Rocco-s Pov 17 (Recommended REVIEW)

He thought about Lena. She’d be there. She’d be wearing that denim jacket with the frayed cuffs, probably sitting on the hood of someone’s car, her feet dangling. She’d look up when he arrived, and she wouldn’t say Where have you been? She’d just tilt her head, like she already knew.

That was the motto of being seventeen. Maybe. Not yes, because yes meant commitment, and commitment meant the possibility of failure. Not no, because no meant closing a door, and every open door was a future you couldn’t afford to burn. So: maybe. The coward’s gold. rocco-s pov 17

“Okay,” he said. His voice came out steady. That was another skill: the steady voice. The one that said I’m fine when his insides were a riot. He thought about Lena

“Ma,” he said, leaning over the railing. She’d look up when he arrived, and she

Rocco stood up. He walked to his mirror and looked at the boy staring back. Dark circles. A jaw that needed shaving but not badly enough to bother. A small scar above his eyebrow from a bike crash when he was twelve—back when pain was simple, just gravel and blood and a mother’s kiss.