Page 124 of Wild Like Us
We both look at Sulli.
Dressed in a clean pair of workout leggings and sweatshirt, she squeezes out her wet hair. “Are you two talking about boners without me?” Her lips downturn like she’s been left out.
I tilt my head. “FOMEFT is really hitting you hard.”Fear of Missing Every Fucking Thingis Sulli’s version of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out).
“I’m usually the one cracking the boner jokes.”
“Beat you to it, mermaid,” Banks says.
Before we can crack more jokes, I let Sulli in on what the campers said. I’m not going to hide anything from her, and she needs to know who to trust.
Definitely not them.
When I finish, she doesn’t look too shocked. “Lots of climbing forums have whole threads about my dad. Most climbers dislike him for the same reasons. He’s a ‘sell out’ or fucking whatever. It’s not worth my energy. Can we just ignore them?”
“Already ignored,” I tell her. But that’s not completely true. It’s my job to keep threats on my radar. They’re in my line of sight from now on.
Over the years I’ve spent on Sulli’s detail, I’ve mentally added up the number of people that were blatant assholes. Not close to the number of shits that’d spew hate towards Jane Cobalt.
But insults were hard on Sullivan.Sulli the Sasquatchsigns and haters who were jealous of her success. Saying she wasn’t deserving of gold. They couldn’t see how many hours and months and years she sacrificed. All they saw was her wealth and fame.
A bright spot: Sulli has kept mostly under the radar and didn’t grow up onWe Are Callowaylike the Cobalts and most of the Hales, which has given her some escape from the harsher judgment.
Her teammates on the Olympic swim team were kind to her. To her faceandbehind her back. I’d have called them her friends, but Sulli always shuts that word down. She couldn’t confide in her teammates about her family. Didn’t trust them fully, so to her, they couldn’t be more than acquaintances.
I don’t know what that’s completely like. I grew up with friends in high school. Bandmates on the drum-line. Other teenagers who did martial arts. People that I actually cared about and people who cared about me.
But after my dad died, all my energy was put into my gym, and I pushed a lot of people away in favor of working to build my empire.
Returning to our camp, we start a fire, and Banks and I take turns hiking to the bathroom to shower off. When I come back to the tent, I spend a good deal of time replying to emails, filling in Thatcher about Team Apex, and then checking in with Michael Moretti.
He arrived in Philly.
He’s settled in, hopefully.
And as far as hisshorttexts and calls go, he said he has everything handled. Normally I like brevity. It saves me time to do other shit, but from Banks’ dad…it’s unnerving.
Maybe because I haven’t shaken his hand yet. Or given him a personal walk-through and rundown.
It’ll be fine.
It’s going to be fine.
So I shove my phone in my pocket. By the time I walk over to the fire, my stomach is growling.
Dinner for today: an add-water pouch of Beef Stroganoff for me and Banks. And for Sulli—the new vegan—a cup of oatmeal.
Sulli is already grimacing as she chews. “It’s the consistency.”
Banks says, “We have dried cranberries and salted nuts if you’re into squirrel food.”
Sulli mixes the oatmeal. “I’m more of whatever fucking animal likes chocolate syrup and whipped cream.”
I lift a spoonful of Stroganoff. “Sounds like a Sulli animal to me.”
We laugh.
I ask her, “Remember when you made me plug your nose while you drank your protein shakes? You took that worse than your hundred pushups a day.”
