Punk 57
Page 28
Dane watches as I insert the wrench, applying pressure and feeling which way has more give, before sticking the paper clip into the lock and working the pins, pressing all five of them up until they click. I add pressure to the wrench and then…
Click.
The lock turns, and the door opens.
“Where’d you learn that?” he whispers, sounding surprised.
“YouTube. Stop talking.”
We both dive into the dark office, quickly scanning the area to make sure it’s empty. The desks behind the counter sit vacant, and I shoot my eyes left, seeing Mrs. Burrowes written on a door. I walk over and jiggle the handle, finding it locked as well. Inserting the wrench, I work quickly and feel relief when the handle finally gives way, the door opening wide.
I stare into the office, amazed that this actually worked. I’ve never picked a lock before, until I Googled how this afternoon and practiced on some rusty old doors at the Cove.
“The Principal’s Office.” Dane inches in, filling the doorway with me. “I spent a lot of time in one of these. I think they gave me my diploma just to get rid of me.”
His voice is thick with humor, and I stuff the tools back in my pocket. “Shhh.”
Stepping inside, I immediately go for the cabinets and begin opening drawers, looking for anything even close to resembling what I’m searching for.
I sift through student files, budgets, receipts, teacher records, disciplinary records…
“What are you looking for?”
I open drawer after drawer, dragging my fingers over the files as I quickly scan. It has to be here. Annie told me once she mailed the stuff here.
“Dude, we should get out of here,” Dane urges, sounding nervous.
And then I see it. A thick, brown pocket folder labeled Private with a rubber band wrapped around it.
I grab it, quickly opening it and peeking inside. It’s filled with pink envelopes and a small photo album, and an ache shudders through my chest as I force down the lump in my throat.
Annie.
I close the folder and wrap the rubber band around it again, shutting the drawers and walking out of the office. There are people still in the building, and I don’t want to get caught.
Dane following in my wake as I turn around and push the button, locking and closing the door behind us.
Unfortunately, the double doors in front are locked with keys, so I can’t cover my tracks on those. Hopefully the office staff will just think they forgot to lock them on their way out this afternoon.
Dane looks down at the folder in my hand. “What does this have to do with the notebook?” He holds up Ryen’s diary.
“Nothing.” I walk down the hallway toward the locker rooms at the back of the school, taking the book out of his hand. “Not a damn thing.”
Ryen isn’t why I’m in Falcon’s Well, but I knew I would run into her here. Something I feared.
She doesn’t deserve my attention. Annie’s all that matters. But after months of not giving a shit about anything—my family, friends, or music—having Ryen close is kind of distracting. In an almost pleasant way.
It doesn’t matter, though. I have the file, and as soon as I have what else I came here to collect, I’m gone. I earned enough credits to graduate in January, and I’m not going back home. I’m taking my fake name and my fake I.D., and I’m going to try to forget.
Forget that I was taking selfies with Ryen that night, ignoring my instincts and responsibilities, while my sister was dying alone on a dark, cold road.
We walk into the locker room, knowing that the pool is accessible from it. Passing by the offices and through the locker bay, I see something out of the corner of my eye and catch a glimpse of two bodies in the shower.
I enter the hallway and slow to a stop.. Did I just see…?
I jerk my chin at Dane and point ahead. “There’s a pool through there. Give me a sec.”
He nods lazily and heads out of the locker room. I turn around again and, keeping my body close to the wall, I peer carefully around the corner again.
Amusement pulls at the corners of my mouth. Well, it looks like not everyone in cheer and lacrosse has gone home for the night, after all.
Trey Burrowes, the guy who thinks Ryen is his, stands in the shower, holding her best friend—Lyla, is it?—up against the bathroom wall, both of them naked, wet, and fucking as the showers spray around them.
Classic.
Lyla’s dark hair is up in a wet ponytail, and her arms and legs are wrapped around him, holding on tight while he grips her ass and goes at her, both of them breathing hard and moaning quietly.
This is the guy Ryen wants to take her to prom? She chooses her dates about as well as her friends. I wonder how long they’ve been screwing behind her back.
But hopefully, if he’s fucking this girl, then he might not be getting it from Ryen.
An ounce of pleasure hits me.
I turn around and walk down the hallway again, pushing through the locker door and seeing the impressive, ten-lane indoor pool.
Parents sit on the bleachers, observing and taking pictures, while Dane leans against the wall. I walk over and stand next to him, following his gaze.
Ryen stands in the pool with four students—all kids, probably younger than ten—and moves her arms in big circles as she dips her face in the water.
The students count. “One-two-three-breathe!” they scream, and Ryen twists her head to the side, taking a breath before dipping it back in. She circles her arms again, pretending to push herself through the water, doing three strokes as they count. “One-two-three-breathe!”
Click.
The lock turns, and the door opens.
“Where’d you learn that?” he whispers, sounding surprised.
“YouTube. Stop talking.”
We both dive into the dark office, quickly scanning the area to make sure it’s empty. The desks behind the counter sit vacant, and I shoot my eyes left, seeing Mrs. Burrowes written on a door. I walk over and jiggle the handle, finding it locked as well. Inserting the wrench, I work quickly and feel relief when the handle finally gives way, the door opening wide.
I stare into the office, amazed that this actually worked. I’ve never picked a lock before, until I Googled how this afternoon and practiced on some rusty old doors at the Cove.
“The Principal’s Office.” Dane inches in, filling the doorway with me. “I spent a lot of time in one of these. I think they gave me my diploma just to get rid of me.”
His voice is thick with humor, and I stuff the tools back in my pocket. “Shhh.”
Stepping inside, I immediately go for the cabinets and begin opening drawers, looking for anything even close to resembling what I’m searching for.
I sift through student files, budgets, receipts, teacher records, disciplinary records…
“What are you looking for?”
I open drawer after drawer, dragging my fingers over the files as I quickly scan. It has to be here. Annie told me once she mailed the stuff here.
“Dude, we should get out of here,” Dane urges, sounding nervous.
And then I see it. A thick, brown pocket folder labeled Private with a rubber band wrapped around it.
I grab it, quickly opening it and peeking inside. It’s filled with pink envelopes and a small photo album, and an ache shudders through my chest as I force down the lump in my throat.
Annie.
I close the folder and wrap the rubber band around it again, shutting the drawers and walking out of the office. There are people still in the building, and I don’t want to get caught.
Dane following in my wake as I turn around and push the button, locking and closing the door behind us.
Unfortunately, the double doors in front are locked with keys, so I can’t cover my tracks on those. Hopefully the office staff will just think they forgot to lock them on their way out this afternoon.
Dane looks down at the folder in my hand. “What does this have to do with the notebook?” He holds up Ryen’s diary.
“Nothing.” I walk down the hallway toward the locker rooms at the back of the school, taking the book out of his hand. “Not a damn thing.”
Ryen isn’t why I’m in Falcon’s Well, but I knew I would run into her here. Something I feared.
She doesn’t deserve my attention. Annie’s all that matters. But after months of not giving a shit about anything—my family, friends, or music—having Ryen close is kind of distracting. In an almost pleasant way.
It doesn’t matter, though. I have the file, and as soon as I have what else I came here to collect, I’m gone. I earned enough credits to graduate in January, and I’m not going back home. I’m taking my fake name and my fake I.D., and I’m going to try to forget.
Forget that I was taking selfies with Ryen that night, ignoring my instincts and responsibilities, while my sister was dying alone on a dark, cold road.
We walk into the locker room, knowing that the pool is accessible from it. Passing by the offices and through the locker bay, I see something out of the corner of my eye and catch a glimpse of two bodies in the shower.
I enter the hallway and slow to a stop.. Did I just see…?
I jerk my chin at Dane and point ahead. “There’s a pool through there. Give me a sec.”
He nods lazily and heads out of the locker room. I turn around again and, keeping my body close to the wall, I peer carefully around the corner again.
Amusement pulls at the corners of my mouth. Well, it looks like not everyone in cheer and lacrosse has gone home for the night, after all.
Trey Burrowes, the guy who thinks Ryen is his, stands in the shower, holding her best friend—Lyla, is it?—up against the bathroom wall, both of them naked, wet, and fucking as the showers spray around them.
Classic.
Lyla’s dark hair is up in a wet ponytail, and her arms and legs are wrapped around him, holding on tight while he grips her ass and goes at her, both of them breathing hard and moaning quietly.
This is the guy Ryen wants to take her to prom? She chooses her dates about as well as her friends. I wonder how long they’ve been screwing behind her back.
But hopefully, if he’s fucking this girl, then he might not be getting it from Ryen.
An ounce of pleasure hits me.
I turn around and walk down the hallway again, pushing through the locker door and seeing the impressive, ten-lane indoor pool.
Parents sit on the bleachers, observing and taking pictures, while Dane leans against the wall. I walk over and stand next to him, following his gaze.
Ryen stands in the pool with four students—all kids, probably younger than ten—and moves her arms in big circles as she dips her face in the water.
The students count. “One-two-three-breathe!” they scream, and Ryen twists her head to the side, taking a breath before dipping it back in. She circles her arms again, pretending to push herself through the water, doing three strokes as they count. “One-two-three-breathe!”
