Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  I hide behind the menu again, but this time, I hear that male voice from earlier.

  “Our girls stand no damn chance against her. She’s taking medals away from them.”

  I lower the menu with a weak gasp at Winona. She still giggles like I performed the funniest trick. Ryke is texting, and my legs bounce so much that Winona scoots over to my lap so she can go up and down with them.

  I hold onto my one-year-old and risk a glance at the man. He sits at the end of the table, close to another thirty-something father, and he barely makes an effort to whisper.

  “Maybe she’ll slip and fall.” And then his eyes swerve to mine, but he wears no remorse or guilt in what he just said. “We were talking about the Riley Park Club. Beast of a girl on that team. You know the one?” The way they say beast, it’s not an endearing term.

  “No.” My voice is stilted. No confrontations. It’s easier for me than for Ryke. He taps out words on his cellphone, venting to someone.

  “The beast is four inches shorter than your girl.”

  Ryke looks up.

  Both men shift in their chairs, sitting straighter.

  The waitress thankfully comes around, and tension spools as we all go quiet. “Can I take your orders?” The big menus dwarf the little girls, but they all try to pick out what they want. Sulli’s brows bunch, fingers to her lips.

  I whisper to Ryke, “She doesn’t know what she wants.” I hold the menu out to him, and we both scan the items for something our daughter would actually eat.

  Salad? It’s a vegetable, so no way.

  Burgers? Maybe if they trash everything but the bun.

  Chicken fingers? She’ll take one bite and spit it out.

  “Maybe they have a breakfast menu?” Sulli likes most breakfast foods, but mainly waffles, pancakes, French toast, and donuts, all packed with whipped cream and syrup. At home, we try to find creative ways for her to include vegetables and healthy food in her meals, but we still give her children’s vitamins because we don’t think she gets enough with what she eats.

  Ryke turns the menu around, but it just lists out desserts: hot fudge brownie, banana split, and milkshakes.

  “What would you like?” the young waitress asks Sulli, her smile bursting with her next words, “Can you sign this?” She holds out her notebook with scribbled orders.

  “Uh…” Sulli dazedly looks to Ryke and me for approval. I can tell she’s still stuck in thought about what to eat.

  “We can sign it,” I suggest and wave the girl over with a friendly smile.

  “Oh my God. Thank you!” She skips over to us, which gives Sulli more time to decide her food choice.

  “Just our names?” I wonder, feeling the two douchebag men smirking like we’re Hollywood trash. We’re all east coast natives, but it wouldn’t be the first time people act as though we’re not even from Philadelphia.

  “Yes, that’d be amazing.” She has her hands to her mouth in shock.

  I scrawl my name and then Ryke quickly signs his initials. Winona perks up like she wants to write her name out too—which would really be misshapen lines—but I clasp her fingers with mine and bounce her on my legs, distracting her in an instant.

  I ask the waitress, “Do you guys do breakfast?”

  “Not really, but I can ask the cook if he’ll try.”

  The man coughs into his hand, “Princess.” Some people never grow up.

  “That’s okay.” We can always stop at Lucky’s Diner and pick something up on the way home if she’s still hungry.

  The waitress returns to Sullivan. “Do you know what you want?”

  She shuts her menu. “I think I’m good with water.”

  The “Bigfoot” douchebag mutters to his friend, “Good, maybe she’ll faint next meet.”

  Ryke passes me his phone that buzzes, and he rises, all six-foot-three of him towering above. “I need to fucking talk to you. Outside.”

  I try to focus on Sulli so she doesn’t see the hostile exchange between the men. “Did you see the back of the menu?”

  Sulli flips the menu over. “Oh wait.” The waitress stops from moving onto the shorter blonde girl. “Can I get the strawberry milkshake, fries, and fudge brownie?”

  I’d smile, but this idiot guy laughs, “Outside? Really?” He acts like he’s too cool for a conversation with Ryke.

  His wife nudges him though. “Kenneth.”

  Kenneth. He has a name.

  “Fine. Let’s go outside,” he says like it’s a silly concept. Paparazzi are currently on the curb outside, about five or six cameramen, but it’s not like Ryke can speak to him privately anywhere else. The burger joint is pretty crowded, and he’d rather throw out curses and threats outside than in front of Sulli.

  Maybe she’ll faint next meet.

  I’m concerned about her safety, but we’ll just send Price to practices with her from now on. I know Ryke will want someone there when we can’t be.

  Ryke leads the man outside, and his phone buzzes in my hand. A text conversation in full-blaze. Winona looks at the device with me.

  I read the newest text.

  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do – Lo

  Lo would probably butcher him with insults, ones that’d be on every entertainment news site. Ryke doesn’t fight that way. The phone vibrates again.

  Better advice, don’t punch him. – Connor

  “What can I get you?” The waitress jolts me for a second, and I blink a couple times, clearing cobwebs. I glance at the front window, street lamps and camera flashes the only light.

  Ryke stands opposite Kenneth, and even though I can’t hear him speak, the threat is clear in his dark, dangerous features, practically ripping through his stone exterior.

  “Daisy Calloway?” she asks. I’m too used to the first-name-and-last-name attachment to flinch—or even the casual use of my maiden name.

  “Actually…” I see the shadowed road we’re all headed down. Ryke’s fists clench as he yells over this other guy. Ryke fights with his body, rarely words. “Can you cancel her order? We have to leave.”

  “Huh?” Winona gawks up at me. I lift her on my side, and she tries to wiggle out.

  “No, Nona,” I whisper. “Shhh.” I pick up Sulli’s bag and apologize to the parent who invited us. Sulli scrapes back her chair, knowing we need to go.

  Price rises, and Ryke’s bodyguard, Quinn, suddenly appears from the kitchen door, nodding to Price. I slip Ryke’s phone in my short’s pocket, feeling the concentrated gazes of everyone in this diner. I pull Sulli closer to me, and she takes her swim bag off my arm.

  “Can you help him?” I ask Price.

  “He wanted me to stay with you and the girls.” Price takes out his car keys while we linger by his table. “We’re going to leave through the kitchen and out the back. Quinn is pulling the car around.” I swing my head, noticing that Quinn is gone again.

  Okay then.

  The camera flashes suddenly go off like fireworks. I make sure Sulli and Winona aren’t watching, faced towards the kitchen door.

  Ryke and Kenneth fume much closer to one another. Kenneth points a finger and then he abruptly launches his fist towards Ryke’s jaw. Ryke ducks and then knees Kenneth in the gut. So hard that the man falls to the sidewalk.

  Ryke never says another thing. He just leaves, storms back inside to us—and Price directs all of us towards the back. We slip into the busy kitchen, the cooks watching as we hurry through to the backdoor.

  “What happened?” Sulli asks her dad over the sizzle of burgers.

  “Stay away from that fucking man.” Ryke pulls Sulli very, very close, so protective that it almost scares me. What’d he say to him? Ryke sees my fear, and he sets his hand on my head like don’t worry.

  My phone starts beeping while Ryke’s vibrates in my pocket again.

  I don’t answer either of them yet. I wait until we’re all in Ryke’s Land Cruiser, Quinn behind the wheel, Price in the passenger’s seat, the four of us in the back.
/>   As soon as the tires bump along the road, Winona falls asleep in her car seat.

  “Sorry, Sul,” I tell her softly.

  Just as quietly, she says, “I didn’t like it there anyway.” She slouches. “Can Dad make pancakes?” I smile at her request.

  “Yeah,” Ryke says. “Anything else?”

  “Captain Crunch cereal.” She’ll put it on the pancake like a topping.

  I take out the phones. Ryke’s new texts stare back at me.

  At least he punched first, bro. – Lo

  Small achievements. – Connor

  My sisters and Willow started a text thread with me.

  OMG!!!!!!! Did you all see the video? Ryke called him a dirty motherfucker – Lily

  I’d stab his eyes out with my heels. Ryke should’ve taken a fork to his skull. – Rose

  What’s going on?? – Willow

  Check out Celebrity Crush and GBA Entertainment News. Do you want a link? – Lily

  Media is fast, but I knew it’d be online the minute Ryke stepped outside.

  Found it. Omg. – Willow

  Daisy, did the man really wish that Sullivan would faint? – Poppy

  You think Ryke just concocted this for laughs? Why the hell would he say, ‘You wished my seven-year-old would faint—not to mention slip and fucking fall.’ Of course it’s real. – Rose

  I’m just looking at all sides. – Poppy

  Rose sent our sister devil and knife emojis. I relax at the exchange. What Ryke did was smart, even calculated. He aired threats that the man made in public, on record, almost as a safety net for our daughter. If someone tried to hurt her, Kenneth would be the first suspect.

  He might even be banned from the Philly Aquatic Club after this.

  I return Ryke’s phone to him, and he searches my gaze, as though wondering where my head lies. I whisper, “We’re okay.” We’re all okay.

  He nods strongly. “We’re really fucking okay.”

  { 44 }

  September 2025

  Dalton Elementary

  Philadelphia

  LILY HALE

  Luna has been in kindergarten for only two months, and the teacher asked us specifically to come in for a parent-teacher conference. While we wait for Ms. Jacobs in the little classroom, I begin to sweat.

  I try to slyly sniff my armpit, just to confirm that I don’t stink.

  “Lil,” Lo says. “You don’t smell. He lounges in the tiny plastic chair like he’s slacking off in fourth period biology. It’s not an accurate depiction of today. We’re in the front of the classroom, not the back. We’re at a round kindergarten table, not a desk. And we’re waiting for bad news, not for the bell to ring.

  Why else would we be the only parents called for a conference?

  “I’m sweating,” I mumble and tug at my T-shirt for ventilation.

  “This whole thing is probably nothing.” His voice strains, so I know he doesn’t fully believe that. He wraps his arm along my shoulders, and my gangly arm slips around his waist.

  The door creaks open, and Lo gives me a tight squeeze like we got this.

  Ms. Jacobs smiles warmly. “Hi, Loren. Hi, Lily.”

  Moffy had Ms. Jacobs for kindergarten, so we’re on a first-name basis. Brown curly hair, sympathetic eyes and an equally tender voice, she’s been one of my favorite teachers at Dalton Elementary. I was really excited when Luna was placed in her class.

  Now I don’t know what to think.

  “Hi,” I say while Lo remains quiet. He no longer slouches, but he squeezes me again, mostly for my benefit.

  My face must contain tons of dread because Ms. Jacobs splays her hands like stay calm.

  “Everything is fine with Luna. I just have a few things I’d like to discuss before we move further into the school year.” Ms. Jacobs takes a seat at the round table while my worry mounts.

  I catch myself biting my nail, and I stop.

  She slides a couple drawings and writing worksheets over to us. “The good news is that Luna is really excelling with her writing skills.” I read the sentence she scribbled in the large notebook guidelines.

  My name is Luna Hale. I was born on planet Thebula.

  My cheeks hurt, smiling way too hard. Lo’s amber eyes even lighten.

  “She’s also on track in math.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Lo questions cuttingly, that light snuffing out.

  Ms. Jacobs clears her throat, not used to Lo. “By this time, the children start building friendships with their classmates. Sometimes the shy students take a little longer, but Luna isn’t quiet or shy and approaching her classmates hasn’t been an issue.”

  My stomach knots and rewraps and knots all over again. Lo’s strong grip around my frame feels more like a lifeline between us.

  “I want to caution again that there’s no reason to be upset. Many kids struggle in different areas early on, and kindergarten is really the time to see those weak points and try to strengthen them.”

  Lo and I have been dealt enough shitty hands to know that a pile of shit is about to fall on our daughter.

  “So what’s her weak point?” Lo snaps.

  Ms. Jacobs stays fixed on me, unable to meet the harshness of Loren Hale’s eyes. “Luna isn’t making any friends. She’s left out of group activities unless I make the other girls include her.”

  My face falls.

  Lo’s jaw muscle constricts.

  “How is she doing at home?” Ms. Jacobs asks. “Do you regularly set up play dates? Does she have any friends in the neighborhood?”

  “It’s complicated,” Lo says tersely. It’s not an excuse, even if it feels like one. We’ve tried really hard to set up play dates for Luna, but some parents in the neighborhood don’t like us. It’s just a simple fact.

  Moffy was uninvited to three birthday parties because the parents either don’t trust us or they just don’t want their children to associate with that “reality TV” kid. Moffy shrugs it off, like most things. But Luna never even had the chance to have a sleepover at another girl’s house. No one asked yet, and I always thought that might change when she grew older and started making school friends.

  “She has friends,” I say the truth. “Her cousins. She hangs out with Eliot and Tom a lot. They’re in the same grade.”

  “Eliot and Tom Cobalt.” Ms. Jacobs nods curtly, as though their names bring arthritis and back aches. Separately, they’re more manageable. Together, they’re definitely a handful. “The whole administration knows who they are, and they’re currently in Ms. Nalah’s class. But I think it’s better for Luna to make friends with girls her own age and kids that aren’t related to her.”

  “It’s easier said than done,” Lo replies. “In order for our kids to even go to someone’s house, the parents have to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Most parents don’t want to deal with that shit.”

  Our children are too young to understand, and all we want is to protect them. To make sure other people don’t exploit them. The NDA’s are a formality, but it’s a giant safeguard that we can’t skip.

  “I know your situation must be more difficult,” Ms. Jacob says, “but Luna doesn’t need to jump through any hoops to make friends at school.”

  I wrack my brain. “I…I don’t know why they’re not including her. Is it because she’s on We Are Calloway?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. I believe most parents won’t let their child watch the docu-series. It’s on a premium cable channel.”

  Lo and I both nod. It’s like letting a child watch Game of Thrones but without the incest and sex and murders. Bad example.

  Ms. Jacobs suddenly stares at the table and then lets out a soft sigh. “This is really hard for me to say, but I want you both to know that kids this age, they can be judgmental.”

  I’m not even breathing at this point.

  “Some of the other girls…and boys have taken to calling Luna names behind her back. Whispering. That sort of—”

  “What kind o
f names?” Lo cuts in, his eyes reddening, no longer blinking.

  I teeter between anger and pain, both sentiments coiling around my lungs and yanking tight.

  “Weirdo. Creep.”

  Each word stabs my heart.

  Lo swings his head towards the door, glaring and forcing down every brutal emotion that suddenly impales us both.

  Creep. It rings in my ears. I try to swallow a lump down, but it won’t budge. Lo and I haven’t let go of one another. I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm. I just never wanted her life to be harder. We both wanted easy, painless, and happy for our daughter.

  “She’s just a little different than the other girls her age,” Ms. Jacob says, “which isn’t all bad. As far as I can tell, she understands social cues, but she’s not at an age where she fully grasps shame yet.”

  I immediately start crying at the word shame. She’ll be ashamed of what she likes soon, is that it? Other kids will make her feel guilty for saying the wrong thing and in the wrong way. She’ll be pressured to be more like them and less like herself.

  I wipe my tears fast with Lo’s shirt.

  He tucks me closer to his chest.

  “I’m so sorry.” Ms. Jacob slides over a box of tissues. I take about five—or ten. I rub my nose, and she continues, “I want to give you some examples, if that’s okay?”

  Lo and I both nod again.

  “Luna will talk in different voices sometimes, and the times she talks normally, she’ll discuss things like imaginary planets and someone called FinFarley Hunter.” FinFarley Hunter is a comic book for children, a line that Halway Comics published a couple years ago. It’s kind of like a spin on Nancy Drew, and so far it’s stayed very niche.

  “That’s just the kind of stuff she’s into,” Lo says, his face twisted. “I’m not going to tell her to abandon the shit she likes because other people don’t get it. It’s not her fault. It’s theirs.”

  “I understand, but maybe try to get her involved in a mainstream activity or interest that’ll make it easier for her to connect with other girls.”

  It seems like the right thing to do, but a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers, why does she have to like what other kids like just to make friends? Why?