1642734778_punk-57-pdf

I guess I’ll find out.
“I’ve been going over this song you gave me with the guys. We were up
until three last night,” he tells me. “I think we really got something.”
I nod, not really that invested in that right now. My head is in a million
other places. I still have no idea how I’m going to fess up to Ryen.
God, she’s going to kill me.
Dane walks with me as I head through the parking lot for the gate
entrance. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Are you moving back?”
“I’ll be home soon,” I say. “I just have some stuff to clear up here first.”
“Do you need help?”
I jerk my head over my shoulder. “Go grab more boxes if you want.”
He runs back and collects the rest of the boxes I’d taken from my
garage at home, and we walk through the old park.
I didn’t bring much with me when I decided to hide out here, so it won’t
take long to pack my stuff, but I’m not in a hurry.
I don’t really want to leave, but I can’t stay here as Masen Laurent
anymore—a name I picked out of thin air a month ago when I asked my
cousin to help me get my fake driver’s license and forge some school
records. I just kept my same initials.
Once people—two people, in particular—find out I’m Misha Lare, the
jig is up.
And I can’t lie to her anymore. Things were never supposed to get this
far.
I don’t have any friends. Hearing her words and seeing her eyes tonight,
that moment when she broke, I hated myself. What is she going to think
tomorrow when she finds out her best friend stabbed her in the back and
looked her in the eye doing it?