1642734778_punk-57-pdf

mine.
Annoyance pricks at me. Awesome.
He must be skipping Chemistry—which he’s already failed and has to
pass in order to graduate. This is my happy hour, and he’ll ruin it.
I let out a small sigh and force a half-smile. “Hey.”
He pulls out my chair with one hand, relaxing back in his seat and
gazing at me as I sit down. Ms. Till probably won’t even notice he’s not one
of her students.
“So I was thinking…” Trey broaches as everyone chatters around us.
“Are you doing anything May seventh?”
“Hmmm…” I play cavalier as I lean back in my chair, fold my arms
over my chest, and cross my legs. “I seem to remember something going on
that night, but I forget.”
He places his hand on the back of my chair, cocking his head at me.
“Well, do you think you can get a dress?”
“I…” But then I stop, seeing someone enter the room.
A guy walks in, his tall form strolling across the classroom and up the
aisle toward us. I don’t breathe.
He looks familiar. Where do I know him from?
He carries nothing—no backpack, books, or even a pencil—and takes a
seat at the empty table across the aisle from mine.
I glance around for Ms. Till, wondering what’s going on. Whoever he is,
he isn’t in this class, but he just walked in as if he’s always been here.
Is he new?
I steal a glance to my left, studying him. He relaxes in his chair, one
hand resting on the table, and his eyes focused ahead of him. Black stains
coat the outside of his hand, from his wrist to the top of his pinky, like mine