I open the middle console, take out a folded piece of paper, and then retrieve the crumpled one from my backpack.
I notice three similarities, which is a lot more than I expected.
“And?” he asks, glancing between the road and me.
“We’re in the same British lit and Calculus class, and we have the same lunch period.” I gauge his reaction, but he never smiles much, not even now.
He asks, “Are you good at British lit?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of…” He gives me a look. “What does that mean exactly? Sort of. Is it more of a yes or more of a no for you?”
“I guess…a yes.”
He nods. “Good because I fucking suck at lit.”
“I’m bad at Calculus.”
He nearly smiles this time. “I’ll help you if you help me.”
I lean back. “You’re good at math?”
“I like numbers more than words,” he explains, “but I don’t mind reading—just not classics. I fall asleep every time I flip a page.” He fiddles with the windshield wipers as a sheet of rain suddenly falls from the sky.
“I like comic books mostly, but I pick up regular books from time to time.” I hug my backpack closer, my skirt riding up a little. I try to tug that down. “Should I be worried…?”
He glances at me again, like he’d rather focus on me than the road, but the rain really steals his attention. “About what?”
“The people at Dalton. I know Loren called the cops on your…friends, and I’m just wondering if they’re bitter towards him still.”
Garrison tries to hide his expression, but I see him cringe.
“Oh God,” I mutter, realizing it’s bad.
“It’s not just about that. Some of the guys there had brothers who went to school with Loren, and they hated him. That hate has passed down through siblings.”
“Why’d they hate him?”
Garrison shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s probably just stupid shit, back and forth vandalism. My oldest brother killed a deer after hunting with his friends, and he put the head in some guy’s pickup as a joke.” He emphasizes the last word with more distaste.
My face contorts. People actually do that? “And they know I’m Loren’s cousin?”
“Hey,” he says, “if you’re that worried, I can just tell some people you’re with me.”
I stiffen.
“Not like, with me, with me.”
“So…you’ll tell everyone that you’re my friend?”
He shakes his head. “No, I have a lot of friends…” He stops short. “Or I used to. Anyway, that won’t mean much to someone.” He glances at me again. “I can just tell everyone you’re my girl, and they’ll probably back off.”
“Your girl?” My brows jump.
He licks his lips and actually laughs into a small smile. “It’s ambiguous. Not a girlfriend, but not just a friend. I don’t own you or anything. It just lies somewhere between those two.”
My shoulders loosen a little as I contemplate this. “It reminds me of the movie.” I have to bite my tongue to keep from smiling. My Girl. A movie about best friends.
“What movie?” he asks.
“My Girl…you’ve never seen it?”
He shakes his head, and then he asks, “Are you okay with this? I can try to think of something else if you’re not.”
I contemplate it a little more. “So if someone asks you about me, you’ll say to them…?”
“She’s my girl.” He says it with sincerity and threat, like don’t mess with her. He takes a hand off the steering wheel and catches my gaze once. “Yeah?”
My arms heat, liking my girl more than I thought I would. Maybe because it’s from him. “Yeah,” I say, licking my lips. I realize they’re a little cracked. “Are you sure they’ll back off if I’m affiliated with you?”
“They’ll probably just come harass me instead,” he says with a dry smile. I don’t think he’s joking.
“Garrison—”
“I don’t give a shit about any of the people at Dalton anymore, and I can take a few stupid comments and empty threats.” He changes lanes and subjects. “I never asked where you’re from.”
“Maine,” I say without thinking about my cover. Willow Hale.
“And you left your parents to be here?” He frowns.
I pick at a frayed strand on my backpack. “Yeah.”
“How come?”
“I guess…” I start, trying to wrap my head around why I did this. Why I ultimately decided to plant roots here instead of return to Caribou. “I decided that I’d do whatever it takes to be the person I want to be and not what everyone else wants me to be, even if it means hurting some people I love along the way.”
He stares far off as he drives. “Yeah…” He lets out a short breath. “I think I’m doing that too.”
I relax more. “Willow bada boom thirty-three,” I tell him.
He tilts his head at me. “Your username?”
“Yeah.”
“I like it, Willow bada boom.” He says it in The Fifth Element voice. My chest swells.
It’s not every day you meet someone that understands the things you love, but somehow I’ve crossed paths with someone who really does.