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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?
