Punk 57
Page 61
I didn’t see Masen all weekend. Saturday came and went. My friends and I spent all day on the football field, orientating the incoming freshman cheerleaders for the next school year, and Sunday I was locked in my room, playing music, doing homework, and writing Misha.
Three letters.
Two of them were just full of boring, stupid crap, and the third—the one about Masen—I crumpled up and threw away. I’m not sure why. I don’t even know why I wrote it in the first place.
Walking down the hallway at school Monday morning, I stop at my locker and start to key in the combination, but I see black writing on the front, and I stop.
Anything to not need you,
Anything to not fall for you,
Anything to look at a girl who’s not you,
But baby, there’s nothing but you.
I smile. Masen.
At least I hope he’s the culprit. My cheeks warm, hating how happy that just made me. Why does it feel so good to know he was thinking about me this weekend when he snuck in to write it?
I try to force away the grin, but it pulls at me still as I open my locker and stuff in my bag, taking out what I need for the morning.
I walk to Art and enter the room, immediately shooting my eyes over to his seat and relieved to see him sitting there. I don’t know why, but I’m afraid any moment could be the last I see him.
He talks to Manny seated next to him, and as usual, he either doesn’t notice me or acts like he doesn’t.
I walk up to my table and turn to set my materials down, but someone bumps into me, and I lurch forward.
“Sorry,” a deep voice says, and something is shoved into my hand.
I straighten and turn my head, seeing Masen brush past me and head to the front of the room, smirking back at me as he tosses his gum into the trash can.
I curl my fingers around the small piece of paper and sit down, acting like nothing happened. He returns and takes his seat again, resuming his conversation with Manny.
I hold the paper in my lap and look down, unfolding it and reading it.
I can’t wait to kiss you.
Tingles spread underneath my skin, and I stuff the paper into my pocket, trying to appear like romantic crap like that doesn’t do it for me. Nope. Not at all.
And I totally didn’t replay the drive-in in my head a thousand times this weekend, remembering how awesome his kisses really are.
But then I look up and see Trey walking into the classroom.
My stomach sinks. I was looking forward to having Masen close, but Trey’s the rain on the parade again. I should just cut him loose.
“I think you really like art,” I say as he pulls out the chair next to me. “People will start talking.”
“They’ll forgive me when they find out I only sit here to look down your shirt.” He rests a hand on my chair behind me and lets his eyes fall to my loose T-shirt. He can’t see down the top, but a sliver of my belly is showing at the bottom, right above my tight jeans. “You’re a nice view.”
“Yeah, okay—”
But I stop, hearing a scratching sound. I turn my head, seeing Masen rotate a protractor in one hand, the sharp needle digging into the wooden table and slowly slicing a circle as he grinds it. I dart my eyes up to his face, seeing that he’s focused ahead, but when I look back down, I notice the black finish of the table is now marred, revealing the tan wood underneath.
I feel a smile pull at my lips. He’s not happy.
Good. If he wants me to find a new prom date, then he can man up and ask me.
“Well, then,” I continue, pushing the envelope and looking to Trey but talking loud enough for Masen to hear. “You should see my prom dress. You’re going to love it.”
“Can’t wait.” He grins back.
I open my sketch book and continue working on my project while Ms. Till starts drifting around the room to check on students and how they’re coming along.
“Hey, Manny.” I hear Trey call in a whisper. “You won’t have your guard dog in P.E. today.”
I hood my eyes, agitated. Manny remains still, shrinking almost entirely from view on Masen’s other side.
“You see, Laurent?” Trey calls over my head to Masen. “You can’t watch him all the time.”
I continue hearing the scratching of the protractor and look up, scanning the room. Till needs to get Trey out of here. Masen attacking him won’t go unpunished if it happens again.
“When you sucker punch someone, that shit doesn’t go un-checked,” Trey threatens, “so don’t turn your back, either. I won’t be alone next time.”
“Jesus, I’m bored,” I mumble at Trey. “Go to Chemistry, would you?”
He arches a brow.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” I say, pushing him to take the hint. “I have to work now.”
He snorts like he’s wondering what possible “work” I could have to do in Art. He finally rolls his eyes and gives me a peck on the cheek, getting up and walking out of the classroom.
I reach down, pretending to get something out of my bag as I whisper to Masen. “Tell me you’re jealous.”
I say the same words to him as he said to me at the drive-in. I don’t want to go to prom with Trey. I don’t want to even talk to Trey.
But Masen has given me nothing, and I’m not putting my life on hold in the meantime.
“Tell me I’m yours,” I say.
He lets the protractor fall to the table and looks down, keeping silent.
My jaw aches, and I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I feel like you’re going to disappear any minute. Like you’re not really real.”
Three letters.
Two of them were just full of boring, stupid crap, and the third—the one about Masen—I crumpled up and threw away. I’m not sure why. I don’t even know why I wrote it in the first place.
Walking down the hallway at school Monday morning, I stop at my locker and start to key in the combination, but I see black writing on the front, and I stop.
Anything to not need you,
Anything to not fall for you,
Anything to look at a girl who’s not you,
But baby, there’s nothing but you.
I smile. Masen.
At least I hope he’s the culprit. My cheeks warm, hating how happy that just made me. Why does it feel so good to know he was thinking about me this weekend when he snuck in to write it?
I try to force away the grin, but it pulls at me still as I open my locker and stuff in my bag, taking out what I need for the morning.
I walk to Art and enter the room, immediately shooting my eyes over to his seat and relieved to see him sitting there. I don’t know why, but I’m afraid any moment could be the last I see him.
He talks to Manny seated next to him, and as usual, he either doesn’t notice me or acts like he doesn’t.
I walk up to my table and turn to set my materials down, but someone bumps into me, and I lurch forward.
“Sorry,” a deep voice says, and something is shoved into my hand.
I straighten and turn my head, seeing Masen brush past me and head to the front of the room, smirking back at me as he tosses his gum into the trash can.
I curl my fingers around the small piece of paper and sit down, acting like nothing happened. He returns and takes his seat again, resuming his conversation with Manny.
I hold the paper in my lap and look down, unfolding it and reading it.
I can’t wait to kiss you.
Tingles spread underneath my skin, and I stuff the paper into my pocket, trying to appear like romantic crap like that doesn’t do it for me. Nope. Not at all.
And I totally didn’t replay the drive-in in my head a thousand times this weekend, remembering how awesome his kisses really are.
But then I look up and see Trey walking into the classroom.
My stomach sinks. I was looking forward to having Masen close, but Trey’s the rain on the parade again. I should just cut him loose.
“I think you really like art,” I say as he pulls out the chair next to me. “People will start talking.”
“They’ll forgive me when they find out I only sit here to look down your shirt.” He rests a hand on my chair behind me and lets his eyes fall to my loose T-shirt. He can’t see down the top, but a sliver of my belly is showing at the bottom, right above my tight jeans. “You’re a nice view.”
“Yeah, okay—”
But I stop, hearing a scratching sound. I turn my head, seeing Masen rotate a protractor in one hand, the sharp needle digging into the wooden table and slowly slicing a circle as he grinds it. I dart my eyes up to his face, seeing that he’s focused ahead, but when I look back down, I notice the black finish of the table is now marred, revealing the tan wood underneath.
I feel a smile pull at my lips. He’s not happy.
Good. If he wants me to find a new prom date, then he can man up and ask me.
“Well, then,” I continue, pushing the envelope and looking to Trey but talking loud enough for Masen to hear. “You should see my prom dress. You’re going to love it.”
“Can’t wait.” He grins back.
I open my sketch book and continue working on my project while Ms. Till starts drifting around the room to check on students and how they’re coming along.
“Hey, Manny.” I hear Trey call in a whisper. “You won’t have your guard dog in P.E. today.”
I hood my eyes, agitated. Manny remains still, shrinking almost entirely from view on Masen’s other side.
“You see, Laurent?” Trey calls over my head to Masen. “You can’t watch him all the time.”
I continue hearing the scratching of the protractor and look up, scanning the room. Till needs to get Trey out of here. Masen attacking him won’t go unpunished if it happens again.
“When you sucker punch someone, that shit doesn’t go un-checked,” Trey threatens, “so don’t turn your back, either. I won’t be alone next time.”
“Jesus, I’m bored,” I mumble at Trey. “Go to Chemistry, would you?”
He arches a brow.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” I say, pushing him to take the hint. “I have to work now.”
He snorts like he’s wondering what possible “work” I could have to do in Art. He finally rolls his eyes and gives me a peck on the cheek, getting up and walking out of the classroom.
I reach down, pretending to get something out of my bag as I whisper to Masen. “Tell me you’re jealous.”
I say the same words to him as he said to me at the drive-in. I don’t want to go to prom with Trey. I don’t want to even talk to Trey.
But Masen has given me nothing, and I’m not putting my life on hold in the meantime.
“Tell me I’m yours,” I say.
He lets the protractor fall to the table and looks down, keeping silent.
My jaw aches, and I feel tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I feel like you’re going to disappear any minute. Like you’re not really real.”
