Page 81 of Whatever It Takes

High School:sucks

College:probably sucks more

Hair Color + Length:brown, short but not that short idk

Height:5’11’’

Your crush:unknown entity ... not computable at this time

Tattoos:2, one on the inside of my elbow, the other over my right shoulder blade (my mom started crying when she saw the first one, you destroyed your body!!)

Right or left-handed:Right

Any surgeries:broke my wrist pretty bad and my leg once. I had to have a couple pins put in – I was only about seven and then nine.

Any piercings:no I didn’t want anyone trying to tug that shit out

Favorite sport:lacrosse. All my brothers played, and I’m not the worst at it but I probably hate it the most

First vacation:France. I was nine-months-old and can remember absolutely nothing

Currently…

What are you eating:cold slice of pizza

What are you drinking:that energy drink + vodka

What are you waiting for:a certain someone’s username

Do you want kids:I already feel bad for these kids

Marriage:if I love her enough

Career:who the fuck knows bc I don’t

What do you like…

Hugs or kisses:definitely kissing but I’d take both

Shorter or taller:girls? I don’t really have a preference

Older or younger:probably younger or same age

I’m not tagging anyone else, but if you feel like doing this, knock yourself out. It’s not as bad as it seems. And someone out there owes me a username -- see you in the morning if I haven’t already.

“Are you getting off?”

“Huh?” I peel my attention off my cellphone. A college student with a backpack is waiting in the lobby.

She motions to the elevator. “Are you getting off here?”

“Oh yeah.” I quickly step off and check the time, still five minutes early. I pocket my cell, surprised at how much information I received and then in the same breath, all the conundrums that he presented me with too.

I wonder if my questionnaire will read that way as well.

As soon as I walk outside, the September air cool, I notice a black Mustang parked on the curb. Garrison waits for me, leaning against the car with hands in his navy-blue slacks. His tie is loose around his neck, his white button-down fitting him perfectly.

In the Dalton Academy uniform, he looks more like a quintessential popular guy than the alternative black-hoodied one I’m used to seeing. He straightens up when he spots me, and I slow my pace a little.