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Someone was in awe, fucking her raw,
But who could it be? It wasn’t J.D.
“Oh, shit,” Ten whispers, surprise heavy in his voice.
I stare at the words on the lawn, my mouth going dry with a sudden urge to laugh.
Uh, okay. Who the hell…?
Students crowd around, gasping and laughing, some taking pictures, while Ten and I back away.
“That’s the first time he ever got personal by naming names,” Ten says.
“Who?”
“Punk,” he answers as if I should know. “Now we know it’s someone who goes to school here. Someone who knows us.”
I groan inwardly. Yeah, but “Punk” always signs their messages. This is getting out of hand.
I hear a noise and look up to see one of the janitors rolling a pressure washer outside and trying to maneuver it down the stairs.
“Let’s go,” I tell Ten.
We walk into school and pass groups of students surrounding more messages on the walls, these ones signed.
You kissed my hair while sticking me in the heart.
But your house will break before I fall apart.
-Punk
I see a couple of girls take out pens and add more under the lines, dissing old boyfriends and writing things like, Yeah, Jake.
I hold back my laugh.
“This is killing me,” Ten exclaims as we make our way to our lockers. “I want to know who Punk is, and I want in.”
I snort. Leave it to Ten. Of course Lyla is our friend, but Ten knows as well as I do that what’s written on the lawn isn’t a lie, and I’m sure he’s excited to see the showdown with J.D.
“I’ve got to hunt that bitch down and find out who she was in the locker room with,” Ten says as he stops in front of his locker.
I keep walking, calling over my shoulder, “See you at lunch.”
I’m sure no one will discover whom Lyla was messing around with last night. She probably won’t even admit it’s true.
Coming up in front of my new locker, I key in the combination and open it, glancing to my left and noticing another janitor scrubbing away another message on the wall. He’s erased the first few words already, but I know what it says.
You loved me, we were besties, I lent you my eye shadow.
But someday all you’ll be is someone I used to know.
-Punk
And underneath is a collage of ripped-out yearbook pictures from last year, showing sports teams and groups of students smiling at rallies and games, hugging and laughing with each other.
I hang up my bag in my locker and take out the travel size nail polish remover from the shelf. Glancing around to make sure no one is looking, I walk over and hold it in front of Mr. Thompson, the janitor.
“Nail polish remover will take off anything,” I suggest, seeing his face sweaty and red from the exertion of scrubbing so hard.
