He pulls off his hoodie, splaying it on the chair. Now just in a black tee. He stretches out his arm, about to show me the tattoo on his forearm, but I’ve seen that one before. It’s a skull with lyrics to an Interpol song. I had to Google it.
“The one on your shoulder blade, I mean.”
He goes a little rigid and then his arms fall to his sides. “That one is kind of an intense tattoo.” He pauses. “My mom hasn’t even seen it.”
“Not even when you go swimming?”
“Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I went swimming in my pool.”
More silence spreads in a long moment. Neither of us moves or speaks.
We look at each other. We wonder. His brown eyelashes flit up, each time he peeks at me. Strands of his hair fall over his forehead, and he rests his forearms on his thighs, thinking.
I wait, just as calmly. Inspecting my mascara brush. Glancing at him.
He’s never pushed me, and I won’t push him to do anything or reveal more.
He licks his pink lips and then nods to himself once or twice. “How about”—he retrieves his phone from his pocket and then flips the cell in his hand a couple of times—“we make a trade. I don’t know your Twitter username yet. You give me yours, I’ll show you my tattoo.”
As he processes his own declaration, his eyes flit to the wall, the ground and the window, more than a few times—almost nervously. His joints even stiffen more than usual.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He raises his gaze and nods. “Yeah.” He adds, “I want to see what Willow Hale tweets about.”
Willow Hale.
He still has no idea that I’m not Lo’s cousin. I’m his half-sister. Willow Moore. And I have no idea when I’ll be able to trust Garrison enough to tell him the truth. It’s not just my secret to keep. It involves everyone.
I know that I can’t jump the gun on this, even if he’s my friend.
“They’re not that great of tweets,” I warn him. “Mostly fandom stuff.” I reach for my phone on my bed and then pause before logging into Twitter. “I was thinking about changing my username though.”
“Oh no.” He points at me. “You’re one of those people who changes their usernames every day, aren’t you?” He’s nearly smiling as he says it, and he tilts his head at me. “How am I going to find my girl if you’re willowkicksass one day and vegalover the next?”
“Ha ha.” My cheeks hurt from my own smile. In the mirror, I notice an actual blush rising. “And you’d find me. It’d just take you a couple seconds…maybe even less.” Not because he’s good at computers.
But because he knows what I like.
“Probably.” His knee brushes against mine, on accident. We both go still. My heavy breath is more audible than his.
So he scoots back his chair, giving me more room.
I clear my throat, my neck burning again. “The next username I make, I want to go public with it and promote Superheroes & Scones. Lily also keeps asking for my u.n. so she can tweet me.” I hold my phone flat on my lap. “I won’t change this one all the time like the others.”
He sees the Twitter login screen. “Have you already picked it out?”
“Yeah, I wanted to do something like Lo. He has his name paired with his favorite mutant.” His username: lorenhellion. “The problem is that willowallflower is already taken.”
Garrison doesn’t seem surprised when I say the word wallflower—instead he just points at my phone screen. “Make the double L’s in ‘wallflower’ capital I’s and it’ll look the same on Twitter.”
I type in the changes, and he’s right. The I’s show up more like L’s, and this username is available. Before I accept the new username, I ask, “You know Wallflower?” She’s not a well-known mutant, and she’s not around for long in the comics.
“You mentioned her in your questionnaire.”
I did?
“I looked her up,” he explains off my confusion, “figured it couldn’t hurt with Maya grilling me every shift.” He spins some in his chair, pretty casual. “Do you like Wallflower with the blond guy or the brown-haired one?” He leans back.
I’m trying so hard not to smile like he’s put his hands on my cheeks. Like he’s kissed me. I just—this is surreal. That he’s here, talking to me about my favorite mutants. He’s not laughing. He’s not calling me a little girl. He’s not calling me dumb or silly. He’s respecting the things I love.
He stares at the ceiling, trying to recall something. “I remember looking up their names.” He swivels. “Shit.” He thinks a second longer. “Elixir…and Wither?”
“Yeah, that’s them. They’re in a love triangle with Wallflower.” I don’t mention how their romances don’t end very well, in case he wants to read the comics. “I like her with Wither, even if they’re doomed from the start.”