by Jen Wilde
The attorney’s gaze falls to the table. “You will release a statement to the media, backing up Mr. Butler’s upcoming statement, declaring that your livestream and Shrupty Padwal’s statement were a complete fabrication. You will also defend Mr. Butler and Mr. Archer Carlton against the ridiculous accusations of homophobia.”
My jaw drops. “You want me to say it was all a hoax? To call Shrupty a liar and defend Archer’s hurtful words?”
“If you want to keep your position,” he adds, his voice low, “you will comply.”
I put the pen down on the table. “You have no right to ask me to do this.”
He smiles, but it’s unfriendly, like how a Disney villain smiles right before he pushes the hero off a cliff. “I assure you, Miss Phillips, we are well within our rights. And let me remind you that Mr. Butler could have easily fired you without giving you this chance to stay on as an intern. This is your best and only option.”
They’re trying to intimidate me, and it’s working. But I’d rather spend the rest of my life taking orders from my old high school bullies at Westmill Sonic than stay in LA knowing I threw Shrupty under the bus and sold my soul. Malcolm knows I can’t afford a lawyer. He knows I need this internship to turn into a career. He knows how desperate I am to write for television. He’s trying to exploit all that to save his own ass.
“So,” the attorney says. “Sign the agreement and we can all move on.”
“No,” I say. “I’m not signing anything.”
Malcolm finally speaks. “Sign it, or you’re fired.”
I shrug my shoulders. “So fire me.”
He picks up the receiver on his desk and calls for security. My fear has been replaced with righteousness and adrenaline. We sit in determined, angry silence until two men come to get me. They wait while I collect my things from the writers’ room, mostly my water bottle and some notebooks.
Jane walks in just as I’m leaving, her eyes widening when she sees my entourage of two security guards.
“Are you okay?” she asks me.
“Not really,” I say. “But I’m glad you’re here. I want to thank you for taking me under your wing. You’re an amazing writer, and I’m so glad I got to work with you. Good luck.”
The guards usher me down the hall, and Jane watches in shock. Malcolm stands in the doorway of his office, smirking at me as I walk past. I ignore him, holding my head up high even though all I want to do is fall to the floor and cry. But I’d never let him see how upset he’s made me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurt me.
I try to keep my composure as I leave the building, the guards walking on either side of me. People walking by stop and stare. I spot Dirk up ahead, carrying a takeout bag from the bakery Malcolm likes. An evil grin spreads across his face when he sees me.
“Bye, Felicia!” he calls as I walk by. I flip both my middle fingers at him.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps running up behind me, and for a frightening second I think Dirk is coming for me, but when I look over my shoulder I see Shrupty chasing after us.
“Hey!” she yells. “What’s going on?”
“Malcolm fired me,” I tell her. I try to stop walking so I can talk to her, but one of the guards ushers me on.
Shrupty runs ahead of us, holding her arms out to try to stop us. “No. Just wait. He can’t do this.” She looks tiny standing in front of these two big, burly men, but the fire in her eyes is enough to make anyone think twice about crossing her.
“It’s already been done,” one of them says. “Keep it moving.”
Shrupty starts walking backward and pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Fine. If that’s how they wanna play, then let’s play.” A crowd starts to gather as she records the scene on her phone. “If Bex is fired for doing a livestream and speaking out, then I guess I’m fired, too.”
I shake my head at her. “Shrupty—”
“What?” she asks, keeping her camera trained on me. “If Malcolm wants you out, then I’m out, too.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t—”
But she stops me again. “Are you trying to tell me what to do?”
That’s when I shut up. No way am I going against her when she’s on fire like this. I raise my palms to show her I give in, and she nods.
“That’s what I thought,” she says. Then she takes my hand. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
Shrupty holds her phone up so the people watching her livestream can see the guards following us into the parking lot. Once we’re in her car, she speaks into the camera.
“This isn’t the end,” she says, her voice filled with determination. “He thinks he’s won, but he can’t finish this episode without me, and I won’t set foot back on set until the Lyla we were all promised returns and Bex gets her internship back.”
One of the guards knocks on her driver’s-side window and gestures for us to move on.
“Okay,” Shrupty says, exasperated. “We’re leaving. We’re leaving!”
She ends the livestream and starts her car, backing out of the parking spot so fast that her tires squeal. I can’t help but just stare at her as she grits her teeth and clutches the steering wheel. I’ve never been more attracted. The energy coming off her is electric, and the way she stood up for me like that in front of everyone … My chest swells with emotion as we drive out of the studio lot and onto the road. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, but I still can’t look away.
“What?” she asks, suddenly appearing self-conscious.
I smile a little. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”
“Oh,” she says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal. “Well, I wasn’t going to just stand by while my girlfriend gets fired like that.”
My heart flutters in my chest. “What did you just say?”
She furrows her brow. “Which part?”
A smile grows on my face, and I couldn’t wipe it away even if I wanted to. “The part where you called me your girlfriend.”
Shrupty gives me a sideways glance and scratches her head. “I did?”
I keep grinning. “Yep.”
“Well,” she stutters. “I mean. Yeah. Unless you want me to call you something else?”
I reach over and take her hand. “No way. I love it.” I giggle, and she squeezes my hand. “Girlfriend.”
She smiles back at me, her features softening. “So, girlfriend, what do we do now?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” I rest my head back on the seat, replaying the morning over in my mind. “But we can’t give up on Lyla.”
“Never,” she says. “We have to keep this fire lit. We’re like Thelma and Louise, fighting the system together. Except without cowboy Brad Pitt or the whole cliff-dive at the end.”
We drive around for a while, listening to one of Shrupty’s playlists, titled “Big Dick Energy,” and doing our best “Carpool Karaoke” impressions. Nothing pumps you up after being fired like screaming Demi’s “Sorry Not Sorry” at the top of your lungs.
* * *
Later, we’re sitting at a table at Shrupty’s aunt’s restaurant, sharing a piece of rainbow-colored cake and trying to figure out our next move.
“This isn’t the end, right?” Shrupty asks, her brow wrinkled in worry. “We still have the whole fandom behind us. We can’t let them down.”
“No,” I agree. “This isn’t the end. It’s more like a cliffhanger. Or a plot twist.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I like that. Okay, you’re the writer here, so tell me. If this was an episode, what would happen next?”
“Getting fired and making a huge scene about it would definitely make for good TV,” I say, chuckling. Then I sit back in my chair, considering her words. “When I’m plotting an episode, there’s always a moment when everything that could go wrong does go wrong. I call it the SHTF moment: the Shit Hits the Fan moment.”
Shrupty laughs. “So that’s the part of the episode we’re in right now. Shit has hit the fa
n.”
“Definitely,” I say, nodding. “We’re Bella, writhing in pain on the floor of the ballet studio in Twilight. Or Princess Anna, betrayed by Hans and locked in a freezing-cold room in Frozen.”
“Or Thor,” she says, “overpowered by Hela in Ragnarok.”
“Yes! We just need to find our biggest lightning blast in the history of lightning.”
The waiter comes over with our drinks, and the moment I get my coffee, I dump a spoonful of sugar into it.
“Mostly,” I say with a sigh as I watch the sugar dissolve into the coffee and stir it with my spoon, “I just want the fandom to see how amazing Sasha and Lyla are together.”
Shrupty takes a sip of her bloodred strawberry shake. “Okay, so let’s do that.”
“How?” I ask. “It’s not like we can film the episode ourselves.”
“Why not?” she asks. I furrow my brow, wondering if she’s joking.
I start listing on my fingers. “We don’t have any camera equipment, or actors, or permission, or money.”
“Um, hello?” Mimicking me, Shrupty counts on her fingers, too. “I have camera equipment, I’m literally Lyla, we can use your original script so we don’t need permission, and if we already have cameras, talent, and a story, we don’t need that much money.”
I give her a look that says “give me a break,” and she chuckles. “Okay, so it won’t be worthy of an Emmy or anything, but who cares? It’s the message that matters.”
“True,” I say, nodding. “We could pick the best Lasha scene and film that. Or make a mock trailer for the episode.”
“Yes!” Shrupty gets out her phone and starts typing. “We just need one more person on board if we want to do this right.” She lifts her phone to her ear and a moment later perks up. “Hey, Alyssa?”
While she asks Alyssa to join our rogue mission, I text Gabby. This is too big for me to do it without my ride-or-die, and I’m determined to get her to LA. Using some of my savings to buy her a bus ticket will be worth it just to see her face.
Bex: hey
Gabby: hey!
Bex: you wanna join a rebellion?
Gabby: always.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The next day, Parker and I pull up to the bus station, and I’m so excited I could burst.
“There she is!” I say, pointing to Gabby as she walks out the sliding doors of the station, carrying a duffel bag. I jump out of the car and run to her, arms spread wide.
“Bex!” she calls when she sees me. She drops her bag and I leap into her arms, cuddling her close.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” I say. Happy tears spill over my cheeks.
Gabby squeals. “Thank you so much for buying my ticket.”
Parker toots his horn. “Get in, losers! We’ve got a rebellion to launch!”
Gabby pumps her fists in the air. “Let’s go!”
I pick up her bag and we walk hand in hand to the car, giggling like we did when we were little.
Not long after, Parker pulls up to Shrupty’s front gate and leans out the window to press the button. Gabby’s jaw drops as the gates open and we roll down the driveway.
“Whoa,” she says. “I feel like a Kardashian right now.”
We walk up the steps and Shrupty opens the door before I even ring the bell. She jumps into my arms, squeezing me tight.
“You ready for this?” she asks as she lets go.
“You bet.” I turn to Gabby, grinning from ear to ear. “Gabby, this is my girlfriend, Shrupty. Shrupty, this Gabby, my best friend.”
They hug each other, then Shrupty hugs Parker before inviting us inside.
After we all take off our shoes, she grabs my hand and leads us through the house and down into the basement.
Alyssa is waiting on the couch in front of the big-screen TV, and I’m surprised to see Will sitting next to her.
“I told Will about your plan,” Alyssa says when we sit with them. “And he wanted in.”
Will nods, his brow pinched in concern. “I want to help save Lyla.”
“Thank you,” I say to them. “Really. Having you both stand by us on this will strengthen our message a lot.”
“Okay,” Shrupty says as she stands up. “This is the plan: We’re going to film it like an episode trailer. That way, we won’t spoil too much of the story line, but we still get to show the world how much potential the Lasha arc has. Then we’re going to post it to my YouTube channel. Cool?” Everyone nods. “Okay! Operation Make It Gay is a go!”
* * *
An hour later, we’re all set up in Shrupty’s basement, preparing to start shooting. Gabby and Will help Shrupty set up her camera, lighting equipment, and green screen—all perks of being a professional YouTuber. Alyssa is sitting on the couch while Parker does her makeup, and I’m pacing back and forth nervously. I’m reading over the script for the millionth time, making sure I’ve picked out the best lines and scenes to showcase in the trailer.
Our goal is to have the video ready to upload on Friday morning, so we have a ton of work to do and not much time to do it. But I’m not worried—I have the best damn team in the world.
Gabby skips over to me, and I can feel her excitement buzzing off her.
“I can’t believe I’m hanging out with these people!” she whispers. “Will Horowitz! Alyssa Huntington! Shrupty Padwal! How do you do this every day and not freak the fuck out?”
I glance over at my new squad, my heart overflowing with gratitude. “It’s easy when they’re all such great, down-to-earth people.” Then I take Gabby by the shoulders and look her in the eye. “I’m so happy you’re here. You’re the best ride-or-die a girl could ever ask for. I love you, Gabs.”
She blushes, then pulls me in for a hug. “I love you, too, Bex. You’ve never said that to me before.”
I nod against her shoulder. “I know. I’m trying to be better at telling people how I feel and letting them in.”
Gabby lets out a happy sigh. “I’m so proud of you. I’ve never seen you more … yourself.”
“Stop,” I say, clearing my throat. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Aaaand she’s back,” Gabby says with a chuckle.
“I’m a work in progress.” I let go of her, and she nods knowingly.
“Aren’t we all?” Then she gives me a playful slap on the arm. “Now go make some quality gay content.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Okay,” I say as I stand behind the camera. Shrupty, Will, and Alyssa are on their marks. On a real set, gaffer tape would be used to show them where to stand, but Shrupty’s mom was not about to let us get tape stuck to her carpet, so we improvised and used yellow Post-it notes. “This is where Lyla catches up to Sasha and Will and tells them she wants to help them fight her family.”
Alyssa and Will nod. Shrupty shakes out her arms and legs to loosen herself up. She looks worried.
“Shrupty,” I say. “You okay?”
She nods but then turns to Alyssa and Will. “I just want to make sure you’re both one hundred percent cool to go through with this. We could all be risking a lot. So if you have any doubts, now’s the time to back out. We won’t blame you.”
“I’m in,” Alyssa says.
Will nods. “One hundred percent.”
“We’re both so done with Malcolm and his bullshit,” Alyssa adds. “This was the last straw.”
“And I can’t keep making excuses for Archer,” Will says. “All I’ve done since season one is try to convince myself that he’s my friend. But that rant at my party the other night? That wasn’t the first time I’ve heard him say stuff like that. I’m not going to let it slide anymore.”
Alyssa puts her arm around him, and he gives her a sad smile.
Just then, the door to the basement opens and we hear footsteps coming down the stairs. We all turn to see who it is. Shrupty’s dad stops halfway down when he sees all of us standing there, surrounded by cameras and bright lights and a green screen propped against
the wall.
“Um,” he says, almost like he’s shy. “Hello, strangers in my basement.”
“Dad,” Shrupty sighs. “This is a closed set.”
He narrows his eyes, glancing at each of us. “Your mother wanted me to ask if your friends are staying for dinner.”
“We’re just gonna order pizza or something,” Shrupty says. “Got a long night of filming ahead of us.”
“What … what’s happening here?” he asks.
Shrupty giggles at her dad’s confused expression. “Oh, nothing. We’re just rebelling against the heteronormative culture that permeates our current media climate.”
Her dad stares at us blankly for a second, then shrugs. “Okeydokey. Keep up the good work.” And with that, he turns around and goes back up the stairs. “Honey,” he calls to his wife. “Did you know there’s a rebellion happening in our basement?” Then the door clicks closed, and we all burst into laughter.
With the mood lightened and everyone in their places, we’re ready to film.
“Okay?” I ask. “Action!” I can’t wipe the grin off my face. I feel so cool for calling out “action,” like a real director.
* * *
The dirt and gravel crunch under our sneakers as we follow the hiking trail up the mountain. We purposely chose the hardest, rockiest trail because it’s the least populated, and we need as much privacy as possible to get this scene done tonight. We don’t exactly have any of the permits you’re supposed to get when filming in public spaces. That’s also why we’ve packed all our equipment and props in picnic baskets, coolers, and backpacks—to any onlookers, we’re just a group of friends heading out for a picnic and stargazing above LA.
Parker has a styling gig tonight, and Will had to go back to Rosemount to keep shooting the “official” version of episode 612, so it’s just me, Shrupty, Alyssa, and Gabby for the night shoot.
“Remember,” Shrupty says as she adjusts the strap of her backpack. “We need to start hiking back down at nine thirty. Security guards start their checks at ten.”