The man meets Lo’s gaze, and Lo flashes his iconic dry smile at him. Seeing that smile in person is more powerful than in photograph.
On impulse, I almost take a picture, but I control myself, flipping my phone in my hand. It’s so easy to become part of the paparazzi without really knowing.
“I’m going to grab a fucking box and head inside. Do you have your keycard?” Ryke asks me.
I nod.
Loren seems reluctant to do this.
Ryke gives him a look that I can’t read. “You can’t force her to live with us,” he reminds him.
“She’s only seventeen,” he whispers, running a frustrated hand through his hair, thicker on top, shorter on the sides. “She should be closer to the high school she’s going to attend, not to Penn.”
“I’m closer to UPenn,” I say softly, “not Penn.”
Both of the brothers swing their heads to the backseat, and I swear camera flashes go off like crazy. The windows are only slightly tinted, so I wonder how much the paparazzi catch.
I feel my cheeks heat, but the color drains, their eye contact more and more intimidating. “Do I have…something on my face?” My voice dies, and by their rising smiles, I immediately regret speaking. I shrink into place.
Ryke tells me, “The only people I’ve ever heard say UPenn are people who never attended the University of Pennsylvania.” He pockets his car keys. “We all call it Penn. At least when we went there that’s how it was. Who the fuck knows what students are calling it now.”
He acts like he graduated decades ago, but he just turned twenty-six. I’m not that great at math, but I can subtract well enough to figure out that it’s been four years since he graced Penn’s campus.
Lo adds, “Most of the older faculty prefer calling it Penn over UPenn. It’s just tradition and it sticks with some people when you’re there.”
“But Penn State…”
“Is called Penn State,” Lo explains. “If you say, ‘I go to Penn’ around here, most people will assume it’s not Penn State.”
“And if they don’t, who the fuck cares,” Ryke finishes. He also flashes the middle finger to the cameraman outside my window. “He’s too close to her.”
“I’ll get out and go around to her door,” Lo tells him. “You pop the trunk and grab the first box.” At this, both of them open their car doors and climb out. Flashes bombard them, along with a barrage of voices.
I unbuckle and scoot towards the door that Loren nears.
“Back up,” Loren tells them before opening my door and letting me out. I squeeze between him and a camera lens.
“What’s your name?!”
“How do you know Loren and Ryke?!”
“Who are you dating?!”
My shoulders curve forward at each incoming question, and I clutch my backpack strap, pulling it closer to my body.
Loren leaves my side to grab my second cardboard box, and I follow close by, as instructed. I trip a little over my feet and barely catch myself, avoiding a collision into Lo.
Do not fall, especially on your brother that you recently met.
Unfortunately, I’m most clumsy when I’m nervous.
It’s a horrible attribute. I wouldn’t wish it on my enemy, but then again, I doubt my enemies would ever feel nervous enough to be clumsy.
Ryke slams the trunk closed, and then we head towards the sidewalk. A cameraman sprints in front of me and walks backwards as he films. “What’s your name?!” he asks over the other paparazzi.
“She’s my cousin,” Loren lies with a dark glare. “So watch what you say and do.” He stuffs a hand in his pocket, the action casual but somehow threatening.
About this time, we reach the sidewalk, a direct shot to the glass double doors of the apartment complex. Lo said they can’t follow us inside. So I practically hold my breath in anticipation of ditching the eight—no, twelve cameramen that flank us.
And then, the weight on my shoulder goes from slightly heavy to very, very light—followed by a crash and a crack! I freeze in place and look down at the cement, wide-eyed at my backpack’s contents.
Shit. The bottom of my backpack ripped.
And my laptop… I’m about to bend down to check it, but I notice other items that litter the sidewalk.
Like an extra T-shirt and shorts for overnight “crashing in my car” purposes. An extra pair of panties—these really childish looking blue pair with purple hearts.
Lots of highlighters, sticky notes, and pens.
What’s most abundant: tampons. And not just one or two. There is an entire box of pink plastic-wrapped applicators. I know this because I bought a box recently, dumped it into my backpack, and thought nothing of it.
I tense up, locked in a shell-shocked state, most likely ghostly pale.
My heart plummets, leaving a hollow hole in its place. My brother—a new brother—and his intimidating half-brother plant their gazes on me. And to make it worse: I’m surrounded by men with cameras who will no doubt post this on the internet.
I’m not ready to be a meme. Oh my God.
I can’t move. I can’t squat. I just stare like maybe this moment will rewind itself, and my jean backpack won’t rip apart.
“Oh shit,” one of the cameramen laughs.
I barely register Loren’s murderous glare, plastered on the camera guy. He shrinks back a little and holds up a hand in surrender.
And then Ryke sets down his box. What is he doing—
No!
He starts collecting my tampons like they’re pencils and not feminine products. I dazedly animate, like my legs belong to another girl—a higher force pulling the strings attached to my limbs. I kneel and quickly gather all the items, frantically stuffing them in my backpack’s side pocket that’s still intact.
Not a lot can fit there, so I bundle everything else in my arms. I decide to check the state of my laptop later, but upon glance, it seems okay.
“I can get that,” I practically whisper to Ryke, gesturing to the tampons and two comic books in his clutch. I’m not sure he hears me, but I outstretch my free hand, showing him that I’ll take it.
I struggle holding everything else, and I almost drop my laptop again.
“I’ll carry this,” he tells me. “You take that.” He pockets the tampons and sets the comics on his cardboard box.
How can he be okay with pocketing my tampons? I’m about to refreeze and solidify all over again.
“Put your backpack on mine,” Loren says, drawing my attention up to him. He pats the top of his box, and I rise, reluctantly letting go of my possessions, too afraid I’ll spill them all.
“Thanks,” I mutter, having trouble even looking at Ryke now.
“Does your cousin have a name?!” a camera guy shouts, his words dizzying me.
“Yeah.” Loren uses one hand to hold the cardboard box, and the other sets on my shoulder, guiding me forward. “Her name is Willow Hale.” He gives them one lasting dry smile before we enter the glass double doors.
As we ride up to the fourth floor in silence, I regain some consciousness that I typically lose in embarrassing moments. It’s like a blackout, a fog, an out-of-body experience—my mind so stunned that it decides to abandon my body for a quick second.
I inhale, first and foremost. And then I look up. Ryke and Loren stand on either side of me, so tall that they make my 5’5’’ height feel short. I catch Ryke glaring at the space above my head, eyes narrowed on his brother.
Lo never looks towards Ryke as he says, “I had to lie. So you can stop glaring at me now. And in case you’ve forgotten, bro, I have the heart of Hades, so you shouldn’t be surprised anyway.”
“She’s not a Hale, Lo.”
Loren lets out a short, frustrated breath and meets his brother’s darkened gaze. “Yeah? But I couldn’t say she’s a Moore and have press digging up her little sister’s name. This is the better option for more than one reason. You know why?”
Ryke stays quiet and shakes his head, mo
re like this is wrong.
“Now they think you’re related too,” Lo explains. “No tabloids are going to start rumors that you’re hooking up…or whatever.” Lo cringes at the idea.
I block out everything, internally dying and too overcome to concentrate on any other words or details. The elevator slows and beeps, and I nearly race off down the hall to my room: 458. I unlock the door with my keys—well, almost.
I drop them. I pick them up. And then I clumsily drop them again. It takes four tries before my joints work properly, and I turn the lock.
I have a very neat roommate, the tiny kitchen clean and pretty bare of appliances and food. Maya mentioned how she has a dining hall meal plan at Penn. The living room has a couple Avengers posters, Battlestar Galactica and Final Fantasy—plus stacks of anime on the coffee table.
Maya Ahn is cool. The Superheroes & Scones store manager had a roommate opening after her friend left for California, and it worked out in my favor.
I definitely can’t afford the whole rent by myself, and I start working at Superheroes & Scones soon, thanks to Lily’s kindness. Hopefully I’ll be able to pay off the first month’s rent that Lo loaned me.
The apartment splits off into two hallways; the left is hers, claimed by a Darth Vader poster on the door that says: I want you for the imperial forces!
The right is mine, unclaimed and bare. I open the door to a dorm-sized room, a simple built-in desk, a wooden dresser, a half-window, and a short single bed.
I take a seat on the slightly stained mattress, the wooden frame creaking. I hear footsteps as Ryke and Loren follow my shadow. I toss my phone from palm to palm, and it suddenly buzzes.
Maggie: Are you with Loren Hale right now?!?!?!
I balk. There’s only one way my best friend from Maine could know this that quickly. I log onto the Celebrity Crush website.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. A giant photograph of me snatching tampons off the sidewalk fills the landing page. Ryke has my panties on top of his box, and they’ve drawn a circle around them.
The headline: Loren Hale’s Cousin Has an Accident in a Parking Lot!
I type back to Maggie: it’s me…unfortunately.
Maggie: YOU’RE WITH LOREN HALE & RYKE MEADOWS!!!! WHAT IS UNFORTUNATE ABOUT THAT??? Also… why didn’t you tell me you’re his cousin? HELLO!
I knew that she might notice, but I doubt anyone else in Caribou will put two-and-two together and stir trouble for me. So I just text back: I just found out… please don’t tell anyone. My mom doesn’t want Ellie caught up in this.
Maggie: I won’t tell a soul. Skype me soon… I need LOTS of details!
After her last text, I dazedly skim over the article, catching the part where they mention how my “visit looks like a permanent one”—and of course, they point out every single item I dropped.
“This place is small.” Lo’s voice emanates from the living room.
I set my phone on the mattress and stare at my hands, a little more numb and hollow than before the car ride here. I can’t discern whether these feelings are from the severe lack of privacy…or just a normal bout of embarrassment.
“My first year dorm room was fucking smaller than this,” Ryke retorts.
“She’s not in college yet. She shouldn’t live in a shoebox until she has to.”
Ryke sighs heavily, their footsteps nearer. “I’ve already said what I’ve had to…” he trails off, and I sense them towering in the doorway, their hot gazes on my immobile body.
I can’t look away from my palms.
A tense moment passes before I hear them set down the two cardboard boxes.
“Thanks,” I say softly, unsure of what I’m feeling exactly. It’s not every day that you grace the number one gossip site with your comfiest pair of panties and tampons strewn about. What a strange debut.
“Hey…Willow,” Lo says, attempting to soften the sharp edge to his voice. “What happened back there—that’ll be yesterday’s news in an hour.” He clears his throat when I don’t respond. “You can think of it like an initiation? Welcome to the family…”
I choke on a laugh that twists my face into a cringe. I finally look up, and both Ryke and Loren wear sympathetic expressions.
Ryke more than Lo, which reminds me of the conversation in the car…about Lo’s brother being overly caring.
I lick my dry lips, trying to form words when I usually keep everything in my head. It’s a hard task to master, and I know I’m still very green at it. “I just…kind of hoped I’d be known for something other than the-girl-who-dropped…” tampons. I can’t even say what they are. I wince at myself and glance at the scrap of worn jean material on top of a cardboard box. I can sew the bottom later.
“Like I said, it’ll be yesterday’s news,” Lo tells me. “You’ll be known for something else in a month’s time…” My mind tunes him out the minute Ryke unpockets a handful of tampons, setting them on my dresser.
I go pale again.
“Ryke,” Lo snaps, noticing where my attention lies. He whispers something to his brother, who’s frowning.
Ryke whispers back, “They’re just tampons. You’re acting like she dropped a fucking dildo.”
“Don’t,” Loren cringes.
Ryke rolls his eyes. “Lily, your fiancée, said she had a bad dream about her sex toys falling out of her luggage and paparazzi catching the incident at the airport—so I’m not the fucking weird one here.”
Lo groans. “Why are you talking to my girlfriend about dildos?”
I don’t know if I should find entertainment in this—if that makes me no better than Celebrity Crush—but I guiltily and eagerly listen along, wanting their back-and-forth to continue.
Ryke groans now. “We’re fucking friends.”
“Hey, can you at least watch how you say that? You’re not friends that fuck.”
“Why are you busting my balls?”
“You’re the one who brought up Lily and goddamn sex toys. What the hell did you expect out of me?”
Ryke sighs and runs another hand through his hair. He meets my gaze as soon as his hand drops. “I hate that you feel embarrassed about this.”
I shrug, unsure of what to say in reply. “You know…I’m a girl.” It’s difficult to say what I mean. I think I always sound more articulate in my head. “None of my friends talk about…periods or anything…”
Lo and Ryke exchange one look of knowing between each other. And then Lo dials a number on his phone and puts it on speaker.
Within the third ring, it clicks.
“Loren.” An icy, female voice frosts the room. “This better be quick. I’m getting my nails done for the first time in three months.” I think she even mutters, “I’m so sorry”—to her nails.
“God forbid I disturb you, your highness,” Loren says.
“Wait—aren’t you with your sister?” Rose Calloway, Lily’s older sister, is one of the few people aware of the truth. I can hear her shift in her chair, as though straightening up. “Is everything okay?”
I’ve met Rose a few times. She usually does all the talking and I nod a lot. I like people that don’t mind if I’m quiet, and since she’s so loud, I thought she’d pressure me to be like her, to speak up and attack with confidence. She actually lets me say as much as I want and fills the rest of the silence with her own voice. I even think she likes it that way.
It makes me like her even more.
Ryke talks loudly so his voice is heard through the speakerphone. “She’s upset. Her backpack tore while paparazzi were around us, and tampons fell out.”
Every time he says tampons, so casually, my heart nosedives all over again.
“Willow,” Rose says sternly. “Can you hear me?”
“It wasn’t just one,” I say under my breath. “It was an entire box…”
Lo puts his phone closer to his lips. “Did you get that?”
“Yes,” Rose says. “Willow, most women have a period. We buy tampons or pads or other products. I per
sonally like to be overprepared too. And if anyone—a cameraman, a peer, a stranger—makes you feel strange or uncomfortable for having seen you with them, then just know that they’re boys, not men. They’re infantile, little human beings that can’t appreciate or respect a woman’s body. And in no way should they even touch one.” I begin to smile and she adds, “I have to go—no not yellow polish. I’m not a sunflower—”
She hangs up or maybe Lo does, either way—my shoulders have unconsciously lifted, my hands flat on my legs. I feel a little less numb, a little more awake.
I’ve never been given a motivational, encouraging speech in my life. The best part: knowing someone cares about me enough to give one. I realize that Ryke and Loren must’ve understood what Rose’s response would be in this situation.
It’s a bigger indication that they’re all really close to each other.
“Thanks for calling Rose,” I tell them.
They don’t ask if I feel better, but I think they both can see that I am.
I stand up to check my laptop, which rests on a box. “You don’t have to stay. I know I’ve taken up most of your time today already.”
“We won’t be that much longer,” Lo says, “but I just…I need to tell you something. I just want to explain what happened. I know you probably read it online, but I think you should have our details.”
I gather my laptop and then plop back down on the mattress. “Okay…” I think I know what this is about.
Someone broke into their house a few nights ago.
And I’ve been scared to broach the subject with Loren. It seems so personal, and I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to bring it up since I lie on the fringes of their lives.
Ryke crosses his arms, casually leaning against the wall, unsurprised that Lo wants to talk about it with me.
Loren drags the desk chair closer to the bed and takes a seat, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together. He stares at them for a long moment, just as I’ve stared at my own in dazed contemplation. The familiar action seems to bind us together, an invisible tether that’s strung between siblings, here and there.
Whatever It Takes Page 12
