Page 19 of Whatever It Takes

Poppy Calloway & Sam Stokes (30) – the private couple. Both Poppy and Sam tend to remain out of the spotlight, but what we know is that Poppy is a stay-at-home mom and Sam works for Fizzle.

Children

Lily & Loren: Maximoff Hale (2 months old)

Rose & Connor: Jane Eleanor Cobalt (3 months old)

Poppy & Sam: Maria Stokes (7)

That’s the basic run-down. Another important fact that you might want to know—Loren Hale and Ryke Meadows are half-brothers. They have the same dad: Jonathan Hale. There’s been some terrible allegations in the press lately about Jonathan Hale. I’m not going to repeat them here because there has beenzeroproof, and like I said, they’reseriousallegations.

I’ll have more information as it breaks. Until then, check out the photos and gifs page!

Love you like Loren loves Lily,

xo Olive

5BACK THEN – August

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 17

Mom:Where are you?? Your brothers are leaving tomorrow, and you need to be here before it’s too late. You already missed dinner.

“Garrison, it’s your turn.” Nathan Patrick nods to me, chewing on a toothpick with a wry smile. His combed red hair might as well be fucking brown from my vantage. Smoke from cigarettes and joints create a filmy haze in his family’s den—the door open as people drunkenly pass in and out.

I suck a joint between two fingers before standing up and flipping my cards on the poker table, my two queens losing to Nathan’s three kings.

Of ten people, three girls let out short cheers. Another two girls in only bras and panties smile but make no loud exclamation. One of them sits next to me: Rachel Barnes, a brunette with diamond earrings and Zeta Beta Zeta aspirations like her sister in college.

She’s prescribing to her family’s legacy—something I can’t stomach without another crappy joint and bottle of vodka.

After overturning my cards, I lift off my black shirt, revealing whatever muscles lacrosse has granted me and a black skull tattoo on the crease of my forearm and bicep. In small font, my favorite lyrics from theInterpolsong “Rest My Chemistry”outline the inked design.

I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I remain standing and blow gray smoke up at the ceiling, my mind lulling and eyelids slowly closing. I’m almost always surrounded by people—friends and acquaintances from Dalton Academy—and even when I stand in a room with them, even when I’m physically here, I always mentally check out for a few seconds.

More if I can.

I always want to be alone, but then when I’m alone, I want to be with people. It’s a fucking curse.

Whoever built my mind needs to redo the wires and find better balance because I’m leaning all over the place. I’m tilted and sideways and so fucked up—this isn’t even half of it.

The weed is making you a paranoid shit.

I suck the joint one last time before passing it to Rachel, who hesitates before putting it between her lips. She takes one short drag and then coughs into her fist.

Nathan and two other guys give her a hard time. I don’t come to her defense—since she’s going to be in a sorority anyway. It’s not like she’s going to need to know how to smoke a joint.

“Your deal, Abbey,” Nathan tells me, stretching over the table to pass me the deck of cards. I begin to shuffle.

A girl clears her throat loudly, sort of adjacent to me. “Hi, um…” She taps Rachel’s shoulder. I’m not surprised. Rachel looks the most approachable.

Most of the guys are smoking and drinking, one even wears a gargoyle mask from a Halloween store, more stacked behind him on a leather chair. The other girls here have low-cut tank tops and nose piercings.

Rachel is the only one that looks like someone you’d take home to your parents. Though I’ve brought them all over to my house before. I don’t discriminate.