Punk 57

by Penelope Douglas

  A party. I look over my shoulder, seeing Misha plop down in a seat with all of his friends, and I don’t miss the glare he shoots my way.

  “Will there be drinks?” I ask, turning back to my table.

  “Of course. Lots of drinks.” Trey smirks.

  “Well, then. Maybe that’s just what I’m looking for.”

  He smiles, and Ten slaps the bill of my cap, joking around. “Hells, yeah.”

  Ten and I tread over the Burrowes’ lawn, past the driveway and the street that are already packed. Visions of the last time I was here make my heart pick up pace, and I feel a little weird walking into the house.

  Why did Misha need to search this place the other night? Why is he in Falcon’s Well? I was so consumed with the revelation this weekend and dealing with my bullshit meltdowns that I didn’t actually think about why he’s here. I was too busy feeling betrayed.

  What had he said? Something about coming here for something and then we were in each other’s faces constantly, and things just got out of hand, one thing led to another, blah, blah, blah…

  Yeah. Ten and I took his things at the Cove, and I was the one to go up and harass him in the lunchroom that first day, but he was still here in the first place. Knowing I was here, too. And hiding in plain sight. The second I kissed him in the truck at the car wash, he should’ve come clean.

  “Shit, look at all the people here.” Ten laughs as we walk in.

  The floor is flooded with our classmates, crowded into the living room and trailing up the stairs, and I look beyond, out onto the patio, and see the pool and deck packed, as well. People are dancing and drinking, and music blares from speakers set up around the room.

  Lots of distraction.

  I wear my bikini under my jean shorts and shirt, even though I’m not really planning on getting in the pool. But Ten said he might, and I’m not leaving his side, so...

  I’m trying not to think about Trey being a piece of shit pervert or about Lyla and how she would be thrilled to see me fall off my pedestal tonight. If I stay with Ten, maybe I’ll have a drink, dance and laugh, and get sedated long enough to forget the last few weeks for just five damn minutes. I need this. I need to do something to feel normal again.

  “I doubt he’s going to make it to prom, girl,” Ten tells me. “If his parents haven’t taken it away already, they will after this.”

  “I’m not worried.” I don’t even know if I’m going anymore, and I’m definitely not going with Trey.

  We trail outside and hook ourselves up with a couple of beers from the keg, but when Ten lifts a bottle of tequila, I push it back down.

  “Nope.” I shake my head.

  “Why?”

  “I’m driving,” I remind him. “You go for it. I’ll stick with a beer.”

  He shrugs and pours a dram into the little plastic cup. I wince, smelling the pungent odor. I’ve done tequila before, but that isn’t chilled. How can he do that?

  He licks the salt off his hand, tips the shot back, and gives a little grimace before sticking a lemon wedge in his mouth.

  I laugh. I’ve known him long enough to know he usually likes his liquor mixed with Coke or juice or something.

  “Come on!” He pulls me along. “Let’s dance.”

  I smile, taking my beer and feeling a little better already as he leads me over to where the music is. “Dirty Little Secret” plays, and the warmth hitting my stomach from the beer filters through my limbs, as I sip my drink and join everyone else, getting lost in the noise and excitement.

  Over the next hour, we do nothing but dance. He replaces my empty cup with a water bottle and another beer, and I double check to make sure he’s the one who poured it. The slight buzz I had from the one has smoothed away the edges, but I think it’s more the music and the energy of everyone around us that’s intoxicating.

  We jump up and down, laughing and dancing, and Ten leans into my ear. “You feel better now?”

  I nod, shouting over the music, “Yes! A lot more relaxed, actually.”

  “Yeah, they say alcohol isn’t the answer, but it’s nice to be able to turn off your brain for a little while.”

  I finish my drink and toss my cup away, grabbing a bottle of water to drink for the rest of the night as Ten joins me at the bar.

  “Another one?” I chirp, pouring him a shot.

  He smiles, shooting it back without the salt and lemon this time.

  I lean into him, smelling his heady cologne. It feels kind of good to be there for him for a change.

  I keep everyone—my friends, my sister, my mom—at a distance, because I started to believe that no one could really like me for me. That’s why I had to change. And any attention my family or Ten gave me was simply them pretending.

  That’s why I loved Misha so much. It wasn’t distant. It was close and real, and it felt good.

  But good things are still around me, despite what I’ve done to keep them at arm’s length. They’ve been around me the whole time.

  Ten pulls away and picks up the bottle again, grabbing the shaker and turning around to look at me. He studies me up and down, twisting his lips to the side.

  “What?” I ask.

  He jerks his chin at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Spread your legs.”

  Huh?

  “Come on,” he teases, shaking the salt. “I want to see what you taste like.”

  I snort, widening my eyes. “Absolutely not.”

  “Pleeeease?”

  “No!” I burst out, nearly laughing at his sad face.

  No way in hell! I am not doing that.

  Not a chance.

  Malcolm beats through the fill, the kick drum vibrating under my feet, and Dane eases in, playing the transition while I keep time on the guitar, backed up by Lotus.

  Belting out the lyrics, I feel a high hit me as I close my eyes.

  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.

  Malcolm is razor, keeping the energy up, and sweat glides down my back as I savor the rush of playing again. Sticks, a favorite Thunder Bay hangout, has been closed for renovations for over a month, but the owners are still great about letting us use the space when we need to practice without an audience.

  Dane’s guitar whines as he cuts off the note and stops playing. “Alright, stop, stop, stop!” he interrupts. “I think we should break it up at the point, add a riff.” He points to Malcolm at the drums. “You back me up with something creative, before we dive back in with vocals.”

  “Keep it high-energy,” I say.

  But he just sneers at me, like duh. “Yeah, I know what you like.”

  “Alright, count it off,” Lotus calls out, but I hold up my hand, pulling the guitar strap over my head.

  “I need a drink.”

  I step off the stage and walk to one of the tables, taking a swig out of the water bottle.

  A girl stands behind the bar—one of the owner’s daughters, I think—her chin resting on her hand as she looks at me. She’s about my age. Maybe a year younger.

  She looks like Annie. Blonde hair, pert nose, slender shoulders… Annie never listened to me play, though. She wasn’t unsupportive. She was just too busy to take an interest. Of course, I could say the same thing about myself and her hobbies. The only reason I attended as many girls’ volleyball games as I did was because she asked me to be there. She needed people to be proud of her, and I knew why.

  The girl smiles at me, and I smile back and then quickly look away.

  There was a time when she might’ve been my type. Cute, soft, sweet. But just the memory of Ryen’s nervous breath across my lips before she kissed me that first time in the truck has my body stirring. She’s a complicated, temperamental littl
e mess, but she gets me going.

  I pick up my phone and check to see if I have any messages. I’m hoping for anything. A rant. Insults. A bitchy text, telling me to fuck off.

  But nothing. I know I should leave her alone and give her space. There are just so many things yet to say, so much she doesn’t know, and I need to tell her before she pushes me away for good.

  Maybe she’ll meet me. Tomorrow at my house, and I can tell her everything. I don’t want to ambush her, but maybe she’ll give me a chance if I open myself up and lay everything on the line.

  Clicking my Facebook app, I type in her name and go to her profile, deciding I’ll just send her a message and leave the ball in her court. I have to try. If she doesn’t go for it, then I’ll wait for as long as I need to.

  But when her profile pops up, I see a video she’s tagged in, and I hesitate. Without giving myself time to think, I click on it, noticing it was only posted a few minutes ago.

  Ryen is standing by a pool, surrounded by people drinking and dancing, with one of her thighs turned out as some guy kneels between her legs.

  What the fuck?

  I watch as he dives in, licking a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, as she breaks into laughter and everyone cheers.

  The asshole has his back to the camera, tips back a shot as the crowd eggs him on, and Ryen laughs, sticking a lemon wedge in her mouth and inviting him in to suck it from her.

  The music is blaring, and Ryen wraps her arms around him, their mouths touching before she breaks away and starts shaking her body to the music.

  “Son of a bitch.” I squeeze the phone in my hand, scrolling the comments to see the party is at Trey’s house. She’s at his house?

  And people are sharing this video of some guy licking her, too.

  “What’s up?” Dane asks.

  I grab my keys off the table and stuff the cell in my pocket. How the fuck is she at a party at that asshole’s house, and who the hell is she screwing off with?

  “Let’s go,” I bark at the guys.

  “Where?”

  “I’ll explain in the truck.”

  I head through the pool hall, hearing them put their instruments down and run after me. Once outside, I hop in the cab. Dane climbs in the passenger side, and Lotus and Malcolm jump in the bed behind us.

  Firing up the engine, I speed away from Sticks and hop onto the highway. I lay on the gas, determined to make the thirty-mile drive in ten minutes. Is she actually drinking at his house? She has to know how stupid that is.

  She wants to party? Fine. She wants some space? Okay. But going anywhere near that asshole or being entertainment for some horny little shit who wants to touch her is pushing me too far. Ryen doesn’t do fucking body shots. She’s trying to piss me off, and it’s working.

  And I think of Annie and what she did to herself, because she wasn’t thinking straight, either.

  By the time we make it to Trey Burrowes’ house, I’m more worked up than I’ve ever been, but I know if I go in there half-cocked, she’ll just fight back, and I’ll walk out of there without her.

  We climb out of the truck, and I can feel the vibrations of the music out to the street. “Bad Girlfriend” plays, and I glance around, seeing the houses all a good distance away from each other, but some of them have to be able to hear this noise. I’m tempted to call the cops myself, if they haven’t been called already, just to break it up and send Ryen home. But no. I’ll let her choose.

  As we walk into the house, a group of girls runs past us to the stairs, laughing and falling into the wall as they stumble up the steps.

  “Nice,” Lotus laughs, making like he’s going to follow them.

  But I grab his black ponytail and pull him back. We’re not here for that.

  “Hey, man.” J.D. comes up, shaking my hand. “I’m glad you’re here. You going to set off some fireworks?”

  I laugh to myself, knowing he knows I would rather swallow needles than be in this house. “I wasn’t planning on it. Have you seen Ryen?”

  He shakes his head. “Not in the last fifteen minutes.” And then he narrows his eyes on me. “You going to tell me what’s going on between you two?”

  “No.”

  He snorts. “Okay.” And then he moves around me toward the family room. “I’ll be close. If you need me.”

  I nod and look back at the party, scanning the crowd as we step down into the living room.

  “Well, well, well,” Trey says, stepping through the crowd and approaching me. “What the fuck do we have here?”

  He’s flanked by a couple of his friends, and I steel my spine, keeping my expression hard as I stare at him.

  “You want trouble?” he says. “We can give you trouble.”

  I feel my bandmates inch in closer, and Trey’s eyes flash to them as if finally realizing I’m not alone.

  “Not in my parents’ house, though,” he clarifies, suddenly nervous.

  Enough. “Where’s Ryen?” I demand.

  He laughs. “Have you checked in one of the rooms upstairs? Little cock tease had some liquor tonight, so she might finally be giving up that pussy. I can’t wait for my turn.”

  I lunge out and grab him by the collar of his T-shirt, both of our crews moving in.

  But I catch sight of something to my left, and I look down, seeing a cuff wrapped around Trey’s wrist.

  And on the cuff, secured by two straps, is an antique Jaeger-LeCoultre timepiece.

  My heart pounds in my ears. “Where the hell did you get that watch?”

  His eyebrows dig in, and I shake him, feeling a thick swell of bile rise in my throat. He didn’t get it from her. She wouldn’t have given it to him. No.

  “Misha!” someone calls. But I ignore them.

  All I see is Trey.

  “Misha?” someone murmurs. “Who’s Misha?”

  The music is still going, but I stare at him, feeling more people start to crowd around us.

  I push him away, releasing him as I tighten my fists. She gave it to him?

  “Leave,” Ryen orders, appearing at my side.

  I jerk my eyes to her and stare down, hovering. “Don’t talk and don’t move,” I bite out, taking in her tits, plain as day in her bikini top and off-the-shoulder shirt that hangs on her like a shredded piece of fucking Kleenex. “You’re all over Facebook, shaking your ass and doing body shots. I’m not happy.”

  Her eyes go wide, shock and anger flaring. “Excuse me?” she yells as a couple of girls giggle.

  But I turn back around, advancing on Trey. “Where the fuck did you get that watch?”

  “What’s your problem?” he snarls. “Go fuck yourself!”

  I rear back and punch him across the face, knocking him to the ground. The whole place erupts as his friends and my friends go for each other and partygoers scream and jump out of the way. I dive down and dig my keys out of my pocket, unsheathing the knife on my key chain and leaning over Trey. Everyone above me goes crazy, and I grab Trey’s wrist as he winces from the pain in his face.

  “Get off me!” He tries to yank his arm away from me.

  But I slide the dull knife between the watch strap and his wrist and pull hard, slicing it off his arm.

  “Misha!” I hear Ryen call, and I stand up as everyone stumbles around me.

  “Everyone stop now!” a deep male voice bellows from behind. “Turn off the music!”

  I look behind me, seeing two cops in black uniforms enter the house, one of them holding his hands around his mouth and shouting.

  Shit. I guess someone did report the noise. The whole crowd scurries, running out the sliding glass doors or into the kitchen, where there’s probably a back door.

  I shove the watch and key chain at Dane. “Take my truck. Get the guys and go!”

  He grabs the stuff from me and alerts Lotus and Malcolm as the two cops busy themselves, trying to stop kids from leaving. My friends dive out the back and disappear, while I stand still, looking over and seeing Ryen, surprised she
’s still here.

  Her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are steady on me. She doesn’t look drunk.

  Why did I let Trey bait me like that? Ryen wouldn’t do something as reckless as get wasted and follow someone upstairs. I was just looking for a reason to hit him.

  And then I look at the guy standing behind her and notice that it’s Ten. It takes a moment, but I finally make the connection. Blond hair, blue shirt… He’s the guy from the video.

  Dammit. So I charged over here to beat up a guy who’s probably more attracted to me than Ryen. Great.

  “Hey!” Trey shouts, standing up. “He stole my watch!”

  I stay rooted in place, but I take out my phone and shoot a text to Dane that I’ll probably be arrested. He’ll know what to do.

  The music cuts off, and a cop comes around, standing between Trey and me.

  “What are you doing here, son?” he asks me.

  “Just partying.”

  “He has my watch,” Trey grits out.

  But I just shrug. “Search me. I don’t have anything.”

  Trey comes in close, invading my space and glaring at me, but the cop pushes him back. “You’re in enough trouble,” he tells him. “Stand back.”

  But Trey is a wall. He doesn’t come closer, but he stays rooted.

  “He wasn’t invited, he started a fight, and he stole my watch,” he says again.

  My lips lift in a small smile.

  The cop looks to me. “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I forget,” I answer, still staring at Trey.

  I hear the cop breathing hard, turning angry. I don’t want to be difficult, but Dickwad can’t know who I am. I don’t want Misha Lare on the radar in this town. Not yet.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” he orders.

  I do as I’m told, and he moves around to put handcuffs on me.

  “Wait, no!” Ryen argues.

  But I look at her, softening my expression. “It’s fine. Don’t say anything.”

  Don’t tell them who I am.

  “Alright, I’m taking this one in,” the officer tells the other cop who’s busy on his walkie talkie. “Clear this out, and call Mr. and Mrs. Burrowes.”