Page 63 of Whatever It Takes
“For the record,” I tell her, “I don’t have a ton of friends…”at least not anymore.
“It looked like you did,” she mutters.
My stomach turns. I decide to change the subject back to the lighter one. “We could message each other if you share your username with me.”
She thinks hard again. “You really want to know it?”
Do I want to know what she’s like online? What kind of things she’s into? Yeah, I do. “I wouldn’t be asking again if I didn’t.”
“I’ll tell it to you, but only if you fill out a questionnaire on Tumblr first.”
I frown in confusion. “Why?”
She tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve filled one out recently, and I don’t like deleting things…”
It hits me. She doesn’t want me to see her answers, at least not without jumping into the same boat she’s floating in.
A questionnaire.
I try to stifle a laugh that almost escapes. It’s probably one of those things you tag your friends in and they tag other people—I don’t do those. Ever.
She begins to recoil from me, and I immediately want to punch myself in the face.Shit.I set a hand on hers, and she jumps.
“Sorry.” I let go. “I’m not trying to be an ass. I just…you really want me to fill out a questionnaire?”
“Only if you want my username.”
I give her a weak smile—I’m not good at smiling, to be honest. I can’t remember the last time I was happy enough to reveal my teeth in one. Maybe never. I bet I was a morose, assholish baby. “Alright.” I commit. “I’ll do it.”
She shows me a link to the questionnaire. I vaguely skim some of the questions, zoning in on really personal ones. If I end up doing this, it’ll mean opening up to Willow…and Willow opening up to me.
What do you say, Garrison?
I say that I’ve never done that to anyone before.
This will be a first. And I’m surprised I have some of those left.
14BACK THEN – September
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW MOORE
Age 17
Garrison said he’d fill out the questionnaire later. Maya came in and doled out duties for us before he could even start. Most of the day I spent checking inventory, and she made Garrison clean coffee machines, mop floors, and bus tables.
I don’t see him when I exit Superheroes & Scones at 5 p.m.—though I can’t stop thinking about him. He seems like trouble, like someone I’d stay a thousand feet away from in Caribou, Maine. If my suspicions are right, his friends were the ones that broke into Lo’s house.
He seems characteristicallybad.
I’m just scared he’d pressure me to do something I wouldn’t want to do. I’ve never had friends like that, but he seems the type, doesn’t he?
I approach my gold Honda on the curb, knowing that I’m judging him.
But I’m judging him off prior actions.
I can’t make up my mind. In fact, my mind really hurts even trying to place Garrison in a category. Maybe I shouldn’t try to place him at all.
