Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(67)

The moderator makes a brief introduction, and then a line coordinator ushers the first fan to the audience’s microphone.

She must be no older than fifteen or sixteen. “Um, hi…I have a question for Sullivan.”

“Sweet,” Sulli says.

“First, um…” The girl reddens. “Can you say the f-word?”

“Fuck?” Sulli says uncertainly, but people still cheer. It’s not a weird question since Sulli says fuck a lot, and her dad is known for his constant f-bombs.

The girl rocks on the balls of her feet. “And what’s it like being the daughter of Ryke Meadows?”

“He’s the greatest fucking dad…” She loses track of her thought, and she looks to us for help.

Jane raises her mic. “The Meadows family is the sweetest. One time Sulli broke a rope swing, the kind attached to a tree limb, and she bloodied her knees—how old were you, Sulli?”

“Maybe, fuck like eleven?”

“She was eleven glorious years,” Jane says triumphantly, smile brightening, and her breezy voice captivates the crowd. “But Sulli being Sulli, picked herself up, not a tear in sight, and she started climbing the maple tree to fix the rope. Her dad saw, and Uncle Ryke hoisted his daughter on his shoulders. He helped her reach a sturdier branch to tie the knot. Adventure and love for all, that’s the Meadows way.”

The audience practically swoons.

“Last question, I promise,” the girl says quickly before the line coordinator shoos her away. “Sullivan, is there anyone that you look up to like a brother since you only have a sister?”

“Yeah,” Sulli says easily and cranes her neck and waves at me. “Hey, Moffy.”

“Hey, Sul,” I say in the mic. I think it’s easier for her to speak to me than the crowds.

She keeps eye contact with me. “I know you didn’t talk much about me on We Are Calloway because I asked you not to. I kind of wanted to be…anonymous, or as anonymous as I could be, but…” She shrugs. “You’re my big brother. We went to hundreds of swim meets together, and fuck, we got busted shins and elbows from skateboarding…and you were always there. You still are.”

“Awww,” people coo.

I raise my mic. “Sulli was nervous to speak live, but she’s doing better than all of us, huh?” The crowd applauds for Sulli, and she takes a huge breath.

The line coordinator leads the girl away, and a new fan in a Halway Comics baseball cap approaches the microphone. “My question is for Maximoff. Who do you like better: Ryke Meadows or Loren Hale?”

Jane sends me a quick glance like I’ll take over if you need me.

In the past year, that question would’ve put my thoughts in a grinder. But I’m not pummeled backwards anymore.

“I love them both,” I say, my tone easygoing. “At the risk of sounding cliché, I wouldn’t be who I am without my dad and my uncle.”

I’m aware that there are hundreds of phone-cameras filming me, and I can almost feel my dad back in Philly smiling. Happy that I’m finally embracing the truth publicly.

“My dad is amazing, loving, funny and protective,” I tell the audience, “and I got to love a dad who was sober because he has a brother who’s kind, compassionate, strong and unfaltering. I honestly can’t imagine not having either of them.”

I hear people sniffling, and I catch several brushing their watery eyes.

“I LOVE LOREN HALE!” someone shouts.

Jane speaks in her mic. “We love him terribly too.” Her blue eyes smile at me like well done, old chap.

The next few questions are tame. Sulli talks briefly about the Olympics, we all banter back-and-forth about late-night sleepovers at the Meadows tree house, and Beckett tells the audience his favorite ballet: Giselle.

A twenty-something slender guy grips the microphone. “Charlie,” he says. “Are you dating anyone?”

Charlie lazily lifts his mic. “No.” He drops his arm. That’s it.

I bite my tongue, wanting to tell him he could at least try harder to care.

After about ten more innocent questions about our childhood, Jane is asked about her career. “I’m happy to be the CFO of H.M.C. Philanthropies.”

I wait for her to add for now. But she never does.

She has a whole semester of online courses before she graduates Princeton. One semester to figure out her future, but I’m not going to let her give up.

I’m still thinking about Janie when I miss the next question. Unfortunately, a college-aged girl directed it at me. Hundreds of eyes land in my direction.

I sense the awkward dead air.

Greaaaat.

Charlie puts the microphone to his mouth. “Daydreaming runs in his family.”

I turn on him, eyes hot. He didn’t just say that to the public. “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

My mom discussed all the times she got lost in her head on We Are Calloway. Fantasizing about sex. He knows this.

And if Charlie is implying—

“Luna has a vivid imagination. She’s been daydreaming about aliens and other planets since she was little,” Charlie says innocently, as though he never intended anything else. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

More phones are elevated. Recording. Pointed like pistols, but nothing can hurt me. Not online. Not in the tabloids. After what I went through with Jane, I’m fucking bulletproof.