1642734778_punk-57-pdf

My lungs feel heavy, and I search my brain, trying to figure out what
the hell is going on.
Empty? And why just my locker?
I gather up all of my belongings and pack them in my duffel,
completely creeped out that someone was doing this while I was at practice.
The office is closed now, but I’m definitely reporting this in the morning.
Slipping on my black fleece jacket, I head out to the parking lot with
Ten and climb into my car as he hops into his. I immediately lock my doors.
I’ll have to get a new locker tomorrow, too. I can’t carry all this shit
with me every day. Even if there’s only a little over a month left of school.
Goddammit. Who would root around in my stuff? Not everyone likes
me—in fact, Ten is the only person who probably doesn’t have a motive to
piss me off—but no one in particular sticks out. And what if it happens
again?
I quickly drive home and pull into my driveway, parking in the garage
and seeing no other cars home yet. My sister is probably still in class, and
my mother’s car is parked at the airport, waiting for her when she gets back
tomorrow morning.
I stare down at my phone screen, sending a quick reply to her text that
she sent earlier.
I’ll be home late tomorrow. Cheer…swim…, I type.
K. Dinner will be waiting, she replies. Don’t forget to pack extra food
tomorrow.
Yeah, yeah. I stuff my phone in my duffel. A couple nights a week, I
stay late at school for cheer practice and then to teach swim lessons for a