“Come on.” Jared reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder.

I jerk back. “Don’t touch me.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Dude, I’m just trying to be a friend.”

My nose flares. “We’re not friends. Read my lips when I say we’ll never be fucking friends. Ever. You know why I disconnected my smoke detector? So you couldn’t offer your stupid broom again. You want to get down on your knees and suck me off, as your girlfriend propositioned?”

He turns red. “I…” He scratches his head. “She was joking.” Jared reads my features. “You’re really that pissed? Come on, man. You’re famous. I’d kill to have what you have.” He lets out a short laugh. “You know how easy you’ve got it?”

I glare, unblinking.

Rage and resentment infiltrates his eyes. He thinks he knows me, and I wonder if that jealous bitterness towards me has been there all along, hidden somehow.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” I unlock my door and slam it closed.

That felt good.

That shouldn’t have felt that good. I take a larger drag and blow smoke upwards. My hand trembles.

“Garrison.” Willow’s voice comes from the cell in my other fist. I press it back to my ear.

“Sorry,” I mutter, involuntary tears squeeze out of my eyes. Fuck. I wipe my wet face with the heel of my palm.

“How soon can you make it to the airport?” she asks. “Because I can get you on the next flight to London.”

I’m already heading to my closet. Grabbing a duffel bag. “Book it.”

24 BACK THEN – October

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

WILLOW MOORE

Age 17

“You’re not dressing up?” I ask Garrison.

Seated on my fuzzy blue rug, he plays Street Fighter II on an old Sega Genesis that he brought over in September. My dorm-sized room has more personality than just the bare built-in desk, wooden dresser, and short single bed from when I first moved in.

Daisy Calloway helped me decorate. She said she’d be my labor force, and I could direct her where to go, but I liked hearing what she thought. We both agreed to string lights over the ceiling, nail a yellow poster that says Mutant & Proud in the wall, and arrange my collection of comic books on my desk.

When I tucked in my white bedding, she tossed pale blue pillows on the mattress. The last one was a blue cupcake. It wasn’t something we picked out in the store together. She said that she stitched it in her spare time—with Rose’s assistance who’s “the better sewer”—but it’s my favorite pillow. Because Daisy made it just for me.

Sitting on my bed, I watch as Ryu (Garrison’s character) attacks Blanka.

Ryu lands a punch, pushing Blanka back a couple inches.

“I don’t know yet,” Garrison says. His fingers nimbly fly over buttons, and as Blanka lies flat on his back, he pauses the game and rotates to face me.

A blonde wig is already tight on my head. I twist the hair in a single braid, the strands so long the braid reaches my thighs. This Halloween, I’m going with my staple costume, Vega from Street Fighter.