1642734778_punk-57-pdf

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