Punk 57 was a book I really enjoyed. I really love the world that Penelope Douglas creates. The fact that some of the characters in Punk 57 we can see in the Devil’s Night Series is just awesome.
Lovely Penelope Douglas has given us a treat again, with some deleted scenes of this lovely book.
Punk 57 Deleted Scene#1 !!
PUNK 57 Deleted Scene: Misha and Ryen Skip School
This is a deleted scene from Punk 57! I know many of you have not read the book, so please don’t read this. It will be in the Bonus section of my website in a few days, so you can read it there anytime.
This scene takes place in chapter 12, I believe, after the principal kicks Ryen off Misha’s lap and he walks out. In the original version, she joined him, sneaking out of school. The scene was cut, because overall, it wasn’t necessary.
Two minutes later, I find him sitting in his truck. The parking lot is full of cars, being only lunch time, but it’s vacant of any people.
I guess the principal didn’t detain him for long.
“You really are wired wrong, aren’t you?” I bark through the open passenger side door.
He grins, starting the engine, and I pull open the door, climbing in. “I mean, seriously. She can make your life miserable until graduation, Masen. Wasn’t it you who wanted to stay off the authority’s radar?”
“I’m not scared of her.”
Well, I am. I never skip school, simply because I’d rather be here than home, and I nervously glance around me one last time as he pulls out of the parking lot. I’d thought about making up a lie to my friends, but instead, I’d just tossed my uneaten lunch away and headed to my locker to grab my wallet. I didn’t know if he was coming back to school today, and I didn’t have his cell number. I had to leave with him if I wanted to make sure I would see more of him.
“Tacos, burgers, subs…?” he asks, trailing off.
I look across the street, and I see Falcon’s Franks, and I point. “Hot dogs.”
I haven’t been there in forever, and I suddenly don’t feel like a salad anymore.
Masen pulls through the drive-thru and stops in front of the menu.
“Welcome to Falcon’s,” the person on the intercom says. “Go ahead when you’re ready.”
Masen looks over to me, and I sit up, leaning over the center console on my hands and knees to tease him.
“Hi,” I shout, “can I have a plain hot dog and a bottle of water, please?”
Masen scoffs and squeezes the back of my thigh, yelling into the intercom, “She means she’ll a chili dog with onions and a Coke. A large one. I’ll take a chili dog with cheese and a Coke.”
I scowl, turning my head toward him. “How did you know I liked my hot dogs that way?”
“Why are you acting like you’re a demure little flower with the appetite of a bird?”
I roll my eyes, sitting back in my seat. But secretly I’m happy. Yay, chili dog.
How the heck did he know that? Good thing the restaurant gives mints with the meal. I’ll want to kiss him today, onions of not.
He pays for our food, and I’m glad to see money in his wallet. I have no idea what he and I are or what to expect from him, but I can’t but worry a little. The Cove is not a home.
And no matter how tough he acts, the stress of whatever situation he’s in is in there somewhere. Buried deep or right underneath the surface. I’m growing increasingly curious about it even though I try to tell myself I don’t care.
He pulls into the empty car wash we came to a couple of weeks ago, and I remain silent as he parks in a bay and climbs out.
What is he doing?
I watch as he starts the hose and hops up on the step, placing it on the roof and letting the water spill down the windshield. Whatever light enters the dark truck is now dimmed, and the gentle rush of wash feels like I’m in a cave.
Flutters spread under my skin at the memory of the last time we were here.
He opens the door and collects his food, telling me, “Climb in the backseat.” The he slams the door and opens the back one, climbing inside.
Hopping over the console, I reach up and grab my food and drink, but he takes my Coke and places it in the cup holder on the door.
“Come here,” he directs.
Holding my thighs, he guides me on his lap, and I straddle him. He sits back and takes out his hot dog and begins eating as I start to relax. The cab is dark and no one knows where we are. No one can see us.
And thanks to the hose, we can’t see or hear anything out there. The ultimate escape.
“You know, you’re wasting water,” I tease, pulling my chili-dog out of the bag.
“You know, we’re not in the dessert.”
I smile to myself and take a bite. I like him.
“Did you know there’s as much water on the planet now as when the planet formed billions of years ago?” he asks, looking at me and taking a drink of his soda.
“Yeah, I took 2nd grade science.” I take a bite of chilidog, holding back the moan as the flavor hits me. It’s been too long.
“Did you know that 70% of bottled water isn’t regulated by the FDA, unlike tap water, which is?”
I shake my head, taking another bite.
“Did you know that sunlight is our most important renewable energy source and yet, only about one percent of the world’s electricity is generated by the sun?”
My stomach shakes with a silent laugh. I swallow and dip down, taking a drink of his soda. Chili is spilling on my finger, and I don’t have enough hands to unwrap the straw for my Coke.
“I did not know that,” I finally answer. I take another bite, wiping the chili from the corner of my mouth.
“Did you know that your open thighs are directly responsible for my renewable energy source?”
I snort, the hot dog catching in my throat, and I try not to laugh as I force it down and dive down for another drink.
I let my eyes fall to his jeans. “I’m wondering if everyone is starting to notice that.”
He sticks the last bite of hot dog in his mouth and scoots down a little, laying his head back.
I set mine down on top of the bag on the seat and take hi soda, washing my last bite down. “So how do you know all that stuff?”
“Thought I was a dumb punk, huh?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “On the contrary…”
His hands run up and down my thighs, and he’s quiet for a moment. “My sister was an encyclopedia.”
Was an encyclopedia? Was?
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
He speaks quietly, and I force a shrug. “Whatever. You brought it up.”
What should I say? No, no, I want to know. Tell me about her. Tell me about you. Tell me what you’re doing here, where your family is, and let me meet your friends. Tell me you like me. Tell me we’ll go to the baseball game and joke around with our friends and kiss in public and laugh like normal teenagers.
Tell me I’m crazy for thinking you’re holding back from me as much as I’m hiding you.
We stay there, the silence weighing heavy inside the truck, and I wonder if we should get back to school. Fifth period would’ve started by now.
But I look down, and I see something silver in the compartment on the door. Reaching down, I pluck it out and hold it up.
The small, triangular object shines, and I can feel the line grooves where your fingers are supposed to grip.
“A guitar pick?” I look at him. “You play?”
He stares at it, and something I can’t place passes in his eyes. Like fear, almost.
But he slowly shakes his head. “No. It’s probably one of my friends’.”
Punk 57 Deleted Scene#2!!
PUNK 57 Deleted Scene: Extended Ending
There was originally another chapter between the end of the book and the epilogue. I took it out, because my editor and I thought it felt like an epilogue and would throw you for a loop when you got the actual epilogue. Plus it wasn’t terribly important. But it does show more of their HEA after Misha goes on his summer tour and Ryen goes off to college, so hope you enjoy!!
Ten Months Later…
“So Alexander the Great, as you know, had a very close relationship with his mother, who was exceedingly influential is his life,” the professor lectures.
I tap my pencil, glancing up at the clock, willing the minute hand to move faster. It’s not that I’m not interested, but I’m supposed to get a package from Misha today, and I want to get back to my dorm.
“Is the movie accurate?” a young woman down the aisle to my right asks. “Did she really like snakes as much as they portrayed?”
Movie? I smile to myself. A girl after my own heart.
Although I’ve learned to be more tolerant and patient. I’ve read all the articles and other assigned reading. In addition to seeing the film, of course.
The aging professor sits on his table down front, his legs dangling above the floor. “That is accurate. She loved snakes. Too much, some say.”
I blink and finally look at him, my curiosity peaked now. Too much?
Professor Jacobson sees the blank stares around the room and laughs, giving us a bigger hint as to his meaning. “She liked snakes, and…snakes…like…warm…places…”
I shudder, it finally hitting me. “Ew.”
The whole class breaks into laughter, all of us squirming in our seats. That can’t possibly be true.
He smiles, always seeming to enjoy messing with us, and looks up at the clock. “Alright, let’s call it a day,” he says. “Have a good weekend everyone. I’ll be in my office until six if anyone needs me.”
Yes. I swipe my keyboard and iPad off the table, my heart starting to race in anticipation. Stuffing everything into my bag, I shoot out of my chair and jog down the stairs, crossing the front of the classroom, and pushing through the doors.
I haven’t seen Misha in months—not since Christmas—and even though he sends me letters and calls on Skype all the time, it’s the packages he teases me about that I anticipate almost as much as the prospect of seeing him.
I like checking my mail and seeing anything from him.
Sometimes it’s fun stuff, like mixed tapes, souvenirs from his tours, or things he thinks I need, like funny cookbooks such as Thug Kitchen, when I complain I’m tired of eating in the dining halls.
Other times I’ll walk into my dorm room and find flowers or the ceiling covered with balloons, like on my birthday.
And I write him every week, even though he’s not always in the same place and won’t get the letters until later. But he insists. No emails.
After all this time, we’re still pen pals.
His tour last summer ended better than expected. He thought he’d finish, come home, and keep writing music, trying to get a deal, but after all the exposure last year, they were knocking at his door before the tour was even done. In the months since, he and the guys have recorded an album, and even though I listen to it every day, I can’t get through a twenty-four-hour period without hearing it come from someone else’s iPod, car stereo, or television, either. I’m so proud of him.
Making my way past the student union and down the sidewalk lined with newly-budded trees, I cross the street and walk into Campbell Hall, my home for the past seven months. Jetting down the steps, I dig out my keys from my bag and find my mailbox, unlocking it.
I pull out mail, but pause when I don’t see another key. My mailbox is small, so anytime Misha send packages, there’s a key to a bigger box where I’ll find the box he sent.
I quickly flip through the mail, seeing a card from my mom, my phone bill—which I won’t look at today—and some credit card offers.
Nothing from Misha.
My heart sinks. Didn’t he say something was coming today? I should Facetime him in the middle of whatever he’s doing for getting my hopes up like that, dammit. I close my mailbox and slide my mail into my bag.
Walking back into the stairwell, something on the wall catches my attention, though, and I stop, reading it.
-They say we’re no good and we’re okay with that, We’re the leaders of the not-coming-backs.-
The black Sharpie is written on the wood down the side of the door frame, and I break out in a smile at the Five Seconds of Summer lyric, my heart lodging in my throat.
I break into a run up the stairs and see a small sign hanging on the wall, also with a lyric.
-It’s dark inside. It’s where my demons hide.-
Oh, my God. I suddenly can’t catch my breath. He’s here.
I race up to my floor.
-Paint it black and take it back-… Another message as I swing through the door, leading to my floor. I walk briskly down the well-lit hall, seeing message and after message written for me, leading right to my room.
-Hello there, the angel from my nightmare.-
And I smile wider, seeing an Eminem lyric in various colors, painted on the wall.
-You don’t get another chance. Life is no Nintendo game.-
-One minute I want to slit your throat, the next I want to sex.-
I laugh, covering my grin, because yeah.
Biting my lip, I unlock my door with shaking hands and swing it open, instantly spotting Misha. Butterflies take off in my stomach.
“You know,” he starts, leaning back in my desk chair, his hands behind his head, “I might see more of you if you’d decided to attend The New York School of Design instead.”
I smirk, walking in and closing my door. Damn, he looks good. Dark jeans that hang on his waist just well enough to make me jealous of a pair of pants and a gray T-shirt over his long, wide torso. I glance around to make sure my roommate isn’t here.
I approach him, dropping my bag. “Have you seen Cornell’s library? Rows and rows of dark hidden places to get lost in.”
Of course I could’ve had more opportunities to see him if I went to school in the city, but he was going to be all over the place, and Cornell was what was best for me, so I dove in.
“So that’s why you chose this university?” he asks, spreading his legs and taking my hips as I come in close.
I nod. It was certainly one of the reasons. Fantasizing about Misha’s visits and all the little places we could get lost in.
I touch his face, seeing that he’s finally changed out his black lip ring for a silver one. “I missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” He lifts the hem of my shirt and kisses my stomach, sending shivers right down to between my thighs.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “Happy.”
“You won’t that let deter you, will you?” I tease, referencing how we can always manage to spice up any occasion with a little banter. “I might enjoy some trouble.”
He buries his nose and mouth in my skin, his voice muffled. “No problem.”
“So I hear you’re famous now.”
His shoulders shake with a small laugh. “In my small sliver of the world for the next fifteen minutes maybe.”
I bring his face up, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Your music…you did incredible. I listen to it every day.”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Leaning down, I kiss him, loving how I get immediately warm all over. I hope he doesn’t want to crash here tonight. I’ll feel guilty turning my roommate out while we try to squeeze into my twin bed. Hotel, please.
“How long do you have?” I kiss him again and again, sitting down and straddling his lap as both of us turn breathless. “Are you going on tour anytime soon or something?”
He shakes his head, speaking between kisses. “I think…maybe I’m not ready for the music world quite yet. I thought I might go to college, take my time…”
I stop and pull away. “Is this…this doesn’t have anything to do with me, does it?” I question him. “I don’t want you to miss your opportunities.”
“You’re my opportunity,” he states. “I’ve grown up with you, and like I said, you’ve been a part of nearly everything I’ve done that I love. I can make music anytime, anywhere, and the opportunities will be there when we’re ready for them.”
“Although you may have to transfer,” he cuts in before I have a chance to retort. “I’m not sure I can get into Cornell.”
And then I’m swept up in the reality of what he’s saying, and I break out in a smile. Misha and me. Here together. Seeing each other every day. I have to admit, I’m all for it. As much as I love the letters and the anticipation of seeing him after long absences, I want to move forward, not go back, like we’re still pen pals in fifth grade.
Not that I didn’t love being pen pals, but that was before I was in love with him, and the prospect of it being just the two of us now sounds too good.
And we’re only nineteen. If he wants to slow back down and take his time, I can’t begrudge him that.
I squint at him. “A bestselling rock star and senator’s grandson who will bring free publicity to the university?” I muse. “I’m sure it will work out.”
If Cornell doesn’t take him, then there’s no way I can stay in such a lame university.
I wrap my arms around him, whispering across his lips. “Can’t wait to have you around every day. No parents. No drama. No shenanigans. Just us.”
But then I hear someone behind me burst through the door, and I twist my head around, seeing Dane standing in the doorway, his hands up and looking worried.
“We’re going to have to rent a house,” he tells Misha, out of breath. “There’s no way I can fit all my guitars and amps in these rooms.”
I turn around, cocking my head at Misha.
But he just snorts. “He kind of goes where I go. We’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.”