Punk 57(97)

But then something smashes down in front of me, my food splatters, and I gasp, instantly stilling as mac and cheese hits my arm and hair.

What the…?

“Whoa!” Howls sound off across the room, followed by laughter, and I know it’s coming from my old table. People around us take notice and start laughing, a few taking out their phones to take a pic.

I sit there, frozen.

I look up, seeing a fat, cheesy noodle dangling from my hair over my forehead, and I lock eyes with Manny as he reaches over and picks up the red apple that had come crashing into my tray. He stares at me, looking surprised, but then his eyes shoot up to the noodle, and he snorts.

“Hey,” I snap. This isn’t funny!

But he’s smiling anyway, shaking with laughter.

I roll my eyes, feeling my stomach tighten into a knot, but I set my drink down and pluck the noodle out of my hair. Grabbing a napkin, I start to clean off my arm where thick cheese is sticking to my skin.

“Hey,” a male voice says.

I look up, seeing J.D. pull out a seat. He grabs the apple away from Manny and flings it across the cafeteria, back to where it came from. I don’t look, but I hear a crash and squeals.

“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him lean back in the seat, relaxing.

He shrugs, taking my Coke and unscrewing the cap. “Well, when your girl screws your best friend, it’s time for a new girl and a new best friend, I guess.”

“We like you more, anyway,” someone else says.

I turn my head to see Ten taking a seat next to Manny. He looks over at the kid. “Hi.”

Manny sits slumped, suddenly appearing frightened to even look at anyone. “Hi,” he mumbles.

J.D. takes a sip of my soda.

“When did you know?” I ask him. I’m sure Misha wouldn’t have told him.

“Slightly before I wrote the message on the lawn, outing her.”

I shoot my eyebrows up, and Ten stares at him, shocked. “That was you?” I shoot out.

Holy shit. If he knew then, how did he just stand by and play dumb around them this whole time?

“I guess I was afraid to stand on my own,” he explains. “Until I saw you doing it five seconds ago.”

“You’re not Punk,” Ten gauges as more of a question than a statement.

J.D. just shakes his head. “Uh, no. It was just that one time.”

I momentarily wonder if I should tell them who Punk is, but no. Wrong time, wrong place, and I’m not sure Punk is done yet. I don’t want to come out of the closet until I’m ready.

I finish cleaning off and open my bag of chips, grateful that everyone in the room has seemed to resume their conversations. Thanks, no doubt, to J.D. and Ten’s arrival.

I guess what I always thought is actually true. There is safety in numbers.

“So I got a limo for prom,” J.D. tells me, looking around at everyone. “Group date?”

Ten nods, but Manny and I are silent. I trust Ten, but I’m not entirely sure about J.D. yet. Everything I’ve noticed from him the past couple of weeks tells me he’s on the up and up, but now I’m paranoid. I don’t want to get suckered into going to prom and whoops…now I’m soaked in animal blood like in Carrie.

“This isn’t a joke, is it?” I ask him. “You’re cool?”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “If Masen’s not there, they’ll have to go through me to get to you.” And then he glances at Manny. “You, too. And believe me. No one likes to go through me.”

I can’t help but smile. He’s a hundred-eighty pounds of future USC football player, and while he’s always been pretty harmless, people know they shouldn’t mess with him.

“Sounds good then. I’d love to.” I turn to Manny. “You?”

“You got a dress?” Ten pipes up, asking him.

Manny frowns, shooting him a dirty look. “Do you?”

Ten smiles, and Manny seems to relax a little.

He doesn’t answer, but I’ll call him later. He doesn’t trust us, and I don’t want to push him right now.

Everyone gets busy eating. J.D. steals food off everyone’s trays, and I take out my phone and go to text Misha. I hope he doesn’t mind getting asked to prom.

But then I think better of it and go to Google to find his Facebook. I’ve read so much about his life, and now I’d like to see it, I think. I’m guessing the last thing he wants to talk about is prom, but I’d like to put it out there sooner rather than later for him to think about at least.

But as I type in Misha Lare Grayson into the search engine and scroll to find what I need, I’m suddenly lost in more information than I can handle.

My stomach sinks, and my heart races.

Oh, my God.





The Cove looms ahead, massive and imposing under the gray clouds. I park next to Misha’s truck and climb out of my Jeep, making my way to the entrance.

Now I know why he stopped writing three months ago.

I should never have let it go as long as I did. It was completely selfish to sit there and wait for him to come around and write me back—assuming his issue was small and insignificant—and that protecting the status quo of our relationship was more important.

Of course he wouldn’t have stopped writing for anything trivial. He’d been committed to me for seven years. Why did I think he’d be so cavalier about dropping me all of a sudden?