1642734778_punk-57-pdf

She twists around and takes out the bottle, flinging it toward me. I catch
it and twist off the cap, quickly pulling the scarf out of her hands, too.
“Hey!”
But it’s too late. I dump some of the acetone onto the soft beige fabric
and use it to rub the pen off on the back of my neck.
“Bastard!” she cries out. “That’s cashmere!”
I pull the scarf away from my neck, seeing the black ink now on her
scarf and off my neck. At least most of it, I think.
“Yeah.” I toss the scarf back at her and cap the bottle. “It works great.
Thanks.”
She twists up her face in anguish and holds up the scarf with both
hands, inspecting the damage.
I set the bottle back on her shelf and walk off before we have time to get
into it again. I hear her let out a little growl behind me and slam her locker
shut as I make my way for the front of the school.
I need to stop challenging her, despite the amusement I feel. Engaging
her is just too easy. Why, when I walk into this building, is she the first
thought that comes to my mind and not the real reason I’m here?
If she hadn’t happened upon my spot at the Cove and stolen my shit that
night, I might never have crossed her path here. Maybe we would’ve been
in some of the same classes, while I lurked quietly around, waiting to take
care of business, but I never intended to…
No. That’s not right. I knew better. I kind of knew this would happen,
and I knew I was walking into a temptation. I knew Ryen would be here, I
knew I would see her and hear her, and I knew my attention would be
drawn to her, because despite everything else on my mind, I wouldn’t be
able to contain my curiosity.