1642734778_punk-57-pdf

I turn and see Lyla, looking a little worse for wear. There’s sweat on her
brow, and her cheeks are flushed. I hear her phone buzzing. “What
happened to your other locker?” she asks.
I raise my eyebrows at her. Is she really going to act like there’s not a
big, flaming slap to her face on the school’s front lawn right now?
Oooookay.
“Someone broke into it,” I answer, turning back to my locker. “Was it
you? After my black Bebe top?”
She tosses me a dirty look. “Like it would fit. I’m softballs, and you’re
baseballs, babe.”
I hold back my eye roll as I stuff what I need in my bag, making sure I
have my water bottle. I cast a quick glance behind me and see that Masen is
gone.
Lyla’s phone keeps buzzing, and I don’t know if it’s Facebook
notifications or J.D. burning her up, but I really don’t care.
Some girls pass by, covering their mouths with their hands, and Lyla
shoots them a scowl. “Bite me, bitches,” she growls. And they look away,
carrying their smirks with them as they walk down the hall.
Manny Cortez comes up behind her and tries to open his locker, but she
turns around, facing both of us. “Well, well, well, maybe it was Manny who
broke into your locker. Did you need some lipstick to go with that
eyeliner?”
I see his expression harden as he keeps his back to her and doesn’t
respond.
“Nah,” I step in, shutting my locker. “Two different color palettes. I’m a
Mountain Sunset. He’s A Smokey Night.”
Lyla laughs but then she stops when we hear a yell.
“Heads up!”