Page 121 of Whatever It Takes

We didverywell on our marketing project. It was a strange coincidence that we chose an umbrella for our marketing project, and then a month later Netflix dropped the trailer to their new showThe Umbrella Academy. I’d already read the comics that the show’s based on, and it seemed like a great opportunity to capitalize on the timing.

So we tied in some of our marketing around the show—and put in a budget of what it would cost to cross-promote with the studio and the actors. Of course, it was all a theoretical scenario. But I was able to put my old teenage skills in editing fan videos to good use, splicing the trailer into an ad. It was fun.

And it worked. The professor was impressed that we thought about our demographic: the superhero-obsessed generation.

Garrison and I already celebrated over Christmas. We read the comics together side-by-side while drinking champagne straight from the bottle.

Cold slices my exposed cheeks, and I zip my jacket higher, trying to block the wind. I shake my head. “I am excited about school,” I tell Sheetal. “I’m just worried about my boyfriend.”

Tess wraps an arm around Sheetal and explains, “Garrison is coming in tonight.”

“Tonight?” Sheetal’s brows rise.

I shrug. “It was a spontaneous thing.”

“I’ll say.” Sheetal smiles, her excitement just as palpable as her girlfriend’s. “We’re finally meetingtheboyfriend.”

Tess nods. “That’s what I said.”

“Great minds—” Sheetal can’t get the rest of the words out because Tess kisses her again.

My phone pings with a text. My stomach has butterflies, drunk on concern. Flapping around in my belly with an intoxicated, sluggish rhythm.

Garrison:Just got in the cab. Be there in twenty.

I just need him to be okay.Pleasebe okay.

That’s all I can hope.

26PRESENT DAY – December

London, England

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 21

An excruciating delay, an eight-hour flight, and twenty-minute cab ride later, I’ve finally arrived at Wakefield. The snow-blanketed quad in front of Bishop Hall is filled with inflatable jumping houses that little kids have for birthday parties. Music thumps the cobblestone path.

Willow warned me that since this is the one and only party on the quad it’s a bit extravagant, but it feels more like some strange carnival. People dressed in all white, some have angel wings on their backs.

College is weird, man.

I tip back a small travel bottle of vodka to my mouth. The liquor slides easy down my throat. In first class, they were handing me these almost every fucking hour.

Okay, I asked for them.

It’s been a shitty day. A shitty year.

A shitty life.

Each step towards the brick building is heavy. A couple of people shoot me weird looks, eyeing my clothes. Red T-shirt. Black hoodie jacket. Dark pants. If I came here to blend, I’m failing at critical levels.

My small duffel is slung on my shoulder. Cold wind bites my face, and I press my phone to my ear. No gloves. Forgot those on my hurried course to the airport. My fingers sear from the chill.

Willow picks up on the first ring. “Are you here?” she asks, urgency to her words.

“Yeah, present.” I spin around, trying to find her. But everything suddenly blurs. My head tilts. Sickness rises in my throat. Shit.