32. BACK THEN – August
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW MOORE
D alton Academy is officially in my past. While all the seniors were ripping open their acceptance letters to Ivy Leagues and fancy private universities, they turned to me and asked where I was accepted.
With a weak, dying smile, I told them I never applied.
The shock and horror on their faces is forever engrained in my brain. But I’m happy with my decision to work at Superheroes & Scones for a while.
I’ll save up money, so that when I’m ready for college, I can afford it myself.
Lo offered to pay my tuition, but he’s already financed my last year of high school and given me a place to stay.
Coming to Philly wasn’t about reconnecting with my brother for his wealth, and I have to be self-sufficient in order to prove that.
“Lily tried to slip me extra money in my paycheck,” I whisper to Garrison in the storage room of Superheroes & Scones. I don’t know why I’m whispering. It’s after-hours, and we’re the only ones here.
I’m supposed to be closing up, but Garrison stayed back to help me unpack the new Spider-Man/Deadpool issues that’ve been flying off the rack.
Garrison holds onto a plastic-wrapped comic, and his brows furrow. “Jesus. She wants you to go to college that badly?”
I shake my head. “She knows I want to go, and I think she feels guilty that I don’t have the money for it yet. Anyway, I told her I wouldn’t accept any bonus that the other employees aren’t given.”
Garrison smiles. “Knowing Lily, we may all have a ‘surprise’ holiday bonus next week.” He makes air quotes with one hand.
“It’s August,” I say.
“Exactly.” He places the comic on a stack, sorting the issues from oldest to newest. He’s quiet for a second, unusually so, and I think maybe I said the wrong thing.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I shouldn’t have brought up college…or lack thereof. For us both, I mean.” I’m roasting.
He eyes me silently.
“It’s just,” I continue. “I know that it’s a sensitive topic because of Maybelwood.” When we returned from the lake house, Garrison finally approached his parents and confessed to flunking out of Faust.
They were angry, but they’re also type-A’s (as he put it), so they just went into immediate action and enrolled him in another school.
Maybelwood Preparatory. Also the same high school Ryke attended.
Garrison rarely talks about repeating his senior year, but I know his pride has been bruised. And I was the fool that just brought up college.
“Hey, Willow.” Garrison leans over the edge of the box, two hands on the edge. We’re a little closer now. I can smell his shampoo, a pine needle scent.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“No topics are too sensitive to talk about between us,” he tells me. “Can we agree on that?”
I look him over, wondering if he likes discussing the tough parts with me—because there are so many untouchable, sensitive subjects in his life that we’ve been crossing together. “Yeah, definitely,” I say, feeling relieved.
“Good.” He smacks the side of the box and returns to sorting the stacks. “And I’m never going to college—so we can talk about it all you want. It’s not a big deal.”
I frown. “You don’t want to go? Or you don’t think you’ll get in?”
“I don’t want to go.” His blue-green eyes hit mine. “You know when you think about something and it gives you this unsettling feeling, like you’re a moment from breaking out into hives?”
Every day. “Yeah.”
“It’s like that. Times a billion. There’s not a cell inside of me that wants to go. So I’m not going.” His confidence in his decision radiates around the storage room. “Plus, there’s an added benefit of getting to spend time with my girl.”
My girl.
The room tenses at that term.
We glance uneasily at one another, then away. The air heavies. It didn’t used to be like this. Not since prom .
We barely discuss what happened. How my date stood me up on the day of prom. My self-esteem leaped off a cliff into a major freefall.
That was until Garrison showed up.
He dressed in a suit and knocked on the door, ready to whisk me away and vanquish all the memories of ever being ditched.
We went as friends. That’s what we both asserted before the limo, during the dance, and even after on the ride home. Friends.
There was no kiss.
No promise of anything to come.
Just friends.
It was a good night, but a little awkward.
And tense. Like staring right at a purple elephant taking up the entire dancefloor.
If I’m being truthful with myself, I wanted something more.
Maybe not a kiss—I’m still not sure if I’m ready for that—but he could have put his hand on the small of my back or leaned in close.
Instead, it felt like I was dancing with a friend.
Which is what we are. So I shouldn’t be disappointed.
It’s just…
He obviously didn’t want to kiss me or else he would have asked like he did with hugging, right?
There was nothing standing in his way. No other boys. No school hundreds of miles up north. In fact, we’re closer than we’ve ever been now that we live in the same neighborhood again. Plus, I confessed the biggest secret of all in the limo.
I’m not actually Loren Hale’s cousin. I’m his half-sister.
“Whoa,” Garrison said, but after the shock wore off, he smiled. Not mad that I lied. He was happy that I trusted him with the precious truth.
The opportunity to make a move was right there, wasn’t it? But once that moment passed, awkwardness infiltrated tenfold.
And so the chance at prom came and flew by in May. Now August, we’ve skirted around the dance, but our friendship is solidly intact.
That’s what matters.
But I can’t deny the existence of this weird tension straining the room. I don’t know what to do, so I just look at the first thing that catches my eye.
“Um…” I stammer before nodding to issue #6 where Spider-Man webbed Deadpool’s mouth shut. “Could you hand me that? I haven’t read it yet, and it looks like a good one.”
“Yeah, sure.” He grabs the comic from the stack and passes it over. Our fingers brush, and just as I’m about to pull away, Garrison takes my hand in his.
I drop the comic.
He drops my hand.
Oh God. “Sorry, I—” I have no words. I’m bending down to pick up the comic, and Garrison follows suit, until we’re staring at each other from underneath a long wooden breakroom table that we drug into the storage area, just to sort comics.
“You don’t have to be sorry.” His own apologies skate across his features. “ I’m sorry…” His nose flares.
We’re both squatting, staring at one another. Unsaid things passing between us.
He shakes his head. “Dammit, I don’t know why this is so hard. It’s never been hard to talk to you.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “But I fucked up.”
“What?” I squeak.
“At prom. I fucked up,” he says. “I should have asked you out then. It should have been prom. Not underneath…” He glances up, and I unfortunately follow suit. Wads of pink, white, and blue gum stick to the bottom of the table. Ew.
But my mind is wrapped around his other words. I should have asked you out then.
We meet each other’s gazes.
My heart thrashes. “What are you saying?”
“Will you go out with me, Willow?” he asks. “And not just as friends. I want to be your boyfriend.”
I didn’t hear him right. I must be dreaming. This is about the same time I’d ask a friend to pinch me, but my friend is the one currently asking me out. So there’s that.
“Um…” I stammer again.
Panic ascends his face. “You can say no.”
I definitely do not want to say no. But still, I hesitate.