When I click into the call, my worries just tumble forth. “Garrison, are you okay? Your last video looked like you hadn’t slept in days. And I’m just now realizing that if you were sleeping I probably woke you up and you needed that sleep. I’m so sorry—”

“Willow,” he cuts me off before I spiral. “I’m glad you called and texted and practically shot off a rocket flare.”

Tears prick my eyes. “You are?”

“Yeah. And I’m in one piece. Like you said, I just haven’t been getting sleep. I’m going to make sure I don’t stay in the office past midnight.”

“Promise?” I ask.

“Promise. What are you doing?”

“There’s this group project thing.”

“Right now?” Worry and concern breaches his voice. I know he’s been worried about distracting me, but I’m making time for him in my life. That’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you love.

“Yeah, but I’m taking a break—hold on.” My door suddenly opens, Salvatore, Sheetal and Tess slipping out of it.

Salvatore catches my gaze. “Hey, we chose the umbrella. We figured we’d just decide and call it an early night.”

“I’m going to email the professor,” Tess tells me, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“See ya, Willow,” Sheetal adds before she leaves with Tess.

Salvatore stays for a second. Hands stuffed in his jacket. “We think we can advertise to the university students. Cool designs. Small and portable for class.”

It’s simple, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. “I like it.”

“Great.” He walks backwards, eyes still on me. “See you in class, Willow Hale.” He spins on his heels and heads toward the stairwell.

I don’t understand flirting, but I know rom-coms and that definitely was straight out of the movies. Only it does the opposite of causing butterflies to flap in my belly. More like moths dying a slow and unnatural death.

I put my cell back to my ear. “Garrison, are you still there?”

9 PRESENT DAY – September

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 20

It was unmistakable. The guy’s voice on the other end of the phone. But there were other voices too, and I’m not about to jump to conclusions like some jealous, paranoid boyfriend. I trust Willow, and she’s allowed to have guy friends.

“Garrison, are you still there?” she asks me.

I lie on my bed in a black hoodie and jeans, staring up at the ugly, stained ceiling. “Yeah, still here.”

“That was just my group for that project I was talking about.”

Intro to Marketing. I remember. All the pieces clicking into place. “You can call me back when you’re done.”

“We just finished.” I hear her shut the door. “I’m going to Skype you.” She must be really worried about me, more than I even thought. Fuck.

I run my hand through my messy hair that touches my eyelashes. I don’t want to scare her. And really, I’m coherent. Fine. I’m just burying myself in work, and that isn’t that bad, all things considered.