by Jen Wilde
“Are you hot?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re turning red.”
I swallow hard, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m fine.” But the energy in the room has shifted, and I find myself breathing heavier, almost like the air is thinning.
Shrupty watches me from behind her long lashes as she peels the Band-Aid from its plastic. Laughter flows from the living room, reminding me that we are not alone. But still, I can’t shake the thought of her body underneath mine.
Her fingers brush against my neck as she places the Band-Aid over my cut and smooths down the edges. A shiver runs down my spine. Then she leans in and kisses the space above my collarbone, taking me by surprise.
My heart beats harder as she trails kisses up my neck. She’s about to reach my lips when she pulls back, just enough that the tips of our noses graze each other. The corner of her mouth lifts into a sexy half smile, then I close the gap between us. Our lips move together as she takes my face in her hands and I take her hips in mine.
I’m so caught up in kissing her that I don’t notice her leading me toward the shower until she’s reaching behind her to open the glass door. She tears her mouth away from mine so she can untie her hair from its messy bun. Then watches me with fire in her eyes as she unzips her romper, letting it fall to the floor. My temperature rises, my mouth goes dry. Following her lead, I start unbuttoning my shirt. She smiles as I let it drop to the floor with her romper, then she steps into the shower and turns it on.
It takes me a few seconds to tug my jeans off, but soon I’m leaving my glasses on the counter and stepping in beside her, letting the hot water run down my back. Shrupty drapes her arms over my shoulders, pressing herself against me. We kiss, and the rest of the world fades away. All I see is her.
* * *
When we emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later, the others are in the middle of what looks to be a very intense game of Jenga.
“No,” Parker gasps as he watches Dante reach for one of the middle blocks. He covers his eyes. “I can’t watch.” Dante’s brow is wrinkled in concentration while Gabby and Alyssa watch on the edge of their seats. He’s almost got the block out when it collapses all over the coffee table.
“Hey!” Gabby says when she sees us. “You wanna play?”
“I wish I could,” Shrupty says, frowning. “But I gotta make it home before my curfew.”
Alyssa stands up. “I’ll drop you home.”
We say our good-byes but linger in the open doorway, neither of us wanting to let go of the other’s hand.
“I really should go,” Shrupty says, but then she leans in and kisses me.
“Yeah,” I say against her lips, then kiss her some more. Then I reluctantly drag myself away from her. “We’ve got hours and hours of video editing to do when we wake up.”
She nods. Then smiles and kisses me one more time before letting go of my hand and following Alyssa downstairs. When I close the door, Parker, Dante, and Gabby are all grinning at me.
My cheeks flush. “What?”
“You’re in looooove,” Parker sings.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
On Friday morning, Shrupty, Gabby, Parker, and I are sitting at our usual table in the garden of the Golden Ivy. We’re running on very little sleep, so the coffee is flowing and our anticipation is peaking. I’ve been so focused on getting this video done that I almost forgot to take my Lexapro, so I wash it down with a glass of OJ.
“I just want to check it one more time before they get here,” Shrupty says as she moves her mouse around her laptop screen. Adobe Premiere is open, all our little clips lined up in a row.
Just then, Alyssa and Will arrive, and I wave them over to sit with us.
“Goooooood morning, fellow rebels,” Alyssa says with a wink.
They sit across from us, and Gabby claps her hands excitedly. “Are you two ready to see it?”
Will smiles. “Can’t wait.”
“Come on,” Parker says, his eyes pleading with mine. “Let’s show them already. I want to see their minds explode.”
Shrupty slides the laptop to the side of the table so we can all see the screen. “Here we go.” She hits play, and Sasha’s boots appear on the screen, hitting the ground as she runs. The next ninety seconds are filled with Lasha’s greatest hits from 612. Romantic moments of them caught in a lingering stare fill my heart with emotion. Fast cuts of action shots are sliced between the more tender clips to build tension. Instead of music, Shrupty added the simple sound of a heart beating faster and faster, like a bomb about to explode. And it all ends with a passionate kiss that melts my insides and is guaranteed to make the fans want more. After the last shot fades to black, the words SAVE LASHA appear on the screen.
“Whoa,” Will says, his eyebrows raised so high they almost disappear into his dark hairline. “That was awesome.”
“Fucking crushed it!” Alyssa says before raising her hands up to high-five everyone.
I’m glowing. Seeing something I helped create turn out so brilliantly feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s not official. It’s not even a full episode. And it probably won’t ever air on television. But it’s ours. We made it.
“I’m so proud of us, gang,” I say, beaming.
Shrupty drums her hands on the table, making everything shake. “Let’s post this bitch!” I don’t know if it’s the caffeine or the excitement that’s got her so amped up, but I’m loving it.
Together, we all reach over to the enter button on her laptop, index fingers poised. And then we press it, and the video is officially out in the world.
“Celebration waffles for everyone!” Shrupty yells, throwing her arms in the air triumphantly.
We leave the laptop open on the table while we share waffles and pancakes and even more coffee.
“Look!” Gabby says about thirty minutes after the video went live. “We just hit a thousand views!”
Parker raises his iced cappuccino. “To the rebellion!”
We laugh and clink our glasses and cups to his. “The rebellion!”
We stay until the breakfast rush has dissipated, watching as the view count rises and the notifications pour in from all corners of the internet.
“Save Lasha is trending,” Shrupty says, scrolling on her phone. “And HelloGiggles just shared the trailer with tons of heart-eye emojis.”
Alyssa smiles. “It’s blowing up even bigger than I thought it would. This has to make Malcolm listen.”
“And if not,” Will adds, “surely, the network will realize what the fans really want. If Ruby or the board members tell him to cancel the rewrites, he has to do it.”
Just then, my phone dings with an e-mail. And so do Shrupty’s, Alyssa’s, and Will’s.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” Shrupty says. “I just got called to a meeting at the studio.”
I check my e-mail and find the same invitation.
Hi Bex,
Ms. Randall would like to meet with you at midday today, if possible.
Please let me know if this works for you.
Angela
“Shit.” I hold my phone out so Parker and Gabby can see the e-mail, and their eyes widen as they read it.
“I got it, too,” Will says.
Alyssa sighs. “Same.”
* * *
“This is fine,” Shrupty says as she turns the steering wheel to change lanes. I’d be comforted by her words if it wasn’t the fourth time I’d heard her say it since we left the restaurant. I exchange worried glances with Alyssa and Will, who are sitting in the back. Parker and Gabby went back to his place, and right now they’re probably on the couch, stress eating and waiting by their phones for updates from me.
“Who knows?” Will says, keeping his tone optimistic. “Maybe she wants to tell us she’s bringing queer Lyla back.”
Shrupty looks at him in her rearview mirror, nodding. “Yeah. That’s it. See? This is fine.”
My palms sweat as we pull up to the Rosemount
gates. The waffles turn sour in my stomach. My anxiety level is already at a nine, and we haven’t even made it into the building yet.
“Whatever happens,” Alyssa says, “we stick together. Remember why we did all this—to give queer teens the badass lesbian werewolf romance they’ve never seen.”
We all chuckle, but what she said seems to resonate, because everyone relaxes a little. She’s right. This is so much bigger than the four of us.
Angela is at the reception desk when we walk into the building.
“We’re here to meet with Ms. Randall,” I tell her.
She gives me a sweet smile. “Top floor. But I have a message for you, Bex.”
“For me?” I ask, confused.
She nods and picks up a Post-it note from the desk. “Jane would like you to meet her on the soundstage.”
“Oh,” I say, then look at the others. “I guess I’ll meet you up there.”
“Okay,” Shrupty says before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek that makes me blush. “Hurry.”
We go our separate ways, and I run through the lot to meet with Jane. The doors are closed when I arrive, so I grip the bulky handle and drag it to the side. I’m surprised to find the soundstage empty and eerily quiet. Where is everyone?
“Hello?” I call into the stillness. There’s no answer, so I walk inside. “Jane?” The farther into the building I get, the more I feel like something isn’t right. I’m about to turn around and leave when the lamp on the living room set switches on.
It’s Malcolm. He’s sitting in the armchair on set, fingers interlaced in his lap, dark circles under his eyes.
“Is Jane here?” I ask, even though the sinking feeling in my gut tells me she’s not, and she’s not coming.
“Ruby called you into her office, didn’t she?” he asks. “I know she did. Because she called me in, too. Apparently, she’s heard some ‘concerning things’ and wants to ‘clear the air.’” He uses finger quotes, then looks at me with daggers in his eyes. “What did you say to her?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
He stands up from the chair, shaking his head. “People are talking. I know they are. You’re turning everyone against me. Everything was fine before you came here.” He takes a few steps forward and then stops at the edge of the set. “You know”—he cocks his head to the side—“for such a little thing, you sure do cause a lot of trouble.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Thank you.”
“You think you’re so smart,” he says, walking slowly toward me. “What do I have to do to make you shut up?”
Every cell in my body is telling me to leave. Alarm bells ring in my ears; goose bumps ripple over my arms. Malcolm is a walking, talking red flag, and it’s taking everything in me to stand strong against his intimidation. I’m tired of people walking all over me. I’m tired of giving my power away. It’s mine.
“Talking to you nicely didn’t work,” he continues. “Compromising didn’t work. Not even my lawyer could keep you quiet.”
He stops directly in front of me, then leans forward, towering over me. I instinctively step back, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. But as I do, I nudge one of the tall, bulky studio cameras facing the set. It gives me an idea.
I raise my palms up. “Please,” I say as I hide behind the camera. “Just back off.”
He dips his head back to laugh, and I take my chance to turn the camera on while he’s not looking. I just hope he doesn’t notice the little red light.
“Give me a break,” he says. I move around the camera again, maneuvering so that we’re both in the shot. He keeps his gaze on me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his face contorted like he’s offended. “I’m trying to help you. Is it money?” He taps his bottom lip thoughtfully. “How much will it take to keep you quiet?”
“Quiet about what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Everything. If you can go into this meeting with Randall right now and deny it all—the script stealing, straight-washing Lyla, asking you to sign an NDA—I’ll give you whatever you want. Name your price.”
“I don’t want your money,” I say. “You can’t buy me.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He takes in a deep breath, then yells, “Just tell me what the fuck you want so I can move on with my life!”
I swallow hard. I’m not going to lie—I’m afraid. I feel like he’s unraveling right in front of me. I glance over my shoulder toward the door. It’s still ajar, and if I run I could probably make it. But then I see that red light blinking on the camera, and it spurs me on.
“You know what I want,” I say. “Rewrite Lyla to be gay. That’s the Lyla I created, that’s the Lyla Shrupty signed on to play, and that’s the Lyla fans want and deserve. Give the fans what they want. Do the right thing.”
Malcolm rolls his eyes. “When are you gonna learn that right and wrong don’t matter in Hollywood? All that matters is who has the most power, and that’s me. So if you’re not going to play nice, neither am I. You either go into that meeting and say what I want you to say, or not only will I ruin you, I’ll ruin your pretty little girlfriend, too. All it takes is a phone call, and bam, Shrupty will be blacklisted. Is that what you want?”
I shake my head. He takes a step closer, pointing a finger in my face.
“I can’t hear you,” he growls.
“No,” I say. “I don’t want that.”
“Then you better keep your goddamn mouth shut,” he says. His nostrils flare. “Or I’ll have no choice. It’s up to you.”
He turns and starts walking toward the exit, then calls back to me, “See you at the meeting. Don’t be late.”
It’s not until he walks through the doors that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I suck air into my lungs and clutch the camera next to me for support. My fingers start to tremble. My heart pounds in my chest. He just threatened me. He threatened Shrupty.
And I got it all on tape.
I pull my phone out and call Shrupty.
“Where are you?” she says when she answers.
“Shrupty!”
“Bex? Are you okay?” she asks.
“Where are you right now?” I ask, my words spilling out rapidly.
“Still waiting to meet with Ms. Randall,” she says. “It doesn’t look good for us, babe.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I just—”
“Ugh,” she sighs into the phone. “Malcolm just walked in. We are so screwed.”
“I need you to leave,” I say.
“What? Why?”
“Just trust me. Meet me in the editing bay.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The elevator rises, and so does my blood pressure. I close my eyes and take in a slow, deep breath. Shrupty puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me to face her.
“Open your eyes,” she says sternly. I do as she says. “I know this is risky. And fucking scary. I’m scared, too. But we’re doing the right thing. How much do you trust me?”
I smirk. “The limit does not exist.”
She laughs. “My cute girlfriend just quoted Mean Girls to me.” She holds her hands in prayer mode and glances up. “I am truly blessed.”
Then she traces the back of her hand down my cheek, a gesture so tender and loving that I almost don’t know if I can handle it.
“Clear eyes, full heart,” she says.
“Can’t lose,” I say with a smile.
“That’s it, babe,” she says. “We’re going full Friday Night Lights on this bitch.”
I nod, turn back to face the doors, and straighten my shoulders. I know I should be nervous. I’m about to march into a meeting with one of the most powerful women in Hollywood and tell her that one of her showrunners is trash. And I’m about to do it with him sitting right across from me. So yeah, I should be nervous. I should probably be scared. But I’m not.
I’m fucking pissed.
> The elevator doors open, and we step out like Wonder Woman walking into battle. I remember what Alyssa said in the car. This is bigger than us. This is for all the women out there who have been intimidated, bullied, or blackmailed into silence by insecure men trying to hold on to their power. This is for all the Silver Falls fans who feel ignored and erased because of decisions Malcolm made.
My rage sits quietly within my chest as the receptionist opens the door to the conference room. Shrupty and I enter to find at least ten white men sitting in a group at one end of the table, and Will and Alyssa on the other end. Some of the men are dressed in suits, others look like they’re on the way to the golf course, and all but one of them are on their phones. The one who isn’t on his phone is chatting with Malcolm and laughing.
“Ms. Randall will be right in,” the receptionist says before closing the door. Shrupty and I exchange confused glances. I feel like we’ve been thrown to the wolves.
None of the men acknowledge our presence as we take a seat across from them. My stomach turns uneasily. But my rage burns brighter than ever.
The door opens again as Ms. Randall enters. The room falls silent.
“Good morning,” she says as she walks past everyone to the empty chair at the head of the table. “Thank you all for coming in on such short notice.”
One of the golfers puts his phone on the table and turns to face her. “What’s this about?”
Ms. Randall sits down and takes a sip of her coffee. “That’s what I’m trying to get to the bottom of, and why I’ve called you all here this morning.”
Malcolm sighs. Loudly.
“Malcolm,” Ms. Randall says as she clasps her hands together on the table. “Do you have something to say? A question, perhaps?”