1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“I can handle my boyfriend,” she says.
“And I can handle Trey. Thanks.”
I turn around and open the door, climbing into the Jeep. Lyla rounds the
front of the car and slides into the passenger side, our little tiff still thick in
the air. I wish she’d just go home. Every day is heavier and heavier with
things I want to say to her, because I know she hates me. I want to call her
on it, but I don’t know why. I can barely stand her, either, and there’s just as
much bullshit to call me out on. Masen’s been doing it since he got here.
Lyla and I are both hypocrites.
“Y’all, look at Katelyn,” Ten says, leaning up and gesturing out the
front windshield.
I put my key to ignition and stop, looking up. Katelyn is talking to
Masen again.
J.D. is gone, and she’s standing close to him, smiling and typing
something into a phone. She then hands it to him, and he slips it in his
pocket, looking down at her with all of his attention.
What?
My heart pounds in my chest, and I curl my fingers around the steering
wheel, wanting to take her by the hair and pull her ass away from him.
Really? Why is he looking at her like that? Why did he let her have his
phone?
“Oh, God,” Lyla groans. “What is she doing?”
“She really is as dumb as a box of rocks.” Ten chuckles. “Five years
from now, she’ll have four different baby-daddies. Just watch.”
My pulse rings in my ears as they laugh, but I blink, dropping my eyes.
Rocks.
Dumb. As. A. Box. Of. Rocks.