“Yeah, but that’s why I’ve got this…” I tug my hood down further, almost shrouding my eyes.
“Your fingers look purple,” she says, concerned, and then one of the comics falls from its rack. She huffs. “Stupid broken rack.”
“Is that Inhumans?” I wonder. “I thought Loren didn’t want Inhumans stocked in the store. Didn’t he call it a mediocre version of X-Men? And also a comic book line that’s off-limits to all X-Men purists and if he can help it, off-limits to everyone?” He made that whole speech during last month’s meeting.
“Yeah,” Willow replies, grabbing tape and fashioning the broken rack back together. “But yesterday, Lily came in and told us Loren’s bias over certain lines was not going to affect the store—since it’s technically hers. And that Inhumans is a good series and needed to be stocked. So here I am…” She realigns the comics and slides them in. “…but I think there’s a reason she put it on this crappy rack. Like maybe she subconsciously agrees with him.” Willow nudges her glasses again and collapses on the ground. She straightens her phone so that I’m looking at her and not the comics.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She pins her fallen employee nametag back to her shirt. “Honestly, I like Inhumans. And they’re pretty cool on Agents of Shield.”
“I don’t watch it,” I remind her.
She nods, remembering. “Supernatural is better. It starts again soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not even sure I’ll have the time to watch any TV let alone my favorites.
Faust is a big time-suck, and on my free weekends, I’m planning to commute back to Philly for shifts at Superheroes & Scones. So I can at least have an excuse to see Willow. I’m just glad Lily Calloway agreed to let me keep working part-time.
I light a cigarette. If I’d known Sasha Anders was going to be a Grade-A tool-bag, I wouldn’t have bothered pretending I had no smokes. Regret hammers me. And I usually don’t regret social situations that turn sour. That shit flies off my shoulders. But being here—it’s different.
“So…” she says. “How’s the first week been? How’s Faust and your roommates?”
I shrug. “Faust is…” I glance down at my cigarette. “Unusual. And my new roommate is…well, his name is William.” I smile dryly. “Which bugs the shit out of me because every time someone says it, I just think about…”
You.
The names Willow and William are too similar to not be jarred by it. It fucking sucks.
Her cheeks ashen a little, and she glances down at her shoes.
“How’s everything there?” I wonder, worried. “How’s Dalton?” My friends? Are they jerks to you while I’m gone?
She shrugs now. “It’s the same.”
“The same?” I frown.
“I mean, not the same. You’re not here,” she says hurriedly. “It’s really just boring and nothing goes on. Which is better than the alternative. More tampons in the locker would be rough.”
“Yeah, definitely,” I say. “Boring is better than tampon pranks.” But I still feel badly that she’s alone at Dalton. At least she’s not completely alone. She has Loren and Lily, and she lives with Maya—who is pretty cool even if she hates my lack of comics knowledge.
“You’d tell me if something happened right?” I ask. “I know I can’t really do anything being out here, but I’d want to know.”
“Of course, I’d tell you.” She pauses. “You’d tell me if something happened there, right?”
“Of course.” Sasha Anders doesn’t count. He technically didn’t do anything to me, except call me a mouse. In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. Really, it was kind of stupid. I’ve been through worse.
Silence eats at us for a second before she says, “Garrison.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you go inside? I can see your fingers again and they look really purple.”
“Yeah, okay.” She cares about me. I think she does. I mean, that definitely means she does. Right? Someone on this planet actually cares about my well-being. That thought and feeling settles in my body like falling snow.
I drop my cigarette and turn towards the buildings. An employee distracts Willow for a second, asking if she’ll swap workdays. I head inside and feel the rush of warmth. Classes in session, no one struts up and down the hallways.
Empty.
I lean my shoulder against a staircase banister. Staying on the first floor, I realize I might be missing political science right now, but I don’t care.
I focus on my phone and watch Willow return her attention to me. “So everyone loves Connor here,” I tell her.
She smiles. “You need to tell me stories.”
“I’d rather hear yours right now,” I say honestly. “My whole day has been centered on Connor Cobalt, and I need a distraction. What’s going on with you?”
“The media is getting kind of crazy,” she says. “More so than usual. But luckily they’re more focused on Ryke’s surgery and Rose’s new hair color than little ole me right now.”