Thrive by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie

around his waist. “Poppy has my
shield,” he says to Ryke, “so do you want to stop by the girls’ room with me?”
He’s being all buddy-buddy with my brother, which has me a bit on guard.
    Connor checks his watch on the bed. “Rose already texted me
that they’re waiting on the ballroom level.” Everyone is pretty much ready
except my brother, who’s been slacking. “Hurry up and shave, Ryke.”
    “I’ll just meet you fucking down there.” Ryke heads to the
bathroom.
    “No,” Connor says. “A man never leaves his dog behind.”
    Ryke flips him off, not turning around as he does so. He
disappears in the bathroom.
    Connor grins. We end up waiting for Ryke in the doorway. Sam
leans his shoulder on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The expression
he wears—the faint humor mixed with seriousness as his lips rise—fits his
character too well.
    “Captain America,” I say. “Aren’t you glad you left your
four-year-old at home? She’d learn words like fuck off and fucking fuck all
within the span of thirty minutes.”
    “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Sam says.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap back.
    “He’s your brother, right? Cut from the same cloth.”
    I don’t curse as much as Ryke, not even close, but he’s
saying that he’d be hesitant to let his child around me. I can’t do anything
but glare.
    Sam sighs, seeing that I’m taking offense to this. “I didn’t
mean anything by it other than you’re both rough around the edges.” I don’t
tear my gaze off him, and to throw up a white flag or maybe prove a point, he
calls out to my brother, “Do you plan on procreating, Ryke?”
    “Yeah,” Ryke shouts back. “And I hope my kid is a horrible
influence on yours.”
    Sam looks at me and outstretches his arms like am I right?
    Yeah. My lips lift. Maybe he is.

 
    { 7 }
    0 years : 02 months
    October
     
    LILY CALLOWAY
    “Batman?” I stand beneath a towering figure with
pink lips and broad shoulders. And I think: Please
let this be Connor Cobalt. Within ten minutes, I lost my sisters among the
costumed-clad masses. I was distracted by the best Ninja Turtle cosplay, of all things.
    I’d search for the numerous Captain Americas and Black
Widows, but it’s easy to tell which ones aren’t Sam and Poppy. Same goes for
Cyclops—who’d be my first choice.
    But the Batmans—I can’t discern from faraway. So this is my
fifth attempt at rejoining my group.
    The guy lowers his head a little so his blue eyes meet mine.
And then he says in a deep voice, “I am Batman.”
    Okaaay. “But do I
know you?” I ask. I wish I could just be like: Hey, Connor, are you messing with me? I’d rather not shout his name
too loudly. Even though “Connor” isn’t so original, people could put two and
two together, right? And then they’ll figure out that I’m Lily Calloway.
    I straighten my blonde wig in anxiety, hoping that the
glitter on my face is a good enough disguise. If it was up to me, I’d be a pink
Power Ranger—totally hidden from head-to-toe. However, Rose and Lo said I need
to be partially exposed to the world
because I can’t dress up all the time.
    I feel fully exposed.
I mean, these white spandex booty shorts are riding up and my top is nothing
more than a boob corset with laces in the front.
    And I think Batman may be checking out my cleavage, which is
sparse. He can’t be Connor—
    “Should I know you?” Batman asks like he has gravel in his
throat.
    “Nope,” I say. “I don’t think we’ve crossed paths before.”
Off to find the next Batman. Or hopefully the right Scott Summers.
    Just as I pass him, Batman sets a hand on my shoulder.
“Wait, I do know you.” He broke character, his voice no longer abnormally low.
    My eyes bug. “No you don’t.” I knew I should have been the Pink Ranger.
    “Yes I do.” He smiles, which looks odd. Batman doesn’t smile
like that.  
    “I’m no one,” I say stupidly and immediately