Ritchie

“It’s the oldest story in the world.
One day you’re 17 and planning for someday.
And then, quietly, and without you ever really noticing, someday is today.
And then someday is yesterday.
And this is your life.”
One Tree Hill

Like Thor crashing down during the climax of Avengers: Infinity War.

“I guess I missed the part where we break bread, hold hands and sing hallelujah—maybe next time.”

everyone in the world is aware that Loren Hale’s true allegiance is to Marvel. He says fuck DC on practically every Instagram Live I’ve seen.

“Facebook is stupid, man,” I say. “It’s like the ugly stepchild of Tumblr.”

Garrison Abbey is the kind of guy that wears a D.A.R.E. shirt ironically and hacks assholes’ computers for fun. People flock to him because he’s cool in this mysterious way. Like Jess from Gilmore Girls.

“Willow, you’re my girl.”

“Okay,” Lily says hurriedly, “now you’ve met Willow and Willow you’ve met Garrison. Meet-and-greet has ended.”

I haven’t met her yet, not really. She won’t look at me.

I rise to my feet at the same time as Willow, helping her fit the cash back into the register. “Are you new here?” I ask, kind of already knowing the answer based on Maya showing her the checkout counter.

Why won’t you look at me?

“Yep,” Lily says quickly. “Yep, everyone’s new. Willow, can you get my purse from the break room?”

Willow shifts slightly, keeping at least two feet between us. “Sure.” She tries to smooth down a stack of fives.

“I can do it,” Maya says, scooting closer.

Willow abandons the register and heads for the break room. She has on those same faded overalls and a mustard-yellow shirt. When she walks, it’s closed-off, tucked into herself—and a part of me understands that.

More than I ever thought I could.

She pauses midway to the door. “My backpack…”

I notice the old JanSport backpack, propped against the counter. “This?” I grab it and make my way to Willow.

She finally meets my gaze.

Her brown, doe-like eyes are inquisitive and nervous. I see recognition, her gaze flitting over my features, to place me correctly.

“What’s your username?”

She fixes her glasses. “I can’t say.”

I raise my brows. “What is it, some secret?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of,” I repeat with an uncommon, growing smile. “Can I get a hint?”

She gives me a knowing look. “So you can break into my account? No.”

“What’s your first pet’s name?” I quip. “The city you were born in?”

She shakes her head at me like not working. I didn’t think it would, but she’s less nervous to meet my eyes. Hers are pretty: brown but a little hazel near her pupils.

“For the record,” I tell her, “I don’t have a ton of friends…” at least not anymore.

“It looked like you did,” she mutters.

My stomach turns. I decide to change the subject back to the lighter one. “We could message each other if you share your username with me.”

She thinks hard again. “You really want to know it?”

Do I want to know what she’s like online? What kind of things she’s into? Yeah, I do. “I wouldn’t be asking again if I didn’t.”

“I’ll tell it to you, but only if you fill out a questionnaire on Tumblr first.”

I frown in confusion. “Why?”

She tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve filled one out recently, and I don’t like deleting things…”

It hits me. She doesn’t want me to see her answers, at least not without jumping into the same boat she’s floating in.

A questionnaire.

I try to stifle a laugh that almost escapes. It’s probably one of those things you tag your friends in and they tag other people—I don’t do those. Ever.

She begins to recoil from me, and I immediately want to punch myself in the face. Shit. I set a hand on hers, and she jumps.

“Sorry.” I let go. “I’m not trying to be an ass. I just…you really want me to fill out a questionnaire?”

“Only if you want my username.”

I give her a weak smile—I’m not good at smiling, to be honest. I can’t remember the last time I was happy enough to reveal my teeth in one. Maybe never. I bet I was a morose, assholish baby. “Alright.” I commit. “I’ll do it.”

She shows me a link to the questionnaire. I vaguely skim some of the questions, zoning in on really personal ones. If I end up doing this, it’ll mean opening up to Willow…and Willow opening up to me.

What do you say, Garrison?

I say that I’ve never done that to anyone before.

This will be a first. And I’m surprised I have some of those left.

Mine. And I was his. I am his.

How? I wasn’t even sure.

I was bookish and quiet.

He was rebellious and misunderstood. Guys like him usually didn’t fall for girls like me. But here we were.