I pick up the small duffel and hear the clank of a few cans inside. Well, I guess it’s better than it was. I don’t want to alert my family when I take it downstairs, so I’ve wrapped the cans in some clothes, hoping to drown out the sound.
Tonight is my final little foray, and Misha is helping. Only this time, I have no guilt about it. We’re rebels with a reason.
Okay, a little reason, at least.
Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I grab the bag and hear the doorbell ring, smiling. He’s here.
Leaving my room, I lift the hem of my dress as I step down the stairs. My mom and sister are camped out in the living room, huddled around a bowl of popcorn and scary movies tonight, but really, they’re just waiting to see Misha again.
When I brought him home last week, my mom immediately liked him. A lot. Especially with our history. She knows how much Misha means to me, and to finally meet him was incredible.
My sister, I think, was just aggravated. Oh, look. He didn’t ditch me. He likes me. He loves me. And he’s hot.
But she’s been on my case less the last week, and I’ve tried to make an effort with her. After all, my relationship with my sister is as much my fault as it is hers. She may have been a brat as a kid, hating that she always had to hold my hand, so I wasn’t alone, but as we grew up, I was the one who pulled away. I’m trying to watch my mouth now and not build a wall every time she enters my space. It’ll take some time, but I think we’ll get there.
She even did my hair for me tonight.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, seeing my mom already heading through the foyer. I set the bag down and stand back up just as she opens the door.
Misha stands there, tall and dressed in a black suit, white shirt, with a black tie. Everything fits him perfectly, and he even has his tie tightened. His hair is styled, and the only thing that looks the same is the silver lip ring. His collar even covers the bit of ink that trails up his neck.
I love how he normally looks and dresses, but there’s something about him in a suit. He looks so grown up. And really hot.
And I appreciate the effort he puts forth to impress my mom. When I brought him home the first time, he grabbed a hoodie out of the truck and put it on before we entered the house, pulling down the sleeves to cover up his ink. He was worried my mom would judge him before she knew him.
But that changed when she showed him the little Kanji tattoo she had on her shoulder from college. Back when Kanji was the rage. He relaxed a little.
His eyes lock with mine and then fall down my dress, a sleeveless, red, floor-length gown with a high neck and jeweled and pearled spaghetti straps across my bare back. My sister did my make-up, too, and my mom played
music and made chocolate-covered strawberries while we all had fun getting me ready. Originally the plan was to go with Lyla and the girls to the salon, but today was perfect. I’m glad I spent it with my family.
I hold up my hands, posing and teasing, “So do I look cute?”
He steps in and walks up to me, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “That’s not the word I would use,” he whispers.
“You both look great,” my mom chimes in.
“You don’t match,” my sister retorts, and I look up to see her entering the foyer.
She’s dressed in her skimpy sleep shorts, probably for Misha’s benefit, and I fantasize about putting vinegar in her mouthwash.
Match? Like his tie and my dress?
But Misha looks at her and places his hand on his heart, feigning sincerity. “We match in here.”
I snort, breaking into quiet laughter.
My sister rolls her eyes, and my mom shakes her head, smiling. “Alright, let’s go,” I say.
I lean down to take the bag, which my mom thinks contains a change of clothes for the parties we’re not going to later.
But she shouts, “Pictures!” And I stop.
Letting out a small sigh, I step down the last stair, and he turns me around, putting my back to his chest.
“Traditional cheesy prom pose,” he explains. “Oh, well, then. If we must.”
My sister folds her arms over her chest, looking discontented as she watches my mom snap shots of us. Of course, I want pictures. I’m not a party pooper. But I have that first picture of us at the scavenger hunt, and I
feel like Misha’s just doing me a favor, coming along with the boys and me. I don’t want to put him on the spot.
But surprisingly, he seems to enjoy this. Turning me around, he wraps his arms around me and looks into my eyes, my mom taking a couple of quick pics.
My heart is already thumping hard, and I stare at his mouth, feeling my body warm up. I’d really just rather be alone with him tonight.
“Ugh, get a room,” Carson whines and turns around, heading back into the living room.
I continue to stare at Misha.
“Ryen, be home by two,” Mom says.
“It’s prom,” I point out. “It’s kind of an all-night thing.” “Two,” she repeats, looking between us, her warning clear. But I argue anyway. “Seven.”
“Three.”
“Three, and Misha can come back for breakfast in the morning,” I press. She nods easily. “Fine. But beignets. Not jalapeno bagels.”
“I know.”
I take the bag gingerly, careful not to make the cans bang into each other, and whisper to Misha as I head past him, “Hopefully you’ll be here extra early, because I’m not going to let you leave.”
He laughs quietly and opens the door, leading me out. He probably doesn’t want to risk getting on my mother’s bad side now that they’ve met, but he knows he won’t be able to say no to me.
We walk down the steps, and he takes the bag from me as I spot the limo sitting at the curb. Walking over, I stop and let him open the door.
“Hey!” voices drift out.
I see J.D., Ten, and Manny all sitting inside, snacking and drinking sodas, but if I know Ten, there’s alcohol going on somewhere in here.
“Hey, why didn’t you guys come in?” I ask as I climb inside.
“A prom picture with four guys?” J.D. teases. “Think of what Lyla would Facebook about that.”
Yeah, right.
But then the car door closes, and I dart my eyes over to see Misha leaning down and peeking in the open window.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I’ll see you at prom.” What?
He starts to walk away, and I stick my head out of the window. “Misha!”
He turns around, walking backward, and I notice his truck behind him. He must’ve driven here and the guys pulled up after. “Don’t worry,” he calls, “and have fun. I’ll be there.”
I stare after him, completely confused. He’s taking the bag with him, too. He’s not going to do anything without me, is he?
Dammit.
I sit back in my seat, frowning. Now I don’t get to walk into prom with four men.
I feel the limo start moving, and I notice the inside is also silent.
Looking up, I see Manny, Ten, and J.D. all staring at me.
And then J.D. speaks up. “Who’s Misha?”
The Baxter Hotel is decked out when we arrive. White lights glow in the trees and beautiful, turn-of-the-century lanterns flicker with small flames,
leading us into the ballroom. The fast music vibrates out into the lobby, and I can already smell the food.
We sent the limo back, hoping Misha will have his transportation when he gets here, but as we enter the prom, I still don’t see him.
The room is exquisitely decorated in black and green—our school colors—with balloons, candles, and white linen table cloths. I look up to the stage, where the band is playing a cover.
“Do you see him?” I yell into Ten’s ear.
He winces, turning away from his conversation with Manny to answer me. “I haven’t looked for him.”
Okay. Relax. We just got here.
But things have finally calmed down between Misha and me, and we’re having fun. I just don’t want something dumb to screw it up.
I came clean to the guys in the car, figuring there was no harm anymore in telling them Masen’s real name. Misha said he wasn’t coming back to school, and I have real friends again. I feel awkward about lying.
“Do you want something to drink?” Ten asks, indicating his breast pocket.
I wave him off.
“Wanna dance?” J.D. asks at my other side. I gaze around again, looking for Misha.
“Yeah,” I finally answer. Why not? He told me to have fun.
J.D. leads me out onto the dance floor while Ten and Manny sit down at a table. I glance back at them, seeing Manny look around nervously like the other shoe is about to drop. But then…Ten reaches over and grabs him by the tie, pulling him in closer, so he can straighten it.
I almost laugh. Manny looks taken aback, but a look passes between them, and I’m kind of curious.
Nah. Ten would never date a goth.
J.D. and I join everyone else on the dance floor, moving to the music as others laugh and talk. The energy and atmosphere is incredible. It’s dark and crowded, and it feels like what Misha talked about in one of his letters. About realizing you’re one of many and not feeling so alone.
I almost feel unseen—not on display—and I kind of like it. The song ends, and I fall into J.D., breathing hard and laughing. The fog machine and heat of so many crowded around is weighing on me, and I reach into my wrist purse and pull out my inhaler. I look around, hesitant. I usually go in the bathroom.
Screw it. Taking a puff, I see J.D. do a double take, but he only looks surprised as I take another one and try to inhale.
“You okay?”
I nod, giving him a thumbs up. “I’m fine.”
I slip the inhaler back into my purse and let him come in close. He places his hands on my waist as we slow dance.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” someone says.
I turn around and lock eyes with Lyla and Katelyn, who are glaring as everyone dances around us.
Lyla’s arms are folded over her hot pink dress. “It’s almost too precious for words,” she muses.
Katelyn smirks behind her, and I drop my head forward, faking a snore. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I pop my head up, looking at J.D. “I fell asleep. What happened?”
He chuckles.
In all honesty, though, I deserve Lyla’s animosity. I wasn’t a good friend. But with her, I’m not sure anyone can be.
I notice Trey lumbering toward her from behind and watch as he falls on her, draping his arms over her. His eyes are hooded, and he can barely stand.
“Hey, how goes it?” he slurs, gesturing between J.D. and me. “You, too, huh? You skip around pretty fast, girl. I like it.”
Oh, please. I turn away from him but not before I see Lyla trying to shrug him off.
“Come on,” he calls behind me, “friends share, J.D. You take mine for a spin, and I’ll take yours.”
Trey grabs my arm, but J.D. knocks him off. “Stay away from her.” Trey comes in again, but I steel every muscle inside me. “Enough!” But just then, a voice rings out, and I stop.
“Thanks for letting us intrude, everyone,” Misha says, and I blink, realizing the music has stopped.
Tearing my eyes away from Trey, I look up on stage and see Misha standing at the microphone. He’s still wearing his suit, but he has a guitar draped in front of him, and we meet each other’s eyes as a small smile dances in his.
I take a step, drawn in.
“We’re Cipher Core, and this is dedicated to the cheerleader,” he says.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I notice his band mates on stage, the same guys with him in the YouTube video I saw.
“Hey, it’s Masen,” J.D. says, mumbling. “I mean, Misha.”
The drums count off, the beat starts, and the guitars lead in, creating a fast and hard but soulful tune. Misha’s voice drifts in slow and haunting but quickly picks up pace.
Anything goes when everyone knows
Where do you hide when their highs are your lows? So much, so hard, so long, so tired,
Let them eat until you’re ground into nothing.
Don’t you worry your glossy little lips. What they savor ‘ventually loses it’s flavor. I wanna lick, while you still taste like you.
Bookmark it, says the cheerleader
I promise we’ll come back to this spot.
I have shit to do first. You won’t wait a lot.
I can’t make her stay, and I can’t watch her go.
I’ll keep her hellfire heart,
And bookmark it ‘fore it goes cold.
Fifty-seven times I didn’t call Fifty-seven letters I didn’t send,
Fifty-seven stitches to breathe again, and then I fucking pretend.
Fifty-seven days to not need you Fifty-seven times to give up on you Fifty-seven steps away from you, Fifty-seven nights of nothing but you.
His eyes are closed, and his face is so beautiful. Everything inside me is crumbling, because it’s the most perfect song I’ve ever heard, and I want
him to keep going.
When did he write that? When we were fighting? Before we met?
A chaperone walks on stage after the song ends and cocks her head disapprovingly at the band. They smile and take off their instruments, quickly getting out of there, because while they may have had permission to perform a song, they probably didn’t have permission to say a few of the words that were in those lyrics.
I laugh as Dane takes a dramatic bow and the crowd cheers. I don’t even know what just happened. Were people dancing? Where’s Trey and Lyla? I don’t know, and I don’t care.
Misha hands off his guitar to one of the guys, and I inch forward through the crowd, waiting for him to come to me. He hops down off the stage as the other band takes over again and starts playing.
He comes up and wraps his arms around me under my ass and lifts me up. I laugh even though tears wet my face.
I touch his cheek, looking down at him. “I didn’t want to cry.”
“A lot of your words are in those lyrics,” he tells me. “We do more than a few things really well together, you know?”
“Good and bad.”
He stretches his neck up, brushing my lips. “And I want it all.”
I kiss him, everyone else forgotten. So that was 57. He’d sent me pieces of the song in the past year, but I’d never heard the whole thing.
“I love you,” he whispers. “And I’m ready to leave as soon as you are, so keep me posted.”
“I’m ready.”
He smiles and sets me down. “Let’s go have some fun.”
He takes my hand, and we walk through the crowd of dancers, running into J.D. as we pass the food tables.
“Where are you guys going?” he asks. I glance at Misha, and he shrugs.
There’s a girl whose name I don’t know at J.D.’s side. I don’t want to take him away from her or the after parties, but…
“Can you disappear with us for an hour?”
He thinks about it and sets his plate down. “I’m in.” “Remember you said that,” I warn.
He whispers something to the girl and jogs after us while Misha knocks on Ten and Manny’s table. “Let’s go.”
We all pile into Misha’s truck, and I see my duffel sitting on the passenger side floor as I climb in.
“So where are we going?” Ten asks as Misha starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.
“To the school.”
I pull on my seat belt and put the bag in my lap, unzipping it. “Why?”
I shoot a look to Misha, everything in his expression telling me to go ahead.
I pull out a can of the washable spray paint. “Because…it’s nearly the end of the year, and I have a few more things to say.”
I hold up the can and look behind me, seeing Ten’s eyes damn-near bug out of his head.
“What?” he bursts out.
“You?” J.D. looks at me, shocked.
I meet Manny’s eyes, and I can see the wheels in his head turning. Maybe he realizes it was me who wrote the message on his locker that first time:
You’re not alone. It gets better.
You are important, and you can’t be replaced.
Hang on.
I fill them in on everything. How it started and how I justified it, but I also tell them what I still need to do tonight. One last time to make it count.
And since they all will have something to say about the subject, I thought they might want a hand in it. Especially since Ten already indicated he’d like a piece of the action, and J.D. has already participated once.
“So are you in?” I ask them. “Hell, yeah,” J.D. replies.
I look at Manny, who remains silent. “You don’t have to.”
I’m not asking any of them to get in trouble. They can wait in the truck, or we can take them back to prom right now.
But he nods, indicating the can in my hand. “I want black.”
Alright. I dig in the bag, doling out cans and reminding them to stick to surfaces that can be easily cleaned. Stay away from screens, posters, artwork, and uniforms or clothes in the locker rooms.
We reach the school and park on the south side, slipping through the gate and running through the lot, up to the pool room.
I hand Misha my can and pluck my key out of my handbag.
“You have a key?” J.D. asks, surprised. “I can’t believe they never thought of questioning you before.”
Yes, I have a key. Often I’m the last one out of the pool, and this is my job. I’m entrusted to lock up this door.
“I’m Ryen Trevarrow,” I joke. “I’m a bubblehead with barely enough brain cells to breathe.”
Quiet chuckles go off around the group, and I unlock the door, hurrying everyone inside.
“How do you know no one will see it tomorrow and get rid of the paint before Monday?” Misha asks.
It’s Saturday night, so it’s possible.
But…
“Roofers will be here tomorrow to fix the leaks,” I explain. “Teachers are being asked to stay out of the building for safety.” I look around at all of them. “You know what to do?”
“Yep.” “Absolutely.” “Ready.”
Okay, then. “Let’s go.”
Monday morning, Misha and I walk into school, staring ahead as the storm whirls around us.
A big part of me knows we shouldn’t have done it. There are all kinds of ways to handle our problems, after all. Better ways to deal with the issues.
But what Misha said was true. Everyone is ugly, aren’t we? Some wear it and some hide it.
I guess I just got tired of Trey hiding it.
And of everyone allowing him to keep it hidden.
I did a bad, bad thing.
“Oh, my God,” a guy mumbles off to my side, and I look over to see him reading something I’d written Saturday night.
“Hey, did you see this?” a girl gasps, asking her friend as they gape at the opposite wall.
I look down the corridor, seeing several messages written here and there and people fluttering about, taking it all in.
You shouldn’t be caught alone with me. You’ve been asking for this.
-Trey Burrowes
Can you even find your dick anymore, faggot?
-Trey Burrowes
I’m going to fuck her and then fuck her mom. Watch me.
Every corner you turn, every night when you go to sleep, I’ll be there, and I’m going to find out exactly what I’ve been missing.
Doesn’t take long for you little bitches to turn slut once you get a taste for it.
You should’ve seen the train we pulled on this girl last week. She had guys lined up. It was so fucking good.
Head down, ass up, that’s the way we like to fuck.
Trey, Trey, and more Trey.
We keep walking, passing the quotes all four of us wrote on the walls, lockers, and floors Saturday night, turning down another hall and seeing even more.
Not all of them are about Trey, though. Some of them are attributed to Lyla, Katelyn, a couple of Trey’s friends, and even me.
Because of course, saying you’re sorry is easy. Facing the shame is where atonement begins.
One of these nights, I’ll get you in the parking lot, and I’ll spread those pretty legs and fuck you right there on the ground. Would you like that, baby?
-Trey Burrowes
“That’s disgusting,” a junior girl says, wincing.
Another girl takes out a pencil and writes underneath the They all want it message.
No, we don’t, she writes.
The hallways are a flurry of activity, and we tried to keep our posts to the two main corridors, mostly because everyone passes through these hallways when they come into school.
People are captivated, though. Some girls look angry and disgusted.
Some guys are surprised.
“All students please report to the auditorium,” the vice principal’s voice carries over the loudspeaker. “All students please report to the auditorium.”
Ten stops us in the hallway, looking nervous but amused. “Looks like we broke the bank on this one.”
“Yeah.” I offer him a tight smile and watch more students writing under the messages on the wall. “Look at them, though.”
Speak your mind, and you give others permission to do the same.
I turn to Misha, sighing. “You should leave. You don’t need to be here, and she’s going to pull you in if she finds you.”
Since he walked out on Burrowes over a week ago, he hasn’t been back to school. But I think he’s worried about how today would unfold and wanted to be here.
He shakes his head. “I don’t care.”
“Well, the police just arrived,” Ten tells us.
“The police?” I whisper. “I didn’t think what we did was that serious.”
“It’s not about the vandalism,” Ten explains. “It’s about Trey. A bunch of kids—several girls—are in the office spilling everything. I guess the posts got to them.”
“You should probably leave then,” I suggest to Misha.
Just then, Principal Burrowes approaches us, making my heart skip a beat.
“Mr. Laurent? Come with me immediately.” He gives her a long look.
I intervene. “Why?”
“I think he knows why,” Burrowes replies, directing her gaze toward Misha.
He hesitates, and for a moment, I think he’s going to resist like before, but then he takes a step forward.
“No, no, no…” I protest. “He didn’t do anything.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs under his breath.
Burrowes turns to me. “According to the log, you’re listed as the last person, other than the janitor, to sign out and leave the school Friday evening,” she says. “That’s not unusual since you stay late for swim lessons, but then I remembered you have a key. And considering the company you’ve been keeping…” She glances at Misha. “Did you give him a key?”
“No!” I respond quickly.
“Yes,” Misha admits.
Oh, Jesus.
“It’s okay,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”
Burrowes leads him away, and I throw up my hands in frustration, feeling helpless. Why didn’t he just walk away like before?
He doesn’t need to protect me, and he knows I won’t let him take the fall.
What is he doing?
