Page 38 of Whatever It Takes

“Yeah, but I’m taking a break—hold on.” My door suddenly opens, Salvatore, Sheetal and Tess slipping out of it.

Salvatore catches my gaze. “Hey, we chose the umbrella. We figured we’d just decide and call it an early night.”

“I’m going to email the professor,” Tess tells me, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“See ya, Willow,” Sheetal adds before she leaves with Tess.

Salvatore stays for a second. Hands stuffed in his jacket. “We think we can advertise to the university students. Cool designs. Small and portable for class.”

It’s simple, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. “I like it.”

“Great.” He walks backwards, eyes still on me. “See you in class, Willow Hale.” He spins on his heels and heads toward the stairwell.

I don’t understand flirting, but I know rom-coms and that definitely was straight out of the movies. Only it does the opposite of causing butterflies to flap in my belly. More like moths dying a slow and unnatural death.

I put my cell back to my ear. “Garrison, are you still there?”

9PRESENT DAY – September

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 20

It was unmistakable. The guy’s voice on the other end of the phone. But there were other voices too, and I’m not about to jump to conclusions like some jealous, paranoid boyfriend. I trust Willow, and she’s allowed to have guy friends.

“Garrison, are you still there?” she asks me.

I lie on my bed in a black hoodie and jeans, staring up at the ugly, stained ceiling. “Yeah, still here.”

“That was just my group for that project I was talking about.”

Intro to Marketing.I remember. All the pieces clicking into place. “You can call me back when you’re done.”

“We just finished.” I hear her shut the door. “I’m going to Skype you.” She must be really worried about me, more than I even thought. Fuck.

I run my hand through my messy hair that touches my eyelashes. I don’t want to scare her. And really, I’m coherent. Fine. I’m just burying myself in work, and that isn’tthatbad, all things considered.

Skype alerts me on my opened laptop, and I sit up, placing my computer on my lap, and click into her call.

I see my girlfriend, and I exhale. Willow is sitting on her bed, dorm room dimly lit, X-Men poster hung up behind her.

Her eyes flit around me quickly. “You’re right, you are in one piece.”

“It was touch and go there for a minute,” I joke. A bad one.

She shakes her head, and so softly, she whispers, “Don’t.”

“Okay,” I say. “You look good.” Her olive-green shirt accentuates her warm brown, hazel-ish eyes that practically look like melting chocolate. Willow wore that same shirt on her last day in Philly.

I only remember because I went to the airport with her, and that image of Willow leaving is kind of engrained in my head.

“You’re home,” she realizes. “Isn’t it only—”

“One p.m.” I answer for her. “Connor sent me home.” I don’t mention that I fell asleep at my desk. “He thought the same thing as you. That I looked tired.”

“He’s looking out for you,” Willow says.