by Haley Jenner
The studio audience cheers as we enter stage left.
“I like to get this out of the way before filming starts. I hate cutting off audience reactions,” she explains, taking her seat. “But the applause can carry on for ten minutes or more, this gets that initial upsurge out of their systems.”
She waves, readjusting her microphone and switching it on. “Morning, beautiful people. Are we ready to change the world today?”
More applause, all genuine.
“You guys know Reid Rivere and Roxy Monroe?”
We wave like a well-oiled machine, our smiles coming on large as we take our seats on the bright violet three-seater.
“Can we get some water for the three of us, please?” she asks a crew member.
Water glasses settled in front of us, we’re counted down, quiet cloaking the room before a florescent light beams above the audience.
Kate introduces us, her opening monologue easy chit-chat to warm her audience, to build momentum and to get Reid and me comfortable.
“Roxy.” Her face turns serious. “A tumultuous twelve months for you.”
“Few years,” I combat jovially.
“Absolutely,” she corrects herself. “Mentally, emotionally, how are you today?”
“I’m good.” I smile, the genuineness in my words felt through my entire body. “It’s a journey, of course. But I’m here, and I’m happy. I’m in love” —I squeeze Reid’s hand— “and I’m doing something I believe deeply in.”
Reid moves closer, kissing my cheek in a show of support, the audience reacting with a sweet aww.
“You released Firefly with high acclaim, congratulations.”
“It was all this guy.” I nudge Reid’s shoulder.
Scratching the back of his neck in humility, Reid laughs uncomfortably. “She’s being modest.” He looks at me and my heart pauses in my chest.
It’s a powerful thing to see yourself through the eyes of a loved one. To see how they support you in your weaker moments and the way they beam alongside you as you shine. Every triumph feels like the greatest success because of the way they build you up. Every fall or failure feels like nothing but the smallest of stumbles, because they’re right there, hand outstretched to stop you from nose-diving head-first into the concrete. In the moments you struggle to recognize your own worth, they look at you, like Reid is looking at me right now, and you know that you’ve got this. Because even though you might not believe it, they do, and sometimes that’s all you need. Someone in your corner.
“From the success of Firefly, you went on to create the Radness Project,” she leads and I nod.
“Yes. This is a way of me sharing my story with the world, to make sure those suffering through bullying know that they’re not alone. As well as build an ambient of self-love. Our goal, one of our many goals,” I correct myself, “is to create a climate in which everyone recognizes that bullying, in any form, is unacceptable.”
The entire room erupts in applause. I press my palms together, showing how grateful I am for their support.
“Your post on social media started an important conversation on self-love.”
“Yes,” I acknowledge. “It’s crazy how people will make you feel bad for loving who you are, but how can you expect others to love you when you can’t find that affection for yourself.”
“The Radness Project. Talk to me about how it got its name.”
Reid and I share a secret smile. Our first baby.
“Rad is slang for radical,” Reid explains. “Which is what this movement is about. We’re advocating for a fundamental social change. The nature of bullying holds us back. Whether we’re the victim or the aggressor, all it does is breed hate in an already tumultuous world. Imagine if we could end that. Imagine if instead of manifesting negativity, we could inject more positivity, more love, more acceptance into the world,” he dreams, his voice raising an octave.
“What makes the Radness Project different from other anit-bullying advocates, charities, campaigns?” Kate tests.
“Nothing,” I answer honestly. “We’re just another collective standing up for change. An army, if you will, joining the hordes of other peacemakers fighting for a better world.”
“You do a lot of work with schools,” she reads from her notes. “Educating children on the power of words, and not only the harm they can do, but the positive change they can insight if used correctly.”
“Have you ever heard someone say that they’re uncomfortable receiving a compliment?”
Kate nods at Reid’s question. “I think a lot of us become self-conscious at attention.”
“But why?” Reid stresses. “If I told you that your smile is beautiful, consciously or not, you’d likely do it more often.”
Kate considers his statement. “I think you’re right.”
“Exactly. If we complimented more and insulted less, individuals would be less self-conscious in accepting praise.”
Kate smiles, Reid’s enthusiasm infectious.
“Part of our movement is exactly that,” I continue. “Making a decision to compliment someone each and every day. A stranger, a family member, a friend, your children.”
“Who here commits to doing that?” Kate directs the question to her studio audience. “Building up those around you through positivity?”
Each and every person raises their hand on a loud and infectious cheer.
“Social media is here to stay.” I speak over their cheers. “But if we can drown out the trolls and the negativity that seems to drown these platforms, we’re inciting change. Hashtag the movement in positive comments. Compliment someone else and hashtag the Radness Project. If someone offers you a compliment, post about it, use the hashtag. Let’s drown social media in a more uplifting way.”
More cheers, these louder than the last.
We spend the next short while educating everyone on the Radness Project. The baby born from our expedition into my search for self-discovery and the stand we’re hellbent on taking against bullying.
“Okay. Let’s talk about it, the kiss that stopped Hollywood.”
“You liked that?” Reid flirts with the studio audience, much to their delight.
“It was altogether swoon-worthy. Up until that very moment, you’d been quite reserved with your personal life.” She looks at Reid. “What changed?”
“The world is very good at making up their own truth. Neither Roxy nor myself had ever spoken publicly about our relationship, which gave the world a creative license to twist it into something ugly. My love for Roxy is not ugly.” Reid smiles at me. “It’s the best part of who I am. It always has been. I wanted the world to know that.”
“Roxy, what was going through your mind in that moment?”
“Not much.” I laugh. “I was more than a little pre-occupied.”
“How’s your mom, Reid? If you don’t mind us asking.”
“Not at all,” Reid assures her, taking a sip of his water. “Mom is doing great. We received some pretty awesome news recently that she’s in remission.” I watch his face break open in a smile that shows all his teeth, the genuine relief and happiness too hard for him to dull.
The audience cheers and I watch Reid turn his smile to them in thanks. Being attached to me threw him into the spotlight more than he feels comfortable. Everyone wants to know about Reid and Roxy, the best friends who found one another after a decade of hurt feelings and rejection. But, as is my best friend, he’s accepted it all as graciously as he can.
“I think it’s admirable what you’re doing,” Kate praises in all seriousness. “I hope it catches on the way it should. People advocate heavily for making sure we pass on a healthy planet for the generations following us. I firmly believe that should incorporate the positive mindset we can teach to future generations. Greater acceptance, altruistic hearts, and a more compassionate world should be a part of that. Ladies and gentlemen, Roxy Monroe and Reid Rivere.”
“What’s the surprise?” I ask.
> Reid shrugs. “If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“But you don’t,” he objects.
Pulling into the driveway of his childhood home, I move to open my car door. Reid stops me with a hand on my arm.
“On your eighteenth birthday, I had planned something for after prom.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Not that.” He laughs. “Obviously we took a different path. But I hate that I missed celebrating your birthday, not just that night, but for all the years that followed.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I ease his conscience.
“I don’t think it was either of our faults. It took me a while to discover that. Anyway, I wanted to make it up to you.”
I smile. “It’s not even my birthday.”
“That is true. I have nothing to combat that fact other than we were going to be here to see Mom and Dad, and I thought we could relive the night that sent us both to hell.”
Leaning forward, I let my lips brush along his. Palm finding the back of my head, he pulls me in close, deepening our kiss. Lost in the dark shadow of his car, we let ourselves become absorbed in one another. These snippets of privacy, of being lost in one another without an audience are usually only gifted to us behind closed doors. Being back in the familiar surroundings of our family homes with the freedom to just be two people in love is something both of us crave.
A moan escapes my mouth, swallowed immediately by a rough groan of his, Reid pulls away roughly.
“Later,” he promises.
I pout. “Cross your heart?”
He side-eyes me. “You cannot use that every time you don’t get your way.”
I grumble under my breath, climbing from his truck and stomping toward his front door.
Hand on my wrist, he spins me, pulling me in close. “Cross.” His lips touch my lips. “My.” He nips at my jaw. “Heart.” He licks along my ear.
“You’re an asshole,” I groan, the sound morphing into a high-pitched squeal as he lifts me effortlessly, throwing me over his shoulder.
“That earns you a throw in the pool, Firefly.”
I wriggle, working to free myself from his grasp.
“Reid!” I yell out.
“Shhh,” he admonishes. “You’ll alert the world to our presence and I won’t be able to fuck you in the pool.”
I close my eyes as he marches us in the direction of his parents’ back yard, enjoying the feeling of his hands on the back of my thighs.
He doesn’t throw me into the pool as he promised, instead, he sets me down softly. “Happy belated birthday, Firefly. I love you.”
Hands on my shoulders, he turns me gently.
I gasp. “Reid.”
A projector screen is set up at the tail end of the pool, big, white beanbags placed at the opposite end. Candles float across the water, illuminating the night like fireflies.
I move toward the beanbags with slow, steady steps. I hear the crunch of leaves behind me, Reid following a distance behind.
“All your favorite snacks,” he informs me as I reach the picnic basket. “Except I traded the soda for booze. Your favorite movies too,” he says as I look up at the black screen.
“And before you ask,” he rushes out. “Mom and Dad aren’t here. They took off for the night to give us some privacy. They’ll be back tomorrow so you can gush all over her.”
My heart flutters in my chest. I was right all those years ago. Intended or not, Reid stuffed my heart full of him, leaving no room for anyone else. Not that I care to let anyone else in. It’s him. It’s always been him and it’ll remain that way forever.
“Reid… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you love me.”
I turn to face him. “I’ve never loved anything or anyone more.”
“Cross your heart?” he asks, standing under the bright stars of the sky.
I step into his body, arms wrapping around his waist, eyes seeking his. “Cross my heart.”
Cross your Heart Playlist
Ruin My Life, Zara Larsson
You Have A Heart (Acoustic), Regi, OT
Consequences, Camila Cabello
I Am Falling In Love, Isak Danielson
Never Enough, Kelly Clarkson
How Will I Know, Sam Smith
Naked, James Arthur
You Are The Reason, Calum Scott
Never Seen Anything “Quite Like You”, The Script
Thick Skin, Leona Lewis
Sober, Demi Lovato
Don’t Wanna Write This Song, Brett Young
One Touch, Jess Glynne
Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not, Thompson Square
I’m Not Enough and I’m Sorry, Teqkoi, Snow
Not Even Her, Bra Dy, Shiloh Dynasty
Die For You - The Weeknd
Entertainer, ZAYN
Without You, Avicii, Sando Cavazza
Can We Pretend, P!nk, Cash Cash
I Alone, Love
I Wanna Be There, Blessed Union of Souls
Here By Me, 3 Doors Down
Not Over You, Gavin DeGraw
Insecurities, Jess Glynne
Dancing On My Own, Calum Scott
Please Don’t Say You Love Me, Gabrielle Aplin
Only You, Calum Scott
Best Thing I Never Had, Beyonce
What Hurts The Most, Rascal Flatts
I Never Told You, Colbie Caillat
Lead Me, Kip Moore
Don’t Let Her, Walker Hayes
You’re Happy, Walker Hayes
Unkiss Me, Maroon 5
Try, Colbie Caillat
Collide - Acoustic, Howie Day
Find You, Alex G
Payphone, Maroon 5, Wiz Khalifa
Secret Long Song Pt. II, Little Mix
Remember You Young, Thomas Rhett
Listen here: Cross your Heart
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IMPACT
Prologue
Zoe
Defeat. Surrender.
Varying ends of a depressing spectrum. Polar opposites. One signifying greater power. Strength. Winning. The other its counterpart. Resignation. A white flag waving so loudly it’s a perfect symbol of your own submission.
Memories tend to be cataloged by reminders, the familiarity your senses recognize pulling past experiences back into the forefront of your mind. Voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter. A smell, a taste, the feeling of touch, something you can see. They’re appreciations your mind collects over time, building your life experience. Be it positive or negative.
I’d imagine most people would smell the cedar wood here in this room. The potent odor that tickles your nostrils, lingering with importance and command. For me, the smell is repugnant. Suffocating. One that will haunt me for the remainder of my days. So thick with my own defeat, with failure, I can’t even manage to pull a full breath.
My ears feel hollow. Comparable to the feeling of being submerged in water, voices above nothing but a dull echo. The scrape of a chair, the clearing of a throat… all too far away, yet closer than I’d care for them to be.
Inhaling heavily through my mouth, I taste the bitterness of my own remise. My hands shake, and I clench them tightly around the brittle sheets of paper clasped within my damp palms.
Smoothing the crinkled lines against the podium, I blink forcibly in an attempt to focus on the scratch of blue pen marked messily along the lines.
My heart is screaming at me to stop. To walk away. Leave the chips to fall where they may. I’m not strong enough my heart insists. Not to continue along this path. We just want to sleep it says. Crawl into the warmth of my bed and never leave. We’ll be safe there.
Safe.
But I’ve yet to hand over the final sliver of strength left in my mind. I’m clinging to that like a lifeline, it’s letting me breathe, if just for now. I don’t doubt that after today I would’ve used that up too. My mind henceforth as empty as my body, as my heart curr
ently feels.
“Eight months ago.” My words feel like stripped metal on my vocal cords. Jagged and useless. I clear my throat, refusing to look anywhere but at the words before me. “I had my whole life ahead of me. I was young. I was happy,” I continue. “Eight months ago, my body was mine. My mind was mine.” My voice shakes right before it cracks and I pause, clenching my teeth against the tremor in my jaw. I bite my lip, silencing the indelicate sob fighting to escape. Hints of it succeed, choking out in a stuttered breath.
“Moments of that night are faded, hazy in parts. But there are fragments, flashes, minutes that are so very clear. They’re my own living nightmare, and no matter how hard I try… I can’t escape.”
I glance up then, seeking refuge from the judge. A middle-aged white man with hair the color of snow. My lawyer assured me his allotment to my case was a good thing. His history, his long history, shows a clear bias toward women’s rights.
The weathered lines of his face give nothing away. Only watching on impassively as I speak, but I take solace in the kindness in his eyes, encouraging me forward.
“You took liberty on my body that wasn’t yours to take, but what I think you failed to realize, or possibly you didn’t care,” I shrug to myself, my shoulders remaining bunched near my neck in defense. “Is that in that decision, you stole the liberty of my mind. Your actions, your decision… it now controls my life.”
I pause, needing a second to gather my composure. Inhaling deeply, I roll my shoulders, releasing them from the bind of my neck.
“My life is now an ode to what you stole. First, it was my body, my right to say no. Then you murdered my dignity. I realized that more as I lay on a hospital bed, my legs open as doctors poked and prodded my already violated body.”
Images of that moment choose to flood my mind, and I choke on my breath. Bile rushes up my throat, but I swallow the acidity and the burn of the memories back down.
“You stripped away my feeling of safety. I panic in crowds, but I’m petrified to be alone. Which means I no longer know where I fit in this world.
