“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.

18 BACK THEN – September

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 17

“Ready?” I ask Willow.

“Ready.”

I open the door.

We step into the school, halls congested like most mornings. Instead of rushing to classrooms, friends huddle in groups by lockers or wander around, searching for a familiar face.

Willow walks in a diagonal line, almost inwards towards me. She avoids bumping into a few passing students.

“What’s your locker number?” I ask while she adjusts the strap of her backpack.