Page 47 of Headstrong Like Us

Hurt for me.

This is going to hurt?

Farrow extends his arm around my waist.

I breathe in, prepared for the heavy weight to fall.

“Moffy, she seemed really…upset.” Jane winces. “Before she even tried to open the door. And I don’t know why she’d be searching for my dad instead of my mom—her sister, you know. Has everything been okay here?”

No.

I want to pull at the collar of my crewneck. The shirt feels a thousand sizes too small. Suffocating me. Heat blankets my build in a homemade furnace. But I’m upright and rigid.

Farrow’s arm is the only comforting thing attached to my body right now.

I’ve tried not to keep anything from Jane. I’m not going to start today. So I tell her and Thatcher everything I know—which isn’t much.

“It’s probably just about Luna and the tabloids. I bet my mom wants your dad to help with headlines and lawyers.” Uncle Connor has always been good at handling media fallouts.

Jane hugs me. “We’ll keep an eye out if we see anything else.”

I hug her back, and when we part, Farrow’s hand falls into mine. We go into the kitchen, and he stops me from hiking upstairs like nothing happened.

“It’s fine,” I tell him, his hand encasing my jaw. It calms me. His touch, his eyes, his love. “My parents are strong.” I have total belief in them.

He nods, seeing this. “Whatever happens, I’m here.”

I cup his neck and kiss him.

What I hope: that there isn’t anything else that Jane will see or that we’ll see, that whatever is happening will just blow over. Like yesterday’s news.

10

FARROW KEENE

With the invitationsmailed out two weeks ago, we don’t need the chalkboard guest list anymore. But Maximoff erases the names off his black bedroom wall, just to write a new list:

Philosophy quote

Forest (woods)

Hufflepuff

Family birthdays

X-Men

Batman?

Swimming (water)

I’m leaning on his dresser, and my smile is really fucking killing me. Maximoff’s 8 p.m. zigzagging thoughts and ideas are amusing as fuck.

He pauses to evaluate, his gaze flitting to me. I’m guessing he wants my opinion but doesn’t want to award me the satisfaction of askingfor it.

Okay.

I sidle next to him. Stuffing my hands in my slacks, I angle my head and whisper close to his ear, “What’s with the question mark afterBatman?”