IS THERE ANYTHING specific you want to talk about?
Jack always pitches this question first. My mind reels through various issues I could possibly discuss. Everything circumnavigates to one.
One topic, one plight, one goddamn annoyance.
“Yeah.” I set my cup on the table. “I want to talk about my uncle.”
The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing in Avengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.
Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which uncle?”
“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’ to mine. I don’t even say fuck as often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.
I sense Farrow and his at ease nature, and you know the weirdest thing? It calms me. Makes me feel like I have someone prepared to jump on my side. Right now. This moment. Any moment.
He’s with me.
My bound shoulders unwind.
Jack isn’t the type of person to just say no. He tries to hear people out, but he reminds me, “You talked about this last season, Moffy.”
“It’s been worse this year.”
“But it’s not going to change with this show,” Jack says. “You’ve discussed the topic at length three times. We’ve reached the max. One more time, and the public will believe you’re overcompensating for something. As a producer, I’d tell you to just go ahead and talk about it. It’ll bring us ratings. But as your friend, I’m telling you not to bring it up.”
Goddammit. “What about if I talk about my dad?”
“It depends.” Jack twists off a cap to Ziff, a sports drink. “If you’re going to just tell the audience how great of a father he is—no.”
I rub my aching shoulder. I need to stretch. “Just tell me what I should be talking about then.”
“Sex,” Jack says. “It’s what people want to know most about you, especially with those photos.” The bite marks. “Who are you seeing? What kind of pressures do you deal with being the son of a sex addict? Are you more careful? Do you have insecurities?” He lists the questions rapidly.
I’ve heard them all before. Jack broaches the topic of sex almost every production meeting.
“Are you ready to talk about this stuff?” he asks.
“No,” I say firmly. “Not this season. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”
“This is a no apology zone, remember? Whatever content you want to share, good. Whatever you don’t, that’s good too. It’s all up to you.” Jack already jumps to a new topic. “What about your relationship with Luna? She’ll be eighteen and be on her own for the first time. It’d be a great arc.”
Out of my siblings, Luna is the only one who’s on We Are Calloway with me. We’ve bonded a bit while filming together, and I already know she’d love a whole arc about our relationship.
So I agree.
“Jane?” Jack asks. “Any personal topics?”
Janie and I already scooted closer to one another. I stare down at my best friend who wears a cheetah-print sweater, pale yellow pants, and sequined high heels. Whatever she’s about to say, she hasn’t brought up with me yet.
“I’d like to discuss my weight,” she says assuredly.
Our bodyguards have no idea how to react to these issues if it doesn’t involve security. Even Farrow, I think. They just keep eating and drinking. Doing their best not to appear concerned. It’s not their job to be emotionally invested in us.
But a lot of them care, I’ve fucking realized.
Obviously.
One is my boyfriend. Don’t look at him. I’m trying. Christ, I’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes.
“More specifically?” Jack asks my best friend while jotting notes. He bites into his muffin.
I wrap my arm around Janie when she says, “That I love my body the way it is. I have tiny boobs, no ass, love-handles and a bigger belly. How chubby isn’t a nasty word. And their hatred won’t change me.”
Farrow and Quinn start clapping in genuine appreciation.
Can we do take-backs?
Our bodyguards actually do know how to react. They’re our friends.
I know. I know.
I squeeze Jane around the shoulders and kiss her freckled cheek. “Je t’aime, ma moitié.” I love you, my other half.
Janie smiles warmly. “Je t’aime aussi.” I love you too.
Jack scribbles and nods. “That’ll be great. Also, you’re looking lovely as ever, Jane.”
“Merci.”
Farrow rolls his eyes, not at Janie’s comment but the producer’s.
“What?” Jack asks him. “I can’t give compliments to this group anymore?”
“You’re almost maxed out,” Farrow says.
“Then you’re all ugly,” Jack says with a wide grin. “How’s that?”
Quinn starts a slow-clap for Jack, and Farrow, Jane, and I join in. The exec producer’s smile expands.
The bell to the front door dings open. Akara has a key. Janie and I straighten up and exchange a look that says, protect Sulli if it gets intense.
The actual process of the docuseries is pretty fucking raw.
Round 1 of the Gauntlet of Over-sharing: dump your personal story onto Jack and a hoard of bodyguards.
Round 2: allow production teams to invade your life for specific chunks of time.
Round 3: let the world watch you be vulnerable.
Right now, I’m just fixated on round one for Sul. She’ll want to complete what she starts—no matter what—but if round one makes her uncomfortable, I’ll pull the fucking plug and call it off.
“Jack,” I whisper as footsteps sound on the iron staircase. “Since this is Sulli’s first meeting, can you just ease her in?”
“Sure,” Jack nods, and he stands to greet my cousin. The rest of us turn and watch.
“Here, Sul.” Akara takes her motorcycle helmet, already holding his.
“Thanks, Kits.” Sulli unbuttons her denim jacket, dressed in denim jeans and a plain white tee. Her dark hair falls long on her chest.
Jack approaches and catches her gaze.
“You must be Jack.” Sulli holds out her hand.
Akara sidesteps around them, and I spot this long warning look that he shoots Jack. It pretty much says, careful with this one, or you’re dead.
Jack falters for a brief second. “Um…” He frowns and then brushes off the moment. Shaking Sulli’s hand. “I’m Jack.”
“Jack Highland,” Sulli adds, their handshake lasting a long beat.
Janie nudges my shoulder and her brows wag as she picks apart a croissant.
I don’t know what the fuck that means.
All I know is that Jack is acting weird. I can’t discern whether it’s because I warned him about Sulli, Akara shot him a look, or we’ve all been joking about his compliments.
Akara takes a seat on a beanbag between Farrow and Quinn. Security claiming their side of the low table. Alright, there are sides. They all observe Sulli and Jack more intently than they do most casual encounters.
“And you’re Sullivan Meadows.” Jack finally breaks from the handshake.
“You can call me Sulli.” Then her gaze flits to Jane.
Jane waves her over and makes room for her to sit in between us. I grab a teal beanbag and set it down in the free space.
When Jack and Sulli join us at the table, he sits on his own side and picks up his notepad. Now there are three metaphorical and literal sides: the famous, the security, the production.
I get it.
And I watch Jack watching Sulli. My cousin squishes between me and Jane, and she edges up to the table. Making a plate of food.
Jack twirls his pen. “Do you want to be introduced in the show as Sulli?”
Sulli piles two waffles on a plate. “Ummm…yeah, that’d be good, right?” She looks to me, then Jane. “Fuck, I don’t know. What do you two go by?”
“Jane.”
“Maximoff.”
She glances at Jack. “I’ll go with Sullivan.”
He nods.
Sulli towers three chocolate donuts on top of the waffles. She finds the whipped cream canister and strawberry syrup that Janie brought and squirts the waffle-donut mound.
Jack can’t stop staring at her breakfast, his pen frozen on the notepad. “Would you want to talk about that?”
“About what?” She looks up, confused. “My donuts? I haven’t eaten them yet. How am I supposed to talk about them?”
Farrow tilts his head at Sulli. “Green, the shade of newbies. It’s a cute color on you.”
She blushes and glances to Akara. He already throws a pillow at Farrow’s chest, who rolls his eyes. I can’t take in the joke or even add in a sarcastic remark. I just stay on guard for whatever’s coming.
“On the show,” Jack says, ignoring my bodyguard…boyfriend. Focus. I blink a few times. He clarifies further, “Do you want to talk about your eating habits?”
“Oh. Fuck, really?” She frowns deeply. “People would want to know about that?” Press has photographed my cousin at restaurants.
She only orders desserts. It’s not like that’s her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But she’s not following any nutritional food pyramid either. I only ever saw her eat healthy during intense training periods. She’d plug her nose and chug protein shakes.
“First, foremost,” Jack says to Sulli, “the show is about what you want to do. The public would love to know everything about you. So don’t feel pressured to speak about a topic that makes you uncomfortable.”
Sulli nods heartily, cutting into her waffle-donuts. “I like it.”
Jane flashes me a thumbs-up.
I’m not ready to rest easy. I tell Sulli, “Jack has a good perception of how the public will react to what you want to share.”
“Whoa, really?” Sulli starts smiling. It’s not often we find people who can ground our lives and trust. “So what would the public think about my breakfast?”
Security hawk-eyes Jack.
“They’ll label you a picky-eater to start,” Jack says, “and some will find it endearing. Other people will shit on you for it. That’s a huge part of the show—you share your story and then you take the good with the bad.”
Jane chimes in, “It’s nice being able to have your voice out there.”
Sulli stuffs her mouth and chews slowly, contemplating.
“Are you positive you want to do this?” I ask. “No one’s forcing you on We Are Calloway. You can back out now, Sulli.”
Jack studies her closely. “He’s right. We’d love to have you on, but this is your choice.”
“No, I need this.” Sulli nods to herself now. “Look, I need to talk about some of this bullshit…I’m just wrapping my head around how this works.”
“That’s okay,” Jack says, comforting. “I’ll guide you through the process.”
Sulli takes a bigger breath and looks to Akara. He combs his black hair back and fits on a backwards baseball cap. She asks him, “You’ll be there while we film? Even if it’s not a public place?”
“If you want me there,” he says, “I’ll be there, Sul.”
“Okay, good.”
Jack edges closer to the table. To her. “Hopefully,” he says, drawing Sulli’s gaze, “you and me will reach a place of trust where you won’t need Akara in the room.”
The air snaps on the security side of things. Jane rocks back with me, our furrowed brows on the three bodyguards.
Akara is boiling. Venom in his glare, muscles supremely flexed. Sitting completely still—that’s somehow more intimidating. And no one intimidates me.
But you know that.
You don’t know that Farrow has his fist to his mouth, jaw tensed.
Or that Quinn crosses his arms at Jack.
They’re not happy that he just metaphorically banished a bodyguard from a room. Jack senses this and speaks directly to Akara.
“Why would you need to be in a secure environment?”
“Because she asked me to be,” he says curtly. “Any other questions, Jack?”
“For Sulli, yeah,” Jack says, trying to ignore the incensed bodyguards.
Sulli hesitates to eat another bite of food. “You okay, Kits?”
Jack and Akara stare each other down.
And then Akara says flat-out, “Respect security and we’ll respect production.”
“Sounds good, man.” Jack swigs his sports drink.
Akara nods.
I’m fucking impatient. “Let’s move on.”
“How about,” Jack says to Sulli, “you tell us what you’d like to talk about on the show. You said there’s bullshit that needs to be said. What bullshit?”
Sulli uses her muscular bicep to wipe her mouth. “So the photographs from the Olympics.”
My muscles bind, but she’s able to meet Jack’s gaze while unloading more of her feelings.
“The ones with the hair. The stupid fuckwads who keep thinking it’s funny to zoom up on my bikini line need to know they are fuckwads.”
“Agreed.” I finish off my tea in one gulp.
Olympics should’ve been a time to celebrate Sulli’s athletic achievements. The entire fucking time, the media latched onto her shaving and waxing habits. Weeks before the summer games, they photographed Sulli with stubble and hair by her bikini line.
The image went viral.
85% of the questions reporters asked at the Olympics centered on her hair—and she answered all of them with a definitive fuck you.
That also went viral.
“Does the topic go deeper than the Olympics?” Jack asks. I tense.
“What do you mean?” Sulli scoops a piece of waffle.
“He means when you were younger,” I explain. “Did you deal with anything like that growing up?” Her forest-green eyes that match my hue just drown against me—because I was there. I grew up with Sulli. I saw her hit puberty earlier than most girls. Her hair is dark and grows fast.
I saw the boys after swim meets jeer at the hair on her arms. I shoved two in a pool when they started making gorilla noises. And then I hugged Sulli in the locker room, and we collectively said, fuck them.
Fuck them.
“Do I have to talk about that right now?” she whispers to me.
“No.” I give Jack a serious look like work your production magic and pivot this topic. Now.
“Maybe you and Moffy can have a segment swimming or racing one another.” Thank you.
I almost smile. “You mean a segment where she kicks my ass.”
Sulli’s lips curve, and she knocks her shoulder to mine. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“No you won’t.” I rotate to Jack. “I’ll only do it if you agree to get your ass beat by her too.”
Quinn coughs in his fist. What’d I say?
Farrow cracks his neck, silently gesturing to Akara. Who looks murderous. Not at me. At Jack.
I suggested swimming not fucking.
Jack wouldn’t overstep the production-talent boundary. I would tear him limb from limb.
He knows that.
Sullivan swings her head to the exec. “You swim?” Her eyes light up. The list of people she can race on her free time is short.
“Four years at Penn.” He gives her a smile and then flips a page in his notes. “Can I get personal with you for a second?”
Sulli uncaps a water. “Sure.”
“Would you want to discuss your virginity on the show?”
The room cuts in a tense silence. Sulli has shared pretty much a bucket of nothing with the public concerning dating or sex. She’s been private, and so everyone assumes she’s a virgin.
Their assumption is correct. For once.
“Um…” Sulli mulls it over.
“No pressure,” Jack says. “Since a lot of people talk about sex on the show, I have to ask.” He pauses. “Have you watched any episodes of the series?”
“Not really.” Sulli rests her hand on her squared jaw. “It’s kinda weird seeing your family on TV.” She’s not the only one who chooses to skip it.
Her best friend Beckett Cobalt hasn’t seen a single episode.
Sulli leans into Janie. “Do you talk about sex?”
Jane touches her chest. “Personally, I have to talk about sex. If another guy tries to chokehold me in bed, I will lose it.”
“That’s never happening again,” Akara says, side-eyeing me because he knows I’ll actually kill the person. I’ll commit murder.
Farrow wasn’t around Jane during that incident. One of the worst nights of my life—where I woke to a lamp crashing. Jane’s old bodyguard started knocking down her locked door. Standing guard because she brought someone over. I charged in her bedroom before security inched inside—and I tore a guy twice her size off her body.
I was all rage. My mind blared three notes: you’re killing her, you’re killing her, you’re going to die. My bodyguard had to restrain me.
Just to be clear, I’m not proud of that.
“Can I ask you something?” Sulli says to Jack. “What exactly would I say about sex? I’ve never had sex, the end. There’s nothing more.”
Jack closes his notepad. “Are you waiting to have sex until marriage or to fall in love—”
“I’ve been so focused on swimming. I just never made time for anything else, including sex or dating, and I’d do it all over again. I don’t regret it.”
“Have you ever been attracted to someone? Have you ever thought about hooking up?”
I swear they’re acting like they’re the only two in the room. They’ve blocked us out.
Sulli nods a couple times. “Definitely. A few…okay, several guys on the team were really fucking hot, but I wouldn’t let that get in my way. My mom always said she regretted not waiting for someone who made her feel comfortable and loved. Like my dad. And I want that too.”
He smiles. “Okay. Have you been kissed?”
She bites her lip. “No.”
Wait.
I didn’t know that.
I glance at Akara. And I just read his protective features really well, and I nod to myself, he knew.
Jack smiles more warmly. “So truth: that’ll be a thing. It’ll cause a lot of press, but it’s up to you whether you want to share. The good: I can see a lot of girls relating. The bad: a lot of guys will…”
“Be fuckwads?”
“Yeah.”
More bluntly, Farrow interjects, “Perverted fuckwads.”
Sulli holds her bent leg to her chest. “It shouldn’t be such a big fucking deal. So what? I haven’t been kissed and I’m nineteen. Who cares?”
“So make it less of a big deal,” Jack says. “Make it ordinary. Make it normal. You have that power. And it’s all up to you.”
