I didn’t follow the story and wasn’t very invested at the time. She was just a girl I didn’t know. But I’d heard enough to know the details, and I want to cringe, thinking back to the times I thought about it, not realizing who she was.
Misha’s sister.
“It was the night we met at the scavenger hunt,” I say, remembering the date in the news article.
He nods absently, still staring off. “You and I were inside talking, and she was…”
Dying. I look away.
“I couldn’t stomach anything after that,” he explains. “I stopped writing, because I couldn’t talk about it, but I couldn’t talk about anything else, either. I couldn’t carry on like before, and I couldn’t face the reality of her being gone. I felt sick.” He finally looks over at me. “I needed you, but I just didn’t know how to talk to you anymore. Or anyone. I’d changed.”
“You can talk now.”
He smiles, easing me back to his lap. “Yeah. I’m not sure I could ever give you up again.”
I touch my forehead to his, not knowing what I would do without him. I hate that he stopped writing. I hate that he pretended to be Masen. But I’m so glad we’re here.
I just really hate that it was his sister’s death that brought him here.
“I understand why you stopped writing and why you came here to get away, but…” I look him in the eyes. “Why did you enroll at school? If it wasn’t for me, what was it for?”
He shakes his head, letting out a breath. “Nothing.”
“Misha.”
“Really, it was nothing,” he tells me, cutting me off. “I thought I had another reason to be here, someone who I used to know, but no. It was dumb, and I feel stupid. I shouldn’t have come.” And then he smiles, wrapping his arms around me. “But I’m not sorry I did.”
I cock my head, aggravated. He’s being cagey again.
“I love you,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”
And he looks so calm and happy, I don’t want to ruin it. I take in a deep breath and relax into him. “Can I have the scarf back?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you,” I say, my fingers tingling as my heartbeat picks up.
His fingers grip my waist. “It about fucking time.”
I breathe out a laugh, kissing him. He’s always gotta bust my chops.
“And I think it’s about time I met your mom,” he states.
“Ugh, do we have to?” I trail kisses over his cheek and down his neck, more interested in something else right now.
“You think she won’t like me?”
I sigh, looking back up at him. My mom is lovely, but she’s strict. Seeing me in love and giddy and everything, her first concern will be making sure I don’t blow off college to get married.
“Well, you are the grandson of a senator, I guess,” I tell him. “Can we lead with that?”
He snorts, shaking his head at me. I guess that’s a no.
“Okay, fine,” I snip. “But afterwards, I have a favor to ask.”
“Ask me now.”
“Eh,” I cage. “I’ll tell you in the truck. It’s kind of illegal.”
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 continu
e 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.
Punk 57 Page 30
