1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“I’m picky,” Ryen retorts, and I quickly turn my eyes on her again, her
flippant response goading me.
She cocks her head defiantly, staring me full on in the eyes.
So does that mean I’m not worthy? Well, well… I hide my smile.
“Lyla!” someone nearby yells. “Oh, my God, come here!”
Ryen’s friend turns her head to a group of people to her left and laughs
at whatever they’re doing. She must be Lyla then.
She turns back to me. “I’ll be right back.” Like I care. “Just please kiss
her. She needs it.” And then she notices Ryen shoot her a glare and turns
back to me, clarifying, “For her scavenger hunt, I mean.”
She walks away, laughing. I almost expect Ryen to follow her, but she
doesn’t.
It’s just us now.
A cool sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I look at Ryen,
both of us locked in an awkward silence.
Why isn’t she saying anything? She has to know who I am. Of course,
she doesn’t know I formed a band recently, because I wanted to surprise her
with an actual old school demo tape for our graduation in a few months, but
it’s damn near impossible to be invisible these days. Our names and pictures
are on our Facebook page and the rack cards by the entrance. Is she fucking
around with me?
She shifts her stance, and I see her chest rise with a heavy breath, like
she’s waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she lets out a sigh and
looks down at her card. “I also need a picture of eating something Lady &
The Tramp-style with someone.”
I keep my arms crossed and narrow my eyes on her. She’s going to keep
up with this charade?