Page 62 of Whatever It Takes

“No worries,” I tell her and gesture to the computer. “It’s all fixed.” The Windows screen pops up and asks for the administrator’s password. I could login as “guest” but I test a few passwords, one beingScott Summerssince the Cyclops cardboard cutout greets people when they enter the store.

It works. “Weak password,” I mutter, opening Chrome.

“How can you tell?” Willow fixes her braid, her arm brushing mine. An electric current runs through my veins—the brief contact more innocent than what I’m used to. More pure. Maybe that’s why it feels so different.

“A strong password doesn’t duplicate characters and it has numbers.” Anything less and an encryption program would take virtually three seconds to crack the password.

She gives me a cautious glance, a coffee machine grumbling to life behind us while feet clap against the floor.

“What?” I pop open Tumblr, about to type in my username.

“Do you break passcodes a lot?” Her cheeks pale again. “I mean, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

I want to hug her to my side for some reason. To comfort her maybe. She hangs her head a little and keeps glancing around at the employees, bustling behind us.

I don’t wrap my arm around her or pull her closer though. She has that closed-off stance, which I take as a sign that she might not like me touching her at all.

“A few times, yeah,” I tell her. “I have software that does it.” It’s not like I’m hacking into anything important. I’ve taken over my friends’ Twitter accounts as a joke a few times—that’s it. I could probably do a lot worse.

She doesn’t say anything. She’s dazedly staring straight at the Tumblr screen. “You okay?” I ask, typing my username:ryumastersxx

“No.” She winces. “Yes, I’m good. Just…shocked that you’d like this andthis.” She points at the Tumblr logo and then my username.

My brows knot. “Wait, doyoulikeStreet Fighter?”

“You have a tattoo.” She glances at my inked skull between my bicep and forearm.

“I don’t know where we’re going here.”

“And you have atonof friends—” Willow gets cut off as a college-aged employee walks behind her, nearly bumping into her side. I never move, so she ends up right against my waist, tucked close to me now.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nervously takes off her glasses and wipes the lenses. “I just never thought someone like you would like this stuff.”

“Well I didn’t think someone like you would be into an old video game.”

After a short pause, she asks softly, “What’s someone like me?”

I think about it for a second. “…a girl.” I feel bad even saying it, and I realize that my perception of people isn’t what it should be. Maybe no one’s really is. We can’t really know who people are until we meet them.

“I’m not the only girl who likes video games,” she says. “And I’m definitely not the only one that likes Tumblr.”

“That I know,” I say, more than curious about how she uses Tumblr. Quickly, I reblog a couple gif sets fromSupernatural. “What’s your username?”

She fixes her glasses. “I can’t say.”

I raise my brows. “What is it, some secret?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of,” I repeat with an uncommon, growing smile. “Can I get a hint?”

She gives me a knowing look. “So you can break into my account? No.”

“What’s your first pet’s name?” I quip. “The city you were born in?”

She shakes her head at me likenot working.I didn’t think it would, but she’s less nervous to meet my eyes. Hers are pretty: brown but a little hazel near her pupils.