Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (72 page)

“What do you think fucking happened?” Ryke asks as we jog up the cobblestone to an oak-finished front door. The house is large, white siding, several ten-foot white columns and a manicured yard. I step onto the red welcome mat. On the front porch, three rocking chairs creak with each gust of wind.

The place is nice. Friendly, even.

“Maybe she got scared.” I knock on the door and then ring the bell. “It’s her first sleepover.” At a place other than Aunt Rose and Aunt Daisy’s, at least.

Ryke beats the door with his fist.

Then a second later, it swings open, a petite thirty-something brunette on the other side. “Hi.” Hannah squeezes into the doorway, containing the warmth inside and the cold outside. “Luna is just grabbing her things.”

She never steps aside. I realize very quickly that I’m not invited in. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What happened?” I ask.

Hannah shivers, her cheeks flushing. I’m not sure if it’s the cold or something else. My defenses catapult, but I try to take Connor’s sage advice:
don’t overreact. Get the facts first.
It’s much harder than he makes it seem.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells me quickly. “I didn’t know that Jeffra and the other girls planned to do something…like that. If I knew that she wasn’t really friends with Luna at school, I wouldn’t have let Jeffra invite her.”

All the blood rushes out of my head. Ryke’s nose flares, and just as I open my mouth to ask for more details—to start from the goddamn beginning—my daughter appears in the doorway.

She tries to open the oak door more so she can slip by Hannah.

Ryke helps and pushes the door, warmth rushing out and cold rushing in.

As soon as we fully see her, time stands still for a moment.

“Daddy,” Luna calls out to me, tears brimming. “Can we go home?”

I don’t have to ask Hannah what the other girls did anymore. I see it. On Luna’s forehead. In permanent marker. They scrawled a word.

WEIRDO

Fire fills me. Something that overpowers hatred. This paternal urgency races through my veins—this resolve to protect my daughter from this shit. To take her far, far away from here.

I barely hear Hannah talk while I move fast with my brother. I bend down to Luna, who drags her alien-shaped backpack and rolled-up sleeping bag, dressed only in purple PJs, no shoes. Luna throws her arms around my neck.

“I’m…I’m
so
sorry,” Hannah stammers. “I’ve had a talk with all the girls. Really. This is just a huge mistake, and my daughter will definitely be punished.”

I rub Luna’s back and pass her backpack to my brother. He unzips it and digs for her shoes and coat. He passes me one sneaker. Luna is too upset to put them on herself, though her tears haven’t fallen yet. I fit her foot into the shoe. Ryke hands me the other, and I put that one on.

When he finds her puffy white coat, Ryke squats down and helps pull her arms into the holes. I stand up while he distracts Luna from me. So I can speak to this mother.

I lean towards Hannah and say lowly, “If
any
of this ends up online, you’ll be sued for all you’re worth.”

Color drains from her face. “It won’t.”

I don’t say another word to her. Ryke zips up Luna’s coat, and then I pick up my daughter, carrying her on my side. My brother grabs her backpack and sleeping bag. We’re out of there in less than two minutes, and when we reach the curb, I feel something wet soak my shirt.

I glance down, her crotch stained.

Luna sniffs. “I fell asleep first, and so they put my hand in water. They said they always do that.” Her glassy amber eyes look right up at me. “I didn’t know the sleepover rules.”

We’re a block away, and I set her down and kneel on the asphalt, close to her height. “There aren’t any sleepover rules, Luna. Anyone who pulls pranks like that isn’t a friend. They’re not good people.”

She rubs at her forehead, knowing what’s there. “It won’t come off.”

Ryke’s jaw is hard as a rock, and he has to walk past us for a moment, cursing beneath his breath.

I take Luna’s small hand, stopping her from touching her forehead. I hold it. “It’s permanent marker,” I say, not candy-coating this shit. “You’ll have to wait and it’ll fade.” Each word comes out calm, but I could wrap my arms around my daughter and cry with her.

Luna’s lip trembles. “I can’t remove it?”

“It’ll disappear in a day or two, that’s it.” I squeeze her hand. “Luna, I need you to know something.”

She raises her big eyes to mine, and for the first time, she cries. Tears slide down her soft cheeks, and I brush them with my thumb. “I love you,” I tell her strongly. “Your mom loves you. Your brothers and sister love you. Your aunts, uncles, and cousins all love you.” I cup her cheeks. “You’re
so
goddamn loved.”

“You said a bad word, Daddy,” she says, snot dripping. I wipe her nose with the bottom of my shirt. “And you forgot something.”

“What did I forget?” I ask.

“I don’t have any friends that love me.” The way she says it—like it’s what matters most—breaks my fucking heart.

“Luna Hale,” I reply. “Let me tell you the secret of the universe.”

She rubs her eyes with her fist, but the tears just keep flowing. “The entire universe?”

“The entire universe,” I affirm. “Your worth isn’t dictated by the number of friends you have. You can have
zero
friends and still be the most amazing,
spectacular
person in the whole galaxy. You want to know why?”

“Why?” Her voice is meek, but the waterworks have ended.

“Because the love friends give you isn’t even comparable to the love you give yourself. Do you love who you are, Luna Hale?”

She nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Then you’re the queen of your own galaxy.” I stand up, and she grabs onto my hand as we walk ahead.

Ryke falls in and nods to Luna. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Uncle Ryke, I’m not a weirdo.” She reaches up to rub her forehead again.

“So what if you are?” Ryke says. “Weirdos are fucking cool.”

“Really?” she asks, frowning. She doesn’t chide him for cursing since all our kids know that
Uncle Ryke is allowed to say bad words.

“Yeah, really.” He messes her hair and then fits her Wampa cap on her head. It must’ve been in her backpack. “And to add to what your dad told you. Friends come and fucking go. Family is forever.”

We walk maybe one more block and a car rolls down the lamp-lit street. Rose’s Escalade rolls to a stop, and I look to my older brother. He’s the only one who could’ve told someone what happened.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I sent a group text. I had to…fucking release.” I can imagine the kind of words in that text thread.

The window slides down, revealing Rose Calloway Cobalt in all her 10:00 p.m. glory. Hair twisted in a pony, dressed in a black silk robe. She flicks off her headlights since Luna is squinting, and Rose leans towards the window, piercing yellow-green eyes landing on me.

“I have two boys in my car that want to have a sleepover at your house. They’re also
grounded
, so they can’t watch television.” She says that last line loudly, and we can all hear laughter from the SUV. Her eyes narrow at me again. “I’m serious. Don’t let them watch TV.”

“Moffy’s at a sleepover,” I say, though she probably already knows that. “So if it’s Charlie and Beckett—”

“It’s not.” She turns in her seat and tells her children, “You can climb out. Behave at Uncle Loren’s.”

Five-year-old Tom exits the car first, his golden brown hair combed back. My muscles frost, my body solidifying like ice. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

A word is written on his forehead in black marker.

WEIRDO

He sets his black duffel on the ground while his older brother jumps out of the car. “Thanks for driving us, Mom!” Six-year-old Eliot calls out and spins around, the same word on his forehead.

My softened eyes flit to Rose.

She shakes her head, but she’s grinning. “Not my idea. They overheard Connor and me. We were talking about it, and then I caught them in the bathroom like this.” These are Rose’s sons. There is no question about it.

Solidarity.

For my daughter to have that.
Christ.
I internally shake my head, whiplashed. We speak of moving mountains, but sometimes people can completely rotate the world, just so someone else can land upright on their feet.

I nod to Rose in thanks, and she rolls up her window. We wait for her to reverse her SUV and drive back towards her house. Then we begin walking towards mine again.

I take Eliot and Tom’s bags, slinging them on my shoulder.

Luna is laughing. “Why’d you go and do that?” She points at Tom’s forehead.

Tom sticks his hands in his coat pockets. “Because if they’re gonna call
you
a weirdo, then that means we’re weirdos.”

“Definitely,” Eliot agrees.

As we head home, I
feel
all the sentiments Lily told me earlier tonight. Our bad days have the ability to become better. It may be a horrible month. A horrible year. But there
will
be good days, good moments, great seconds.

I vow to never forget that.

2026

“You’re all incredibly boring.”

- Charlie Keating Cobalt,
We Are Calloway (Season 8 Episode 12 – Hot-Tempered Triad & Older Kids Club)

< 48 >

June 2026

Camp Calloway

Pocono Mountains

DAISY MEADOWS

“Look at that land crab go! Such pretty pinchers and shell, she crawls and she crawls,” I narrate Winona’s adventure while I sift through papers on a desk. Inside the director’s office of Camp Calloway, my two-year-old hops from one colorful beanbag to the next. About seven spread out.

It’s very kid-friendly in here.

“Oops, she falls!” I say as Winona splats on a yellow beanbag.

Sullivan, eight-years-old, pretends to be sleeping in the middle of the beanbags, and then she suddenly uncurls and rises to her knees.

I gasp. “A wave is coming!”

Winona shrieks.

Sulli smiles wide and raises her arms like she’s about to consume her little sister. “Woosh woosh,” Sulli plays along.

“Waves sweep little land crabs away. Go! Go! Go, Winona, go!”

Winona shrieks again, laughter stuck beneath the squeal. She hops to the red beanbag. My face brightens. I have a hard time concentrating on the legal papers. The camp director needs my signature on about ten before I leave.

My lawyers drew them up, so it’s not a blind transaction.

Winona splats on the blue beanbag, her brown hair much lighter than her older sister’s. Set free and loose. As wild as Sulli’s. I’d record this event, but Ryke has the video camera. He’s somewhere outside. About an hour ago, he videotaped Sulli climbing out of the car.

It’s her very first time at camp.

…and soon we’ll drive away without her. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I built this camp. I know she’s safe here, but I’ve never been away from Sulli for longer than four days.

While Sulli descends upon her sister, Winona shouts something that sounds like
I’m just a land crab!
She dubbed herself the Mightiest Land Crab in All the Land this morning. She bit Ryke’s arm when he picked her up, and then she pinched his cheek. “My crab claws!” she told him.

I couldn’t stop laughing, so he smacked the rim of my baseball cap over my eyes. Which only made me laugh more. Then I spun the green cap backwards.

I still wear it now.

Ryke and I mostly watch Nat Geo and Discovery Channel, so Winona’s knowledge skews towards animals and nature. Last week she told us she was a panther, and she hid behind the living room furniture and spent a whole hour stalking Ryke.

Who was sitting in the same place as he ate granola cereal.

I call out, “There goes the wave!”

Sulli lifts up Winona’s white shirt and blows a raspberry on her belly.

Winona laughs, “Sulli!”

Sulli tickles her sister’s sides. “Gotcha, squirt.”

I uncap a pen with my teeth and sign the top paper, rocking on my feet. Winona’s laughter fades, and I hear Sulli tell her that she’ll be right back. So I look up.

My daughter unzips her turquoise duffel, a matching sleeping bag rolled up nearby. Sulli wears this deep contemplative look. One that surfaces nearly every day. She re-zips her duffel and then scratches at her head, then near her hairline. That right there—the head-scratch—tells me that she’s nervous. She scratches just below her swim cap during “the most important” meets.

I haven’t signed another paper yet. However I feel about leaving Sulli here for a whole month might not even compare to how she feels.