1642734778_punk-57-pdf

trash can.
I curl my fingers around the small piece of paper and sit down, acting
like nothing happened. He returns and takes his seat again, resuming his
conversation with Manny.
I hold the paper in my lap and look down, unfolding it and reading it.
I can’t wait to kiss you.
Tingles spread underneath my skin, and I stuff the paper into my pocket,
trying to appear like romantic crap like that doesn’t do it for me. Nope. Not
at all.
And I totally didn’t replay the drive-in in my head a thousand times this
weekend, remembering how awesome his kisses really are.
But then I look up and see Trey walking into the classroom.
My stomach sinks. I was looking forward to having Masen close, but
Trey’s the rain on the parade again. I should just cut him loose.
“I think you really like art,” I say as he pulls out the chair next to me.
“People will start talking.”
“They’ll forgive me when they find out I only sit here to look down
your shirt.” He rests a hand on my chair behind me and lets his eyes fall to
my loose T-shirt. He can’t see down the top, but a sliver of my belly is
showing at the bottom, right above my tight jeans. “You’re a nice view.”
“Yeah, okay—”
But I stop, hearing a scratching sound. I turn my head, seeing Masen
rotate a protractor in one hand, the sharp needle digging into the wooden
table and slowly slicing a circle as he grinds it. I dart my eyes up to his face,
seeing that he’s focused ahead, but when I look back down, I notice the
black finish of the table is now marred, revealing the tan wood underneath.