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“Yeah, really well.”
Lo’s phone rings and he excuses himself to answer the call. Just as he leaves, I hear him say, “Hey, Dad.”
My stomach twists, unsettled all of a sudden.
Maximoff rips the tape off one of the smaller boxes, helping Garrison. It’s a good distraction for him, and I need a second to myself so that I don’t look like I’m about to puke.
Because I’m hiding something from Garrison. From my brothers. And if I can, I’d like to take this to my grave.
It’s about that night in London when Garrison visited.
After he flew home and I stayed back, I did some damage control. Students filmed Garrison punching Salvatore, and I saw the look on Garrison’s face. If that footage leaked online, he would’ve been prime fodder for the media. We both have been memes before, and it’s only ever easy when you’re emotionally and mentally prepared to handle it.
It’d destroy him, and since Connor Cobalt—the usual damage control expert—wasn’t around, I had to think of different resources. I couldn’t call Lo or Ryke without alerting them that Garrison was drunk, and he made me promise not to say anything.
So there was only one person left.
My dad.
Jonathan Hale.
I did what I swore I would never do after he cut me a check for school.
I asked him for more money.
He gave me a hundred grand. He knew what it was for and wanted to help. Though, he called it “pennies” which I found…a little insulting. A hundred grand is a fortune to me. And it was enough to put my plan into action.
Sheetal had filmed the whole fight, and I was able to identify everyone with cameras who recorded Garrison. Luckily, Tess knew most of the students at Bishop Hall that night. So I gave them cash in exchange for the footage. They deleted their videos from the cloud and cells.
I, Willow Hale, paid people off with Jonathan Hale’s money.
Ryke has constantly warned me about our dad. I know he doesn’t give things without something in return. Allegiance. Time. I’m not sure what he’ll ask for, but I never wanted to feel indebted to him. Now…it’s all I feel. And what happens when he comes to collect?
Or worse, what happens if Lo, Ryke, or Garrison find out?
They can’t. They can’t.
I practically carve those words into stone.
august
57
willow hale
“What’d you say?!” I try to yell over the thumping bass, a phone pressed to one ear while I plug the other ear with my finger.
I still can’t hear my best friend over the flat party. Beer pong cheering, thumps of drunken bodies, and house music cranked to head-splitting levels—I’m in a noisy tunnel of collegiate pandemonium. Who throws ragers on a Wednesday at seven p.m.?
My roommates, apparently.
A little earlier, Sheetal popped her head in my room. “We’re having a proper get-together, like. Need anything, a bevvie or a ciggy?” The party was already underway.
It was nice of her to remember that I’m here. I’m not invisible to my friends-turned-new-roommates: Sheetal, Tess, and Salvatore.
But I would’ve preferred an hour’s notice, and if I’m being really honest with myself, I would’ve wanted a full day’s preparation knowing we’re hosting a house party.
After declining drinks and cigarettes, I keep thinking it’ll die down, but it’s only grown. I keep hearing the main door open. More bodies piling in. More voices amassing.
“Hold on a sec!” I raise my voice over the music and speak into my phone. “I’m gonna find a quieter spot, Daisy!” I scan the small room, more cramped than my old dorm. A light blue comforter is wrinkled on a twin-sized bed, hugged against a white wall.
Most of my crap is still in a few cardboard boxes. But I’ve had some time to tack up a few X-Men posters and unbox photos of my brothers, the Calloway sisters, and of course, my boyfriend. I did put my Gravity Falls Funko Pop! collectibles on the dresser. No room for a desk.
Still, I’m lucky that I have all this space to myself, and I only share a bathroom and common area.
I eye the tiny closet.
Bingo.
I snatch the laptop off my bed before heading to the closet. It’s not a walk-in. So I bend down and sit beneath hanging overalls and plain T-shirts. Wedged under the clothes, I pry my fingers under the doorframe and scoot the door towards me until it’s pretty much shut.
Darkness.
And finally, some muffled quiet.
I let out a sigh.
So this is sort of what Harry Potter must’ve felt like. I bet he had more room under the Dursley’s staircase.
I push up my drooping glasses. “Can you hear me?” I ask Daisy and open my laptop, the bright screen illuminating the closet with a blue tint.
“A ton better,” Daisy tells me. “Where’d you go?”
“The closet. Maybe Skype will be louder.” I’m about to ask if she has time to video-chat, but she’s already dialing me on Skype.
