“Pull in.” Penn pops his gum.

“Why?”

“Beer.”

“How, exactly?” I roll my eyes.

He raises his ass from the seat and takes out his wallet, yanking out what looks like a fake ID.

“Ghetto,” I cough into my fist.

He smirks, sliding the ID between my open thighs, swiping it across my slit like it’s a credit card.

I suck in a breath. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Showing you that I might be a punk, but you’re the hideous little monster who is falling for him.”

Pulling into the station, I shove him out of the car. I mull his stupid words over as I watch him through the 7-Eleven window. I’m not falling for him. I’m not. He saunters coolly to the register with a six-pack of Budweiser and potato chips. Then he asks for a pack of cigarettes even though he doesn’t smoke anymore. When he slides back into the car, I ask why the cigarettes.

“An experiment.” He throws a chip into his mouth and chews. “Pull out, birthday girl. I’ll tell you where to drive.”

Following his directions, I don’t bother asking where we’re going. The truth is, it doesn’t really matter where he is taking us. He and Dad are the only people I would follow.

It turns out to be a park called Castle Hill. Tall trees swirl to the sky, rising through the wet soil and neon moss. It’s surprisingly green for a place in SoCal, where everything is usually buttery. I park in front of a fallen tree trunk in the middle of the woods and watch Penn hop out holding two beers in his hand. I join him.

“This park is magic,” he says. “It’s where I come when I need to fucking breathe.”

He cracks a bottle open and hands it to me.

I shake my head. “I’m driving.”

“One beer. I won’t let you get tanked.” He leans against the huge trunk. Tentatively, I take a long pull of the beer he offers me. It goes down cool and smooth in my throat. I groan, leaning against another trunk opposite from him. We stare at each other for a while before he takes out the cigarette pack, unwraps it with his mouth, spits the cellophane to the ground, and pulls one out with his teeth, lighting it up.

“Enjoying your cancer stick?” I grumble.

“Not as much as you’re about to,” he says flatly, handing me the cigarette. Something unspoken crosses between us, and I take it, awaiting further instructions. His legs are tangled at the ankles, and he looks completely indifferent. Like this is a presentation he’s been giving for a few years now.

“Take a drag.”

I do. I immediately start coughing. It tickles my throat and burns my lungs. I don’t know how Knight and Vaughn smoke so much weed. I hate the way the smoke lingers inside my body.

Penn watches me like a hawk. “Now take a deeper drag. But this time, don’t exhale. Keep it in.”

He finishes his bottle of beer and throws it against a tree. It’s a good throw, and the bottle shatters into tiny pieces.

“Keep the damn thing in, Skull Eyes.”

I do as I’m told, waiting for the point of all this. I take a hit and then wait. My throat closes in on the smoke, and I feel like I’m choking. My lungs are full of poison, and I want to throw up everything I’m holding in. My face flushes, and I don’t know if I can hold it much longer.

He walks over to me, completely nonchalant, and crouches, locking his eyes with mine.

“Release.”

I release the smoke and cough my lungs out. Oh, my Marx. Why did I even do that? Because he was pretty and brooding and messed up, and he told me to?

Penn lifts my chin so that our eyes never waver from one another.

“This is what it feels like to hold rage inside. That shit’s toxic for you. You’re either going to have to face your mother, your friends, your principal, your fucking life, or prepare to feel like you’re holding the smoke in your lungs for a very long time. Because, baby, it only gets worse from here on out. The older we get, the deeper the shit we’re swimming in gets.”

I look down so I don’t cry. I’ve always been angry, but ever since Penn walked into my life and put a mirror in front of my face, I’ve been furious.

Who is Penn to tell me how to handle my issues? Just because he happens to be here when stuff gets messy doesn’t mean that his grass is greener. He is far from perfect. In fact, if I remember correctly, he handled the loss of his mother by being a punk who fights at the snake pit, drinks, smokes, and talks trash to the entire world. Not to mention he has a girlfriend and a daughter he barely sees, opting to mess around with his shiny new toy he came to live with.

“Wow. Inspiring words. Tell them to someone who cares.” I trudge my way back to the car. He grabs my wrist, jerking me back. I turn around sharply, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Getting me to smoke and drink, and now stopping me from going home? Not sure my parents are going to be on board with your behavior.”

He cocks his head, scanning me. “Your parents won’t give a shit if I fuck you on the dining room table while Bailey helps herself to another serving of pie.”

I raise my hand and slap him. Hard. He throws his head back and laughs as if this is all a joke. As though he wanted me to hit him. Now both our cheeks are tinted pink. Mine from embarrassment, his from the slap.

“Shit. You actually think that.” He shakes his head, grabbing another beer from the six-pack and cracking it open. “You think you’re that unlovable.”

“Stop,” I say, plead, beg. I’m not sure he is wrong. “Please stop.”

“So fucking gorgeous, so fucking popular, so goddamn despised,” he continues, and I advance toward him to slap him again because I don’t know how else to shut him up. He grabs both my wrists and pins me against a tree, getting into my face and snarling. I stumble back from the tree, but he deliberately steps on my toes, and I fall butt-first onto a bed of crunchy auburn leaves. I lie on my back and stare at him, my tears clinging to my lashes for dear life.

He lowers himself on top of me, his knee pressed between my thighs, his gaze dripping anger and adoration I’ve never seen there before. He hates himself for being attracted to me. And he hates me for making everything so difficult for everyone. Him included.

Penn puts his hand on my throat and curls his fingers around it. My pulse quickens against his hot skin, and I fight the urge to let my eyelids fall shut.

“Why are they ignoring your birthday, Skull Eyes? Tell the truth.”

It’s painful to swallow. There’s so much bitterness in my throat. The truth seems oceans away. I see it in the distance, but it’s unreachable. So hard to put into words.

“I asked them to ignore it.” I choke. “I made them promise.”

I close my eyes, and I feel his breath on my face. We’re all alone. Anything can happen. Everything can happen.

“Why?” he croaks.

“Because I can’t take another disappointment.”

Silence.

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Penn.”

“Why’s that?”

“You have a girlfriend.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“But you do.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Huh?” I let out a nervous laugh, but it stops between his fingers pressed against my throat. “What do you mean?”