1642734778_punk-57-pdf

I’m not sure if he’s going to be in school today, but then I feel hands
come around my waist and I break out in a shiver as a whisper hits my ear
from behind.
“Are you sore?” he teases.
I arch an eyebrow and turn around, seeing him smirk down at me. “Are
you kidding?”
“It was fun, though.”
I can’t hold back the smile as my cheeks warm. Yeah, it was.
We walk into the school and head for my locker, and I notice he’s
sticking by my side.
“I’m fine, you know,” I tell him. Yesterday—Trey, Lyla, and the
lunchroom—feels like ages ago. I’m not scared.
“I know.”
“Masen,” someone calls.
I turn around to see Ms. Till, the Art teacher, carrying a pink slip. She
hands it to him, speaking sweetly. “The principal would like to see you in
the office. She wanted me to give you this in first period, but I just spotted
you. You may as well go now.”
He takes the slip, and she pats him on the arm, walking away. Misha
doesn’t read it, merely crumbles it in his fist and tosses it to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “If she can’t get a hold of your parents
about the fights, she could bring in the police. Do you want to be found
out?”
“I think we know how well I stay arrested,” he retorts, a cocky look on
his face.
I roll my eyes. Yeah, okay, Rich Boy.
Pulling out my sketch book, I spot the cashmere scarf still hanging in
the locker, and something hits me. He gave me a new scarf that first week.