Punk 57 (24 page)

Closing the door gently, I scan the room, seeing the supply closet. Heading over, I open it and dart inside.

I hear a small gasp.

From right behind me.

Every hair on my arms stand on end, and I turn around, my mouth suddenly dry.

I’m not alone in here.

Reaching up, I grab the chain for the light, but a soft hand takes mine and pulls it down.

“No,” a female voice whispers. “They’ll see the light.”

Ryen?

I blink, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she pulls me back, leading me around the partition of shelves to the other side, by the window. Moonlight streams through, and I see she’s wearing some black shorts and her rash guard. She must’ve been teaching lessons tonight. Her hair hangs loose and kinky from air drying, and she clutches the loop of a black backpack in her hand.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

She stands close, her breathing shaky and nervous. “Nothing.”

“Ryen—”

“Shh!” She grabs my wrists and pulls me down, both of us squatting low as I notice the muffled sound of talking coming from the lab.

“No, I heard a door shut,” one of the guards says.

“This was the only door open,” another says. “You check it out. I’m going to search the cafeteria.”

I hear her shallow breathing as both of us look to the crack under the door, seeing the glow of a flashlight.
Shit.

I look back to Ryen and suddenly drop my eyes, stopping. There’s something on her hands.

I shoot my eyes back up to her and then back down, taking one of her hands and turning it over.

Blue paint.

Or blue…spray paint.

I survey the smudges all over her fingers and palm as realization starts to hit.

Holy shit.

I look up again, locking eyes with her. Well, well, well…

“You just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Fear flashes in her eyes, and she pulls her hand away, her breaths sounding like she’s about to cry.

I smirk, and she shoots a glance to the door and then back to me. “Please don’t say anything,” she begs in a whisper.

Why would I say anything? This is hilarious. Ryen Trevarrow, Queen Good Girl, sneaks into the school at night, breaking more than one law, to anonymously leave messages and air dirty secrets for the student body right under their noses.

Excellent.

I hear the guard’s radio beep and more muffled chatter, and I listen, hearing him talk, his voice moving away from the door.

I take my bag and inch toward the door, listening again.

His voice is farther away now, and I crack the door just a sliver and peek out. If we stay here, we’ll get caught. This isn’t the first time I’ve run from cops, and you don’t choose a hiding place without an out.

“What are you doing?” Ryen asks.

I look out, seeing the beam of his flashlight outside the classroom door as he talks on the radio. I glance across the lab, behind the teacher’s desk, and see the door to another classroom, connected to the lab. Grabbing her hand in mine, I pull her quickly across the room, hearing her suck in a breath as we tread softly and hurry into the next room.

Pulling her through the doorway, I whip around a tall set of file cabinets and back her into the dark corner, squatting down and hiding.

We hear him enter the other room again, a door creaks open and then shuts, and a grumbled “little shit” before he talks to the other guy on the radio again.

I stare at Ryen.

She’s Punk.

Oh, my God.
She’s been sneaking around right under everyone’s noses, carrying on this secret life at night. And then watching everyone’s reactions in the morning as they scurry about, trying to find out which of their own it is. Never suspecting her.

Why would they, I guess? She’s never given the impression she’s any deeper than a teaspoon. The perfect cover.

How long has she been doing this?

“Stop looking at me,” she whispers, her tone finally finding its fight again.

“I’m going to head downstairs,” I hear the guy on the radio say.

“I’ll finish checking here and meet you down there,” replies the other one.

I keep still, our bodies close as I look down at her. “Why do you do this?”

She shoots her eyes up, her parted lips inches from mine. “You can’t tell anyone. No one will understand.”

“Who cares?” I shoot back. “Your friends are losers.”

“So are yours.”

“At least I don’t have to fake anything around them,” I grit out. But then I realize that’s not true. The guys I’ve been hanging out with don’t even know my real name, do they?

I push forward. “Why are you two different people, Ryen?”

“What do you care? You don’t know me.”

“Hey, who’s there?” one of the guards shouts.

Shit! I grab Ryen’s hand and we bolt for the classroom door.

“Hey!” he yells.

Ryen cries out as she struggles to keep up, and we rush into the hallway, turning left.

“Stop!” I hear him say, and I see the glow of his flashlight shining on us.

His radio crackles, and I hear him talking, but we’re already around the corner. Passing one of the exits, I notice it doesn’t have a chain, and I push it open, hearing the alarm go off. But we don’t leave. I pull Ryen the other direction and bolt up the stairs.

“Masen,” she gasps, breathing hard.

We could’ve just run, I guess, but my truck is on the other side of the school, and I don’t know where her Jeep is. We might not make it without being recognized. Hopefully, with the alarm going off, they’ll think we bolted, though.

I pull her into the library and let the door close softly before rushing up the stairs, hearing her struggle behind me. We hurry to the back, hidden behind stacks and rows of books, near the couches and chairs. The library is dark, only the faint moonlight coming in from the windows high above. Our steps are soft, thanks to the carpeting, and I drag her behind a shelf, far, far above and away from the doors in the front.

We’re secluded.

The alarm still goes off, but it’s faint.

She collapses into me. “Masen…”

She breathes fast and hard, only able to take in shallow breaths, and I wrap my arms around her, feeling her go limp.

What the fuck?

Worry floods through me, and I cup her face as she fights for air. Her lids are hooded and she looks like she’s in pain.

“My bag,” she breathes out.

What? And then I widen my eyes, remembering. Oh, fuck. She has asthma. That’s right.

I shoot down to her backpack on the floor and dig in the front pocket, pulling out a red inhaler.

I stand back up, wrapping her in my arms and holding her up. “Here.”

She leans into me, her head resting on my chest as she takes a puff and waits a moment before inhaling another one.

Her chest rises and falls fast, and I lower one arm, wrapping it around her waist as I hold her to me.

Her weak body sinks into me as her breathing starts to slow down and she’s taking in deeper breaths.

Dammit. She tried to tell me as we raced through the school, and I didn’t listen to her.

What would I have done if she’d dropped her bag somewhere, and I couldn’t find her medicine?

I hug her close, feeling, for the first time, how small she is in my arms. Ryen is always so large around me. Never backing down, her confidence always appearing larger than life.

I hold her head to my chest with the other hand and bury my nose in her hair.

“You’re okay,” I say gently. “I got you.”

“My heart won’t stop pounding,” she says, her fragile voice starting to come around.

“I know.” I smile. “I can feel it.”

The beat of her heart is hitting my chest, and I can feel her body slowly get stable as her breathing calms.

What am I going to do with this girl? Just when I think I have her figured out, she pulls at me a little more.

Just when I think I can’t stand her, and I can leave, never looking back, I turn right around and want to make sure nothing hurts her.

Her arms, hugged close to her body as I hold her, start to drop as she pulls away from me.

She raises her eyes, looking a little embarrassed and not saying anything as she kneels down, grabbing her backpack.

Standing up, she purses her lips and looks around.

The alarm stops, and I have no idea what’s happening out there—if they think we left out the door or what—but she’s not leaving yet.

“You don’t tell anyone about tonight, and I won’t tell anyone you were here, either,” she says. “Got it?”

She turns to leave, but I grab her hand. “I think people would enjoy this version of you.”

“My friends would hate me.”

“They already hate you. Everyone does.”

For a split-second, I see a frown cross her face, but it quickly disappears. She faces me, a light brown eyebrow arched in defiance.

“Why fake it?” I charge. “Why compete with people and play the games?”

She takes a step, trying to leave, but I pull her back. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“This is none of your business!” she whisper-yells, yanking her hand free and scowling at me. “You don’t know me.”

“Does anyone?”

She looks away, her eyes suddenly glistening. After a moment, she speaks, her voice low. “I don’t want to be alone,” she admits. “They may hate me, but they respect me. I can’t be invisible or laughed at or….” She trails off and then continues. “I don’t know why. I just never had the courage to stand apart. I always wanted to fit in.”

“Everyone wants to be accepted, Ryen.” Does she think no one’s ever had those same feelings? “Why do you write on the walls?”

She stands there, staring off and looking like she’s struggling to find words.

“Misha…” she says, trailing off again.

I tense, my heart picking up pace.

But then she shakes her head, letting the thought go. “It doesn’t matter. I just had ways to vent before, a way to be heard, and now I don’t. I just started doing it a couple of months ago.”

A couple of months ago. Shortly after I stopped writing her.

I blink long and hard.

The fake friends, the hovering parent, the worry and stress of wanting to fit in just like most any other person out there… I was her bouncing board.

I was so caught up in my own loss and anger, I never stopped to think how suddenly abandoning her after seven years would hurt her. Not that I’m responsible for her actions, but I am responsible for mine. She relied on me.

“Why are you here?” she asks, turning it around on me.

I look at the duffel bag in my hand, unashamed I needed a shower, but then that answer would lead to more questions. Why am I living at the Cove? Where are my parents?

“Mmmm,” she gloats, a fake smile on her pretty face. “So others have to own up to you, but not the other way around, huh?” She backs away toward the stairs. “My mom is only a phone call away. I’ll get taken straight home with a slap on the wrist. Hope you enjoy your long, hard night in a cold cell,” she taunts and then calls over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Security Guard? Help!”

She spins around, and I reach out and grab her, pulling her back into me. “Shut up!” I growl, clamping a hand over her mouth.

But she immediately slams her elbow into my stomach, trying to get away, and I stumble backward, pulling her with me. She loses her footing, falls into me, and we both tumble to the floor.

I grunt, my back hitting the ground and my arms still around her struggling body. She lies on top of me, her back against my chest.

She squirms, trying to get away, the friction of her ass pressing into my groin. I tense, heat blanketing me.

Fuck.

She pulls my hand away, gritting under her breath. “Let me go.”

“Stop moving then.”

“You don’t get to judge me,” she goes on, turning her face to me, her breath falling on my cheek. “Or jerk me around or make demands. I’m none of your business.”

Her body struggles in my arm, and her ass rubs against me again, making me groan.

But then I hear something.

I take her jaw, forcing her still as I whisper against her ear. “Shhh.”

She suddenly stills, and we both stop breathing as the guards enter the library.

I catch a flash of light through the stacks and hear keys jingle. They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Ryen casts a worried look up to me, and I stare back, holding her gaze.

“What are you going to do?” I whisper low, for only us to hear as I search her eyes. “You gonna turn me in?”

She lies there, breathing in and out but not making a move. My arm around her waist tightens, and I can’t stop myself from moving my thumb over the skin of her jaw.