1642734778_punk-57-pdf

But something to my left pulls at me, and I glance at the new kid, who’s
still focused ahead, but his brow is hard and tense now as if he’s angry.
“No, seriously,” Trey continues, and I reluctantly turn back as he
addresses me again. “Prom. I’ll pick you up at six. Limo, dinner, we’ll put
in an appearance at the dance… You’re mine all night.”
I nod, barely listening.
“Okay, let’s go ahead and get started,” Ms. Till announces, coming out
of the closet and setting a caddy of art supplies on her table.
She pulls down her screen, turns off the lights, and I glance to my left
again, seeing the new kid just sitting there, scowling ahead. Does he have
an admittance slip? A class schedule? Is he even going to introduce himself
to the teacher? I’m starting to wonder if he’s even real, and I’m halftempted
to reach out and poke him. Am I the only one who noticed him
walk in the room?
Ms. Till begins going through some examples of straight line drawing
while I notice Trey tear a piece of paper from my notebook.
“Manny?” he whispers, balling up a piece of the paper and tossing the
pea-sized wad at Manny’s head. “Hey, Manny? The Emo look is over, man.
Or does your boyfriend like it?”
Trey and his friend chuckle quietly, but Manny is a statue.
Trey balls up another paper, and now my guilt—heavier than before—
creeps in.
“Hey, man.” Trey flings the paper ball at Manny. It hits his hair before
falling to the floor. “I like your eyeliner. How ‘bout letting my girl here
borrow it?”
A movement to my right catches my eye, and I see the new kid’s hand
—resting on the table—curl into a fist.