1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“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.