Page 1 of Whatever It Takes

1PRESENT DAY - August

London, England

WILLOW HALE

Age 20

Yesterday I was a virgin.

Today, I’m not.

And I know I’m not “supposed” to put this great big importance on my first time and virginity and all of that, but I didn’t loseituntil I was twenty.Having anyone touch me is a big deal. Having someoneinsideof me…is monumental. Like Thor crashing down during the climax ofAvengers: Infinity War.

It wasthatbig of a deal. To me. To him.

And now the guy who took my virginity is thousands of miles away in Philadelphia.

“Over here is the campus bookstore, which I checked does not carry comic books so it’s already a complete fail,” I say to my cell, video recording.

My head pounds from jetlag. It feels like I just stepped off the plane, and I’ve only thrown my bags in my dorm. I wanted to check out the campus before it got dark. As the sun begins to set, students meander into dining halls for dinner.

I focus my cell’s camera on the campus bookstore sign.

Documenting my college experience at Wakefield University is my first order of business, while Garrison keeps me updated on his life back in Philly.

Long distance is not ideal. It’s not my first choice. Or second. But until someone invents teleportation or I’m struck down by lightning and develop super-human speed like The Flash, we’re stuck to modern technology.

“And over here…” I rotate my cell to rows of booths. “Are all the potential clubs that I’m probably not going to join—”

“HEADS UP!”

I turn.No no no.A frisbee is flying straight towards my face.

Ducking quickly, the frisbee sails over my head and across the quad to another guy’s hands. My heart beats wildly, and my jaw slowly drops. Dumbfounded. Did I just outmaneuver a flying frisbee? Okay, my reflexes have definitely improved. I am certified-clumsy. Definitely not by choice. Maybe London is a good luck charm for me.

My lips lift into a bigger smile, and I turn to head back down the cobbled path—oh shit,my hip and elbow suddenly collide with a girl and her box, both coming out of nowhere.

She stumbles and manages not to faceplant from my elbow-knock. But the brown cardboard crashes to the ground, flaps opening, and I watch as condoms spill onto the cobblestone.

Shit.

“I’msosorry.” I quickly squat and start scooping up the condoms.

“No worries. We’re both in one piece.” Her English accent is noticeable. It hits me again—I am not in America anymore. Add in the fact that this is my new home. That I’m living here for four years instead of the usual three for UK undergrads because my degree requires blood, sweat, tears, and an extra year apparently.

It’s all hardly sunk in.

I’m half expecting someone to pop out of the bushes with a bigGotchasign.

I just…I hope moving here was the right decision.

The twenty-something girl in front of me blows a red curl off her lips and bends down to help with the condom spill. She’s white, curvy and wears a Wakefield T-shirt—the letters WFU in a circular dark green and gold emblem.

I toss a huge handful of condoms into her box while I perspire everywhere. I am hot. Baking under embarrassment, and I’m aware that this is the most condoms I’ve ever touched.

When they lower me into a grave, my funeral eulogy will definitely be:There was that young, innocent Willow Hale who ran head-first into a giant box of condoms and never revived.

I must be staring too hard at the condoms because the girl says, “You can take some. That’s what they’re there for.”