“Just so everyone knows, I have a new favorite Calloway sister,” Lo proclaims. He almost looks like he could high-five her.
I do like having someone completely on our side, champions for our relationship. It feels good.
“No offense,” Ryke tells her. “You weren’t there when they were f**king enabling each other.”
“No offense,” Poppy retorts, “but I’ve been here their whole lives. I’ve seen Lily when she’s sad and I’ve seen Lo when he’s angry.”
Ryke just nods a few times, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry then,” he tells her. “I don’t know you that well.”
Poppy looks a little taken aback by his sudden kindness. She says quickly, “Me too.”
I clap my hands. “So if that’s it—”
“Not even close,” Lo says.
“We’re going out,” Poppy explains, running her fingers through my hair as she gathers strands to braid.
“Like to a club?” My brows furrow. That doesn’t sound like a good idea.
Rose stares at me like I’ve seriously lost some brain cells inside this room. “No, not to a club. There’s a Comic-Con in Philly this weekend. We’re all going.”
My eyes light up. Yes! I almost bounce to my feet, but Poppy has my hair hostage.
Then my face falls as I seriously consider this. “Wait…I didn’t hear about a convention.” Are they lying to me? “Is this a trick?”
Lo already has his phone out and he passes it to me. I still only have a shitty flip phone without internet, which thwarts any temptations to look at p**n , but it also keeps me bored. I cup his phone in my hands like it’s a treasure. And then I quickly skim the advertisement for the small convention.
“Wait. Wait.” My lips slowly rise in a big smile. “The director for the new X-Men movie is going to be there?”
Lo grins. “Yep.”
“Okay, we’re going.” I pause. “Wait. Wait.” My face falls.
“What is it?” Lo asks.
I hand him back his phone. “What about the crowds? If someone sees us, they’ll stop us to take pictures or ask us questions…” I trail off. Conventions are already kind of crazy. But this craziness will surround us.
“That’s where Lo and I have been talking,” Rose says.
“We’re going to dress up,” Poppy cuts to the chase.
Rose glares at our oldest sister. “I was getting there.”
“She seemed antsy,” Poppy refutes, finishing tying my hair off. “Done.”
Rose tilts her head at Poppy. “She looks five.”
“She looks cute.”
“Jesus Christ, she looks fine,” Lo interjects. “Can we get back to the topic here?”
“Wait,” I smile.
“If you say wait one more f**king time…” Ryke threatens, so irritated. I think my voice alone annoys him.
Whatever.
He can’t burst this rare joy. “You’re all going to dress up in costumes? For me?”
Poppy shares my smile. “I think we’d all do a lot more just to see you happy, Lily.”
It’s that kind of honesty that almost brings tears to my eyes. Poppy has her arm around my shoulder, a maternal force that I suddenly recognize in this moment. Even when my mother wasn’t warm and kind to me, Poppy always was.
I wipe my cheek and bite my lip to keep the happy tears at bay. “I just have one question.”
They wait for me to ask. The room calm and quiet, unlike before. When I talk, they all try to listen. That means…
A lot.
A whole lot.
“Who is everyone dressing up as?”
6
0 years : 02 months
October
LOREN HALE
“So what’s the deal with Sam?” Ryke asks, sitting on the hotel chair with an energy drink in hand, only wearing a pair of jeans.
“He’s late,” Connor declares as he unbuttons his white shirt. “So we all know you two will hit it off.”
Ryke shoots him the middle finger.
I check my watch. “He’s not that late.” I almost never defend Samuel Stokes—because we don’t get along.
Story of my life.
I pull my black shirt over my head, tossing it on my small duffel bag. My costume lies on the hotel bed along with Connor’s. We each arrived at the convention in different cars, trying to throw off the paparazzi. Stepping out of the Princeton house wearing our costumes wasn’t an option. We’d be all over the internet. The headline, Lily Calloway and Loren Hale Go to Philly Comic-Con, would be enough to send Lily running back inside.
So we’re changing here while Lily and her three sisters dress in another hotel room, and then we’re meeting the girls downstairs at the convention floor.
“From the few handshakes we’ve had here and f**king there, I know absolutely nothing about the guy,” Ryke says.
Connor takes off his button-down. “He’s twenty-seven, the Chief Marketing and Commercial Officer of Fizzle, receiving the position purely by nepotism,” he says without missing a beat. “His prior employment was Dairy Queen, and he has a four-year-old daughter with Poppy Cadence Calloway Stokes.”
“Fucking fantastic,” Ryke says dryly. “I asked what’s his deal, not for his f**king resume, Cobalt.” Ryke nods to me, looking for a better answer.
“I want to say that Sam’s an ass**le like the rest of us,” I tell him. “But I don’t think about him that much.” Thinking about Sam means I have to dig through painful childhood memories. Where I threw back drinks to drown out the world. Where I vandalized houses. Where I screamed.
Where I ran.
Where I became a thing to be hated.
Samuel Stokes showed up in Poppy’s life at fourteen.
I was only eight. I can’t imagine that he sees me as anything more than a delinquent, rich kid.
And then, within maybe a second, a fist raps against the door.
Connor goes to greet the person on the other side, simultaneously unbuckling his belt. When Connor constantly wears collared shirts and preppy attire, it’s hard to tell that he’s ripped. He has better definition in his muscles than me, and I work out a lot to rid stress—but running cuts my muscle mass down.
“You’re late,” Connor says easily, swinging the door open. Without paying much attention to Sam, Connor returns to his wardrobe on the bed.
“Try having a four-year-old throw a tantrum over her Princess Peach costume.” Sam walks further in the room, a travel-duffel slung over his shoulder. “I had to leave her at the Villanova house with Poppy’s mom.” Sam nods at Ryke and me in acknowledgement. “What are you two dressing as?”
I lean an arm on the television cabinet and swallow a smartass comment. “The Shirtless Wonder,” I banter. “With my sidekick.” I gesture to Ryke who hasn’t moved his ass off the chair. My brother raises his brows and sips his drink, sizing up Sam with a long once-over.
Really Sam can be described in two words:
Pretty boy.
When he was younger, he had the whole nineties grunge look down, his hair hanging half in his eyes, like he was part of the Hansons. Now his brown hair is out of his slightly unshaven face, dressed in a plain shirt and jeans—he’s the picture perfect representation of normality.
Without an ounce of humor, Sam says, “It looks like you’re going as Cyclops.” He motions to my navy and gold costume on the bed with a red visor: Cyclops circa 2010 comic book era. Before Bendis turned him into a villain. After he lost Jean Grey and had one of the strongest, most confident and beloved mutants by his side.