Kiss the Sky

[ 42 ] CONNOR COBALT

The living room has been cleared out. Soft padded mats line the floor. Daisy is already jumping up and down, preparing for the self-defense lessons that Ryke, Loren, and I have promised the girls. I offered to hire a real instructor, but Ryke told me he was practically licensed.

I reminded him that being able to beat someone up doesn’t make him a good teacher. And then he said, “Stop fucking annoying me and go light a joint.”

I’ve been insulted far better.

Scott Van Wright aired the small segment of Rose and I giggling stupidly and devouring the leftover tacos. Since there wasn’t actual footage of us smoking, the backlash from the episode was minimal. There’ve been too many reality stars lying in their own vomit to be shocked by two young adults in unintelligible fits of laughter.

The only downside, I looked stupid for the first time in my life.

And I don’t care. It took twenty-four years to obtain this type of apathy. In college, if someone saw me as less than smart, at the bottom of the class, it felt life-ending. If they thought I was a prick, fine. If they thought I was a social climber, fine. Weird, whatever.

Stupid was the word that sliced me cold. Failure was the act that would leave me dead.

In one day, I had failed Wharton. Failed my “supposed” dream. And then I did something that made me into a stupider version of myself.

And today, I can say “I don’t care” and mean it.

I’m twenty-four-years-old. I always thought I was done growing up. But being with Rose has made me grow into the version of myself that I love the most.

My fears are no longer so selfish and so pretentiously vain.

Rose tells me, “If I’m being attacked, I’m taking out my pepper spray and Taser. I won’t use my fists first. That’s a last resort.”

“What if you don’t have time for all of that?” I ask her. I can’t help but smile every time I eye her clothes. No tennis shoes. No yoga pants or T-shirt. She chose wedges, leather shorts and a white cotton top, tucked in like she’s about to attend a lunch meeting. Loren told her to go change, and she looked like she wanted to rip off his face.

I know better.

“Not all paparazzi are despicable,” she says. “I’m sure someone would have a moral bone and help me against angry hecklers.”

“What if the paparazzi aren’t around?”

She holds up her finger. “One time,” she tells me. “Only one time in the past four months have I been alone in public. And that was when Lily drove down five wrong streets in a row.”

“Hey!” Lily speaks up. She’s on the ground in proper workout clothes like Daisy. Only she wears her furry white cap that’s more suited for the snow than warm, mid-May weather. It has tusks and apparently it’s something called a Wampa from Star Wars. The only reason I can see her wearing it is Loren. Every time he glances her way, his breathing deepens and his amber eyes glaze in desire, looking ready to mount her.

Lily stands to her feet, abandoning whatever move Loren was trying to show her. “I only drove down the wrong streets because the GPS was in French.”

Rose gives her a look. “You were the one who put it in French.”

“Only because I’m trying to learn the language,” Lily explains, “so that I can know what the hell you two talk about behind our backs.”

Last episode was the first time they aired us speaking French to each other. Production included subtitles.

Our conversation revolved around Lily and went something like this on TV.

ROSE: She’s losing weight. I can see her ribs.

ME: That’s a shadow.

ROSE: It’s not a shadow. It’s her skeleton.

ME: I have a physics book upstairs. I’m sure it talks about light and shadows. Do you want it?

ROSE: Why would you have a physics book? You’re a business student.

ME: For moments like these.

It was one of our more calm exchanges in French, but Lily wasn’t amused by the fact that we were discussing her weight—right in front of her.

Apparently they all thought that we just argue about “smart people” things (Lily’s words) and that we have a rule to not talk about them in French.

I do have a rule.

If you want to understand me, learn my language.

Ryke and Daisy don’t seem to care that we could have talked about them, but Lily and Loren are aggravated.

“And just so you know,” Lily says, “I can say five whole words in French already. So at this rate, I will be fluent in no time.”

Daisy walks over after jumping up and down. “Didn’t you fail Spanish and Latin in prep school?” she asks with a smile.

“That’s a mute point,” Lily defends. “Those aren’t even the same languages.”

Rose gives me another look, but I can’t stop myself. “Moot point,” I correct her.

Lily stares at me, dumbfounded. “What?” Loren wraps his arms around her waist as she explains, “It’s mute. Like it doesn’t make a sound, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s moot,” I repeat. “I assure you.”

Rose elbows me, and Lily’s eyebrows bunch in even more confusion.

“No one likes the fucking grammar police,” Ryke tells me.

“That’s scary coming from a guy who used to write for the city’s newspaper in college,” I say. “Did your editor hate you?”

He flips me off.

“Wait.” Lily holds up her hands. “What’s a moot then? That’s not a word.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rose says quickly and waves me off.

“It does,” I refute. “I want to educate your sister.”

Rose punches me in the arm and then points. “That’s for your indirect insult. She’s not stupid.” I open my mouth to speak and she punches my arm again. “And apparently you need self-defense lessons. You don’t seem to be doing a lot of defending.”

She goes to punch me again and I grab her fist in my hand.

Her lips purse. “Fine.”

I just notice Ben, Brett, and Savannah circling us when they start to flock Ryke. I look around for Scott, but I realize he must be locked in his room. Working. He’s shifted his tactics once again. No longer annoying the Calloway girls as much as he used to. He’s been almost absent for the past two weeks. I don’t know if this house is making me more paranoid, but I keep thinking he’s up to something. I just haven’t determined what he could possibly do to me without physically taking Rose. He’s already failed at that. So what’s left in his arsenal?

Rose and I look over as Ryke tosses his shirt to his side. He has better lean and defined muscles than both Lo and me. We’ll both admit that because we’re not the ones ascending mountains with our bare hands every other day.

“I didn’t know this was naked self-defense class,” I quip.

Lo laughs. “Damn, you beat me to that one.”

Ryke glares. “No one fucking hit my right shoulder. It’s off-limits.” That’s all he says in reply. But we know what he’s talking about. He’s spent over a month getting an intricate tattoo. One of the most popular episodes was when Daisy went with him for company. It was one of her few free days, and Rose and I both noticed she chose to spend it with Ryke of all people.

Princesses of Philly aired about fifteen minutes of “did Daisy get a tattoo with Ryke or didn’t she?” until they revealed the answer at the end.

She’s tattoo-free.

Her mother would have killed her if she marked her body, which is pivotal in furthering her modeling career. And Samantha would have also found a way to destroy Ryke, probably by throwing him in jail for some ridiculous charge. I have no doubt about this, which is why I’ve been cautioning Ryke to stay away from Daisy until she’s older.

But he’s a masochist; I swear he does things he knows will hurt him in the end.

We all stare at his finished tattoo. A phoenix with wings in shades of red, orange and yellow engulfs his right shoulder and chest, the feet near his abs. A gray and black chain is wrapped around the ankles of the bird, and it descends down his side, an anchor inked at his hip.

Lo shakes his head. “At least you didn’t get a tribal tattoo.”

“Fuck off,” Ryke says. He stretches an arm behind his head and ignores our stares and the three cameras.

I tilt my head. “You did make sure the needle was wrapped and sterile?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Well, when you say it like that, I believe you more,” I deadpan.

“I think it’s hot,” Daisy chimes in. She grins impishly while everyone (except me) groans. “What?” she laughs.

“That’s my brother, and you’re like my little sister,” Lo says with a disgusted look. “Just, no.”

Ryke’s jaw hardens, not saying a word. He just grabs his shirt off the floor and puts it back on.

“Thanks for that strip tease, bro,” Lo says.

Ryke shoots him the middle finger.

But I watch his eyes meet Daisy. Her bright grin has already completely vanished. I didn’t catch the moment when the humor left her, but maybe Lo’s comment did the trick.

Ryke and Daisy stare at each other for a long moment that’s filled with words I can’t hear and things I can’t read. I almost look away, irritated by this lack of knowledge.

Then Daisy mouths, Sorry, to Ryke.

“Just don’t hit my arm, okay?” he tells her. “It still fucking hurts.”

Her lips slowly rise.

“I know how to defend myself,” Lily suddenly makes a giant proclamation. She’s been in Lo’s arms, but she steps out and raises her hand at him, giving him the Vulcan salute from Star Trek. When we went to a comic book convention, Rose didn’t know what it was named, and Lo chastised her when she called it the “Spock thing.”

While Lily continues to part her fingers in a V shape, Lo looks at Lily like he wants to kiss her and block the rest of us out.

No one says a thing, we have our brows raised, standing still like what the hell?

“See,” Lily says. “Everyone’s too confused to attack.”

And then Lo playfully grabs her wrist. He leans down and sticks his tongue through the gap between her fingers, making a crude gesture. With her hand and his mouth.

The cameras veer off Ryke and pin on Lily and Lo.

Lily gasps and punches him in the shoulder. “You just desecrated the Vulcan salute!”

He wraps his arms around her hips with a grin. “Yeah? Who does the Vulcan salute while wearing a Star Wars hat? You ruined it first.” He rubs her head with the furry white cap. And then she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses him. He grins as he kisses her back.

“Shall we get started?” I ask. Daisy just came home thirty minutes ago, and it’s already one in the morning. And she arrived earlier than usual.

“Shhh!” Rose yells, extending her arm over my chest hysterically, her eyes ablaze as she whips her head from side to side.

Everyone frowns and goes quiet for a second.

What is she…

And then I hear a jiggling sound, like bells clinking together on her collar. Sadie emerges from the bottom level stairs, not hesitating to enter the main floor like she owns this part of the house too.

Rose reaches for her pepper spray on the ground, her eyes narrowed at Sadie like she only has bad intentions.

But the worst reaction comes from Lily, who apparently was “haunted” by Sadie last week in her bedroom. She said she’d wake up and Sadie would just be sitting there, watching her sleep. It was so ridiculous that I started crying in laughter when she told me.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” Lily says. I think I heard her say demon once or twice, but she slurs her words together in a frantic state. She starts running in circles around the living room, looking for a place to hide, but we pushed all the couches and chairs against the wall. The space is open for Sadie to find her.

And my cat lets out a low hiss the longer Lily makes jarring, spastic movements.

Daisy tries to reach out and collect Sadie in her arms, but Ryke pulls her away instantly, drawing Daisy to his chest. The last time she attempted to grab my cat, Sadie raked her leg, three long claw marks bled, and her mother had a fit, shouting at me for at least an hour at a Sunday luncheon. I actually sold Sadie after that, but I came home the next day and found that Rose and Daisy went out of their way to buy her back.

For as much as I like my cat, I care about these women more.

Lily sprints around until she finds a solution. She climbs on Lo like a monkey, crawling up his back while he struggles to contain his laughter and keep her from falling. With her furry hat and bugged eyes, she truly looks like some kind of gangly animal.

“I’ll take her downstairs,” I tell everyone.

“If we can’t protect ourselves from a cat, then what hope is there left for us?” Daisy says dramatically, a bright, playful smile spreading back across her face.

“I can defend myself,” Rose refutes, shaking her pepper spray canister.

“Darling,” I warn her, “we really don’t need a call from PETA in the morning.”

“Fuck PETA.”

Shit. “Rose.” I shake my head at her. This is where we’re different. She can’t hold her tongue when it matters.

“Someone’s going to throw a bucket of red paint on you after this episode,” Lo tells her. He has Lily on his shoulders where she seems content, her legs dangling on his chest. She eyes Sadie who saunters around the room with too much pride.

Rose looks slightly regretful, and I leave her side to usher Sadie downstairs. “I love animals,” she says mechanically to make up for it. She smiles icily at the camera, and then adds, “And if anyone ruins one of my fur coats, I’m going to bill you and then rip out your goddamn eyeballs. Because you don’t deserve to look at beautiful clothes, ever again.”

I watch Sadie slink down the stairs while everyone laughs. I smile as I glance over my shoulder, at these people, at my friends.

I wouldn’t want to miss this for Wharton.

I wouldn’t want to miss this for anything.

Right here is where I’m happiest.