1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“I’ll see you at lunch,” I say, ignoring his question and turning around to
head to Art.
Digging the necklace back out of my pocket as I walk, I flip it over,
studying the aged silver and intricate detail around the large moonstone set
in the middle. Ten is right. It looks like an antique. There are several
scratches, and the metal feels thicker, more solid than your typical Target
jewelry.
What does the necklace mean to Masen Laurent, though? I open the
locket, slowly climbing the stairwell, the people jogging and laughing
around me a distant echo.
But as soon as I pop it open, I dig in my eyebrows, seeing, not pictures
as I expected, but a tiny, folded-up piece of paper.
Taking it out, I unwrap it and turn it over, reading the words.
Close your eyes. There’s nothing to see out here.
I slow to a stop, staring at the note and saying the words to myself
again.
It sounds familiar, like I’ve heard them before. Or said them or
something…
The second bell rings, our one-minute warning, and I fold the paper
back up, stuffing it into the locket and closing it.
Everyone around me hustles up and down the stairs, and I jog to my
class, slipping the necklace back into my jean shorts.
Who does the locket belong to? A family member? A girlfriend? Maybe
he stole it. He’s living at the Cove, after all, and judging by the state of his
hands and jeans, it doesn’t look like a parent is watching over him. He