katelyn sitting on the ledge at the top of the steps, watching us. Great. How am I going to explain this?

“Watch out. You’re being judged,” Masen taunts. “Don’t choke.”

I step down from the cab, and he puts the truck in gear again. But before he can take off, I call out, “You’re living in an abandoned theme park.”

He stops the car again and lifts his chin. I stroll up to his window, feeling a bit of my power return as I give him a small smile.

“I’d only be doing the compassionate thing,” I tell him, “letting a responsible adult know about your homeless situation.”

He stills at my threat, and I offer a sympathetic sigh. “Social services would come in, find out where you come from and if anyone’s looking for you…” I go on, putting my finger on my chin in mock contemplation. “I wonder if Masen Laurent has a criminal record. Maybe that’s why you’re hiding out? You definitely want to stay invisible. I’d bet money on that.”

His scowl is hot, and I can see his jaw flex. Yeah, he might be eighteen and perfectly able to squat wherever he likes, but that doesn’t mean he’s up for any attention, either. Maybe his parents are looking for him. Maybe a foster family.

Maybe the police.

Not many kids transfer schools six weeks before the end of their senior year, after all. He’s running from something.

He shifts the gears again and finally speaks. “I’ll bring it tonight.”

“You’ll bring it now.”

He turns to look at me. “If you have me picked up, you’ll never get it back,” he points out. “I got shit to do. I’ll see you tonight.”





Dear Ryen,