1642734778_punk-57-pdf

The floor is flooded with our classmates, crowded into the living room
and trailing up the stairs, and I look beyond, out onto the patio, and see the
pool and deck packed, as well. People are dancing and drinking, and music
blares from speakers set up around the room.
Lots of distraction.
I wear my bikini under my jean shorts and shirt, even though I’m not
really planning on getting in the pool. But Ten said he might, and I’m not
leaving his side, so...
I’m trying not to think about Trey being a piece of shit pervert or about
Lyla and how she would be thrilled to see me fall off my pedestal tonight. If
I stay with Ten, maybe I’ll have a drink, dance and laugh, and get sedated
long enough to forget the last few weeks for just five damn minutes. I need
this. I need to do something to feel normal again.
“I doubt he’s going to make it to prom, girl,” Ten tells me. “If his
parents haven’t taken it away already, they will after this.”
“I’m not worried.” I don’t even know if I’m going anymore, and I’m
definitely not going with Trey.
We trail outside and hook ourselves up with a couple of beers from the
keg, but when Ten lifts a bottle of tequila, I push it back down.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Why?”
“I’m driving,” I remind him. “You go for it. I’ll stick with a beer.”
He shrugs and pours a dram into the little plastic cup. I wince, smelling
the pungent odor. I’ve done tequila before, but that isn’t chilled. How can
he do that?
He licks the salt off his hand, tips the shot back, and gives a little
grimace before sticking a lemon wedge in his mouth.