by Penelope Douglas
“We were perfect together. Until we met.”
I can’t help but smile at the words in her letter. She misses me.
In fifth grade, my teacher set us up with pen pals from a different school. Thinking I was a girl, with a name like Misha, the other teacher paired me up with her student, Ryen. My teacher, believing Ryen was a boy like me, agreed.
It didn’t take long for us to figure out the mistake. And in no time at all, we were arguing about everything. The best take-out pizza. Android vs. iPhone. Whether or not Eminem is the greatest rapper ever…
And that was the start. For the next seven years, it was us.
Her letters are always on black paper with silver writing. Sometimes there’s one a week or three in a day, but I need them. She’s the only one who keeps me on track, talks me down, and accepts everything I am.
We only had three rules. No social media, no phone numbers, no pictures. We had a good thing going. Why ruin it?
Until I run across a photo of a girl online. Name’s Ryen, loves Gallo’s pizza, and worships her iPhone. What are the chances?
F*ck it. I need to meet her.
I just don’t expect to hate what I find.
He hasn’t written in three months. Something’s wrong. Did he die? Get arrested? Knowing Misha, neither would be a stretch.
Without him around, I’m going crazy. I need to know someone is listening. It’s my own fault. I should’ve gotten his number or picture or something.
He could be gone forever.
Or right under my nose, and I wouldn’t even know it.
Two pen pals who vowed to never contact each other except through snail mails. Two lost souls who wandered through a dreary obstacle course. Two broken sea shells who weathered the harsh waves of the ocean. Two wordmasters who shot through my heart and made my heart bleed like ink on a quill.
That is Punk 57, ladies and gentlemen. Oh god, how did I turn into this staggering mess of a poet?
Penelope Douglas, you are to be blamed. This may just be the best book I’ve read this year. Seriously.
I thought I’ve read everything I needed to know when it came to New Adult books. I thought I would no longer be surprised by the so-called “shocking twists” and hot steamy scenes, given the massive number of NA’s I’ve read this quarter alone. I thought I have mastered the art of guessing “whodunnits” on mysteries and suspense.
Penelope Douglas proved me wrong.
Because every chapter I read, every page I devoured, every scene I perused, every single damn thing surprised me and bewildered me to the core.
Misha Lare was such an antihero. Earlier in the book, I fell for his words, his lyrics, his letters, his passion, his loyalty to Ryen. When that fateful night happened, he changed. And my feelings for him changed as well.
Ryen Trevarrow intrigued me a lot with her attitude. She was a faker, in my opinion. I didn’t like her at first too. But when I got to know the things she’d been through, the hardships, the ridicule, the torment – argh, my heart ached for her.
And that infamous plot twist? I did not see that coming. Ever! That twist is deus ex machina at its finest.
After reading Punk 57, I don’t know if I could pick another NA book just yet. Punk 57 is basically a tough act to follow. I don’t have any idea yet if there would be another book that could match this perfection. I know I’m still a newbie when it comes to Pen Douglas’ books, but let me tell you, this author had just upped her status in my Top 5 Authors. (I’m sorry Colleen Hoover, I think you need to take the back seat on this one).
NOTE: I have buddy-read this masterpiece with dear Jel of JLS Bookish Detour.