“It’s free. Do you still want to?”
I wonder if she was just waiting for the crowds to clear out around it.
“Yeah, definitely.”
6 BACK THEN – October
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW MOORE
Age 17
Things I never thought I’d be doing in Philadelphia: apple-bobbing at Loren Hale’s neighborhood Halloween party.
Beads of water still roll down my cheeks, and Garrison, only a couple inches away, tenderly brushes the wet strands of hair off my forehead. Everything is blurry, and he must sense my unease, so he gently fits my glasses back on.
“Thanks.” I concentrate on his blue-green eyes that dance across my features. He plucks a hair stuck to my cheek and tucks it behind my ear.
My everyday nerves try to subside, and giddiness flutters inside me like confetti falling from the sky. When his other hand skims my hip, I let out a small, nervous laugh. I prefer the giddiness over anxiety, but I can’t really control which comes out first. I’m just not used to touching. Everything is so new.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I push up my glasses, hoping I can reassure him that I like this so far. “Yeah.” I nod more than once.
“Can I hold you?” Quickly, he adds, “Like put my arm around you?”
I waver between a bursting smile and apprehension. I want to be on the bursting smile side of things, and I trust Garrison more and more every day. “Yes.”
Garrison’s arm curves around my waist—
“Hey! You two!”
I instantly jolt and become a stiff board, my head swinging towards the exclamation, but I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Lo, my brother Lo. The one dressed like a Slytherin. The one sitting on a cluster of haybales across the pool. The Lo that everyone thinks is my cousin. That Loren Hale—yeah, he sends a seething glare at Garrison, one that could set the universe on fire.
I hear the warning: don’t touch my little sister.
We both immediately tear apart, an invisible wedge shoved between us until about ten-feet separates his body from mine. Garrison rakes a hand through the side of his hair before he lifts his hoodie back up.
Lily and Ryke are next to my brother, but I can only see their lips move. My hearing hasn’t reached Superman levels. Nor my lip-reading skills because I have zero clue what they’re saying.
Garrison rotates, his back turned to me, and his cellphone out. I (poorly) sewed a pocket in my Vega costume, and my phone vibrates once.
“Ca-Caw!” I look up as I take out my phone. Daisy Calloway sits on the rooftop with an antler headband. She calls down to her boyfriend who’s currently dressed in plaid. “Ca-Caw!”
When Ryke sees her up on the roof, she smiles and says, “Hunt me.”
I don’t watch them for long.
I check my Twitter message notification.
From @garrisonwither
Going to the bathroom. I’ll be back soon. If you’re back on our haybale, save me a seat?
I reply with a will do. As I look up, he’s already disappeared. So I head towards the haybale—but I stop dead in my tracks. It’s occupied. I swing my head to the left and right, my eyes swerving like a frantic driver behind the wheel. Where do I sit? Most haybales are taken.
I’m not good at parties.
I just don’t know what to do or how to fill the time. There’s a hidden memo that says: stay off your cell. My phone actually takes away the nerves, but then I worry about being rude. And the anxiety returns. It’s not a fun cycle.
“Sorry,” I apologize to a family of pirates. They try to squeeze around me. I’m in the way. I apologize to two preteen girls dressed as angels. I knocked into one of their wings—or maybe I just barely brushed it? She didn’t seem that upset. I don’t even know if she noticed.
Willow Moore isn’t a total failure at life.
I have something going for me.
I could go talk to Lily or Lo, but they look like they’re having a sweet moment on their haybale, both squeezed close together, and their tiny son, dressed like a Gryffindor-to-be, is with them.
Likewise, Rose and Connor have their daughter in arm, and they stand so near one another, their lips moving too fast to keep up. Not that I’d approach them together. I think I could grow the courage to approach Rose without Connor.
I push up my glasses and mutter, “Carpe Diem.” I’m not a boy like any of the students at Welton Academy in Dead Poets Society, but I can Carpe Diem just like them.
I just need to…figure out where to go. I spin around, standing so close to the pool’s edge that I back up and back up. Just what I need, to fall right in the—
I whack a torch.
Oh God.
I whacked a flaming torch staked into the grass. I go to grab the iron pole, and I fall with it onto a haybale. Where that awful neighborhood lady, Mrs. Nash, and her son sit. They spring from the hazardous area I just created, and I clumsily collapse onto the hay that begins to singe and burn and flame.
“Willow!” Lo yells.
I cough at the gust of smoke and try to stand, my cheek hot. I smack a flame off my skirt and just fall to the grass. So I can crawl away from the fire.
On my knees and hands, I quickly scuttle beyond the haybale that blazes.
Parents are already scooping water from the pool using plastic buckets and Solo cups. While they douse the flame, I stare wide-eyed, frozen in shock.
What just happened?
“Willow?” Lo squats beside me, his amber-colored eyes pinpointed with worry. He scans me to see if I’m singed. I think my confidence burned the most.
“I’m…” sorry. I blink a couple times, trying to push past this cold shock. As my horror meets his concern, I only hope that this flaming haybale isn’t a metaphor for what I’ve brought Loren Hale. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“She’s in shock.” I hear the icy voice of Rose Calloway. Dressed like Natalie Portman from Black Swan, she towers high above me. I notice Ryke and Daisy helping extinguish the fire while Lily and Connor hold their kids by the food table, distracting them from the mayhem.
I’m sorry.
I must mutter it again because Lo says, “I’ve done a hell of a lot worse.”
I space out enough that he grows more worried. Suddenly, he scoops me in his arms.
Oh God.
Loren Hale is carrying me towards his house.
I’m being carried for the first time, and it’s by my famous brother. My shock just quadrupled. Maggie, my only friend from Maine, would die in his arms.
As Loren Hale climbs the porch, Garrison is sprinting over from—well I can’t really tell where he came from. Too many people are shifting around the backyard.
“Hey, what happened?” Garrison follows Lo as he brings me inside.
I don’t hear Lo’s response over the noise, but I can fill it in just fine: Willow knocked over the torch and then almost lit herself on fire.
Lo sets me on the kitchen counter, the house much quieter, and I hang my head, staring at my hands. I hear the faucet, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Rose wetting a washcloth.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, but for some reason tears try to well, and I keep pushing my glasses up that slip down my nose. Only Rose, Garrison, and Loren are in the kitchen right now, but I don’t release these kinds of emotions in front of people often. Even just three people seems like a lot.
Rose passes me the washcloth. “Here. This’ll help.”
I dab the coldness to my cheek and forehead.
Lo checks his phone. “Lily said it’s not on fire anymore. See, it’s not a problem.”
I rub beneath my eye just as a tear threatens to fall. “I didn’t mean to come into your life and set things on fire.”
Lo can’t help but laugh. “You think this is bad? Christ, Willow—I’ve set more metaphorical things on fire than this guy.” He points at Garrison.
Garrison raises his brows in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Lo, with his sharp as ice cheekbones and narrowed amber eyes, seems more frightening than the fire itself.
“It’s true,” Rose validates. “He’s horrendous.”
Lo flashes her a dry smile. “Says the girl dressed like a possessed ballerina.”
“Black Swan is a real thing.”
“Sure.” Lo’s gaze drifts back to me. “So what I’m saying is, you didn’t ruin anything by being here, except a goddamn haybale that no one is going to miss. I’m just glad you didn’t catch on fire. Because you—I would’ve missed.”
My eyes fill with tears, but a different kind.
“Me too,” Garrison chimes in.
“Me three,” Rose proclaims.
I nod, more assured than before. Okay.
How I end up smiling, I can only attribute to these people, in this kitchen, who made me feel loved when I felt lost and alone.
Okay.
I smile. “Okay.”
And for the first time in a long time, I’ve felt a part of a group.
A part of a family that I know is my own.
Garrison drives me to my apartment. As his Mustang slows by the curb, I wonder if I should invite him in? We’re not together, and I don’t know if it’d come across as a suggestion.
“Thanks for letting me tag along with you to the party,” he says first.
“Thanks for wanting to go with me at all.” I take off my blonde wig and shake out my hair, a couple bobby pins were sticking into my scalp. “You’re lucky that you left me for a while. I could’ve burned you.” I’m not a smooth-talker, and in the quiet of his car, I feel more like a dork. He knows you’re a geeky dork. And still, he wants to hang around me. That’s something, isn’t it?
He puts the car in park and rests his forearm on the steering wheel. We both sort of angle towards one another on our seats. I like how his hair always catches his eyelashes, and his eyes peek between the brown strands.
“About what Mrs. Nash said,” he starts.
“It doesn’t matter what she said.” I wonder how long this has been eating at him.
“Yeah it does,” he breathes. “Because…it’s true, Willow. Loren can compare us all he wants and say that he did worse shit, but I did shit to him. I wrote on his mailbox. I put dog shit on his front porch—I even filled a bucket of…” He looks away from me, ashamed.
I know what he did.
Lo told me everything, and I told Garrison that he did. There must be a place inside of him that still feels so guilty. Or else he wouldn’t feel the need to confess outright like this.
Garrison stares out the windshield, gathering his courage, as he says, “I filled a bucket up with liquor, so it’d pour on his head as he opened the front door. Knowing—knowing, he was an alcoholic and he was fighting to stay sober. I did that.”
He doesn’t add, my friends were there. I know they were, but he’s not making excuses or shirking the blame. He’s taking it all.
That’s why he’s a good person. Beneath what happened. Beneath his bad choices. He’s a good person. I hope one day he can see this too.
“Lo forgave you,” I remind him.
Garrison shakes his head, and softly, he mutters, “I can’t forgive myself.” He holds my gaze. “You shouldn’t be around me, and I don’t think I can be the better person and walk away from you, so you gotta do it for me. You have to tell me to stay away from you. You have to tell me to never come back here.”
It’s my turn. I shake my head vigorously. “No. I won’t do that.”
His eyes well. “Willow—”
“I’m not a fool.” I remove my glasses, wiping the foggy lenses. “I’m just a girl from Maine who wants a friend from Philadelphia. You’re my friend. I chose you as much as you chose me.” I put my glasses back on to see how reddened his eyes have become. “You’re the second friend I’ve ever had in my whole life, and I’m picky about my friendships. But I chose you.”
This might be the most I’ve said in one sitting, my lungs filling with oxygen and threatening to burst.
Garrison tilts his head, his features twisting through so many emotions. “What kind of friendship requirements did I pass to be yours?”
“You’re kind.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re good.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re honest.”
He pauses.
“You make me feel safe.”
He looks up at me, and the air tightens between us. Garrison extends his arm over the back of my seat, but he never drops it to my shoulders. He just keeps it there for a second, staring intently, thinking hard.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure.” We’re both trying to find our place in the world, at the same time. Sometimes it feels like we’re floating, and we’re not sure which way to land or if we even can. Before I ask if he wants to come in, his phone buzzes.
I notice the Caller ID says Mitchell. I think that’s one of his brothers.
“I should take this. He’s been calling me all night.”
I get the hint, and I open the car door. Just as I close it, he rolls down the window and ducks his head so he can see me on the curb.
“Season six,” he says, “want to watch it together next weekend? My house.”
A Supernatural marathon with Garrison Abbey. His favorite show. At his house. The first invite I’ve ever gotten there.
“Definitely.”
7 BACK THEN – November
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 18
Mom: Happy 18th Birthday! Do you want anything special for dinner tonight?
I briefly look up from my cellphone. On a Sunday afternoon, the mall is packed with families. Babies cry in their strollers, and parents holler at wandering toddlers. I loiter next to a retro arcade called Galactica Arcadia and text my mom a simple reply.
Something like: I don’t want anything for my birthday. Don’t worry about it. I already have plans for tonight.
I basically just told my mom that my plans don’t include her—which they don’t. Guilt should strike me. My mom is nice.
Nice but completely…I shake my head, not wanting to touch any of this. Not wanting to spell out any more words relating to my parents.
While I wait for a certain someone to show up, I log into Tumblr and start digging through Willow’s latest questionnaire. She tagged me in one, and I promised Willow the answers if she bobbed for apples during Halloween.
More than anything, I’m curious what questions she actually wants me to answer. It’s different than the first one. Here, she’s actively choosing which questionnaire I’ll fill out. Whereas the first one, there was no initial intention that some guy from Philly would appear and ask for her username and yada, yada, whatever.
The past is already written, isn’t it?
So here I am. In a noisy mall, filling out the new questionnaire with one hand stuffed in my leather jacket, the other gripping my cellphone.
Rules: Complete the form by answering each section truthfully. Once you’ve finished, tag other users to complete the task. Begin by sourcing the person who tagged you.
I source Willow using her new Tumblr account name: @vegablaze33. Here we go…
Name: Garrison (It’s an alright name, I guess.)
Age: 18 and surprisingly still alive
Zodiac Sign: Scorpio
Dream Home: anywhere but the suburbs.
Favorite Band: Interpol
Favorite TV Show: Supernatural. Sometimes American Horror Story.
I check my browser history for the next question.
What was your…
Last Google Search: porn. Jk, I was reading a tv recap for AHS.
Last person you told you loved: I can’t think that far back.
Last time you felt jealous: not computable at this time.
After Lily Calloway said that Superheroes & Scones needed a couple
more staff members, Maya hired a new employee during the Halloween weekend. One of which goes to Dalton Academy. Ace Davenport. Never seen him in my life—though he said he heard of me.
I couldn’t really tell if he hated or liked me. Maybe he’s just indifferent, but the moment he saw Willow fumbling with a rack of comics, he crouched next to her and helped re-shelve them.
They exchanged smiles.
I had a flashback.
Of me doing something kind of similar. Helping Willow pick up fallen cash from the register. It was the beginning of our friendship.
My stomach roiled at the thought of the beginning of theirs. I stewed silently, and Maya must’ve seen my irritation. She gave me a look like, don’t do anything bad. “He’s very valuable to our team.”
Valuable. “How?”
“He’s a walking Marvel encyclopedia. He knows every character, every comic line, unlike other employees.” Unlike me. I probably won’t ever be Maya’s favorite, not after making her job as store manager harder, but I won’t stop trying to make it up to her.
I didn’t even complain when she gave me toilet duty this week. And the bathrooms were so shitty. Pun intended.
I push Ace to the back of my brain and focus on the questionnaire again.
Last time you screwed up something important: probably yesterday. Every day. Story of my life.
Currently…
What turns you on: girls with glasses.
My lips start to rise, a little surprised she asked this one.
What turns you off: anyone who’s “mean” to girls with glasses.
Are you pissed at anyone: pick a brother.
Have you ever…
Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2) Page 6