Garrison smiles. “Knowing Lily, we may all have a ‘surprise’ holiday bonus next week.” He makes air quotes with one hand.
“It’s August,” I say.
“Exactly.” He places the comic on a stack, sorting the issues from oldest to newest. He’s quiet for a second, unusually so, and I think maybe I said the wrong thing.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I shouldn’t have brought up college…or lack thereof. For us both, I mean.” I’m roasting.
He eyes me silently.
“It’s just,” I continue. “I know that it’s a sensitive topic because of Maybelwood.” When we returned from the lake house, Garrison finally approached his parents and confessed to flunking out of Faust.
They were angry, but they’re also type-A’s (as he put it), so they just went into immediate action and enrolled him in another school.
Maybelwood Preparatory. Also the same high school Ryke attended.
Garrison rarely talks about repeating his senior year, but I know his pride has been bruised. And I was the fool that just brought up college.
“Hey, Willow.” Garrison leans over the edge of the box, two hands on the edge. We’re a little closer now. I can smell his shampoo, a pine needle scent.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“No topics are too sensitive to talk about between us,” he tells me. “Can we agree on that?”
I look him over, wondering if he likes discussing the tough parts with me—because there are so many untouchable, sensitive subjects in his life that we’ve been crossing together. “Yeah, definitely,” I say, feeling relieved.
“Good.” He smacks the side of the box and returns to sorting the stacks. “And I’m never going to college—so we can talk about it all you want. It’s not a big deal.”
I frown. “You don’t want to go? Or you don’t think you’ll get in?”
“I don’t want to go.” His blue-green eyes hit mine. “You know when you think about something and it gives you this unsettling feeling, like you’re a moment from breaking out into hives?”
Every day.“Yeah.”
“It’s like that. Times a billion. There’s not a cell inside of me that wants to go. So I’m not going.” His confidence in his decision radiates around the storage room. “Plus, there’s an added benefit of getting to spend time with my girl.”
My girl.
The room tenses at that term.
We glance uneasily at one another, then away. The air heavies. It didn’t used to be like this. Not sinceprom.
We barely discuss what happened. How my date stood me up on the day of prom. My self-esteem leaped off a cliff into a major freefall.
That was until Garrison showed up.
He dressed in a suit and knocked on the door, ready to whisk me away and vanquish all the memories of ever being ditched.
We went as friends. That’s what we both assertedbeforethe limo,duringthe dance, and evenafteron the ride home. Friends.
There was no kiss.
No promise of anything to come.
Just friends.
It was a good night, but a little awkward. And tense. Like staring right at a purple elephant taking up the entire dancefloor. If I’m being truthful with myself, Iwantedsomething more. Maybe not a kiss—I’m still not sure if I’m ready for that—but he could have put his hand on the small of my back or leaned in close. Instead, it felt like I was dancing with a friend.
Which is what we are. So I shouldn’t be disappointed.
