Page 65 of Whatever It Takes
ButGarrison?
What if it’s some joke? What if this is likeNever Been Kissedand it’ll end with him driving by and chucking eggs at me?
He says he’s not popular, but he has all the makings of a popular high schooler: toned biceps that indicate his athleticism (i.e. he plays a sport), a face that’d be the lead in any CW show—or at least the little brother to the star (i.e. like Jeremy fromThe Vampire Diaries), and messy brown hair that sometimes touches his eyelashes—hair that saysI could be in a boy band, but I’m too cool for that shit.
Not to mention his tattoo.
And his confident yet dark scowl…
I suddenly draw this conclusion:I don’t know Garrison Abbey.Not enough to say whether or not he’d chuck eggs at me.
If I really believed he’d do that though, I would’ve never climbed in his car.
“I know it’s out of the way,” he says as the light turns green. “I also don’t care. I usually try to waste three hours in the morning anyway.”
Three hours? “You wake up at five a.m.?”
“Doesn’t everyone,” he says dryly, his fingers twitching a little. The car smells like citrus, not cigarettes, and there aren’t any bottles of alcohol or beer anywhere, but I’ve seen him smoke and drink before. He switches topics. “Are you a junior?”
“No.”
He frowns. “Sophomore?”
“Senior,” I reply.
“You look younger.”
“It’s the braid,” I mutter, shifting in my seat a little.
He glances at me once before focusing on the road. “The braid is cute.”
I feel my lips lifting.Do not smile like that.It’s this giddy smile that should never reveal itself to the person who put it there. “Okay,” I suddenly say.
“Okay…yeah?” He knows that I’m accepting his offer to pick me up on Monday.
I nod. “How should we communicate?”
He switches lanes easily. “By letters probably,” he banters. “I’d say two tin cans, but I don’t think the string would reach from me to you.”
“What about communicating in ones and zeroes?”
He feigns confusion. “What is that? Ones and zeroes…nah, I don’t like those.” He almost smiles, because after today, I know he likes the internet, maybe even more than me.
15PRESENT DAY - October
London, England
WILLOW HALE
Age 20
Ihaven’t spoken to Garrison in weeks.
Days turned into nights. Nights turned into mornings. And time seems to seep like water between my fingers. Losing it all.
Our videos to each other have grown more infrequent and shorter. The ones I send, I’m rushed, frazzled running between classes.
His are more concerning. Heavy-lidded eyes and mumbled words before he dozes off.
