Page 37 of Wandering Wild

“My childhood was...” I search for the right word, and settle on, “challenging. I took it pretty hard when my parents died, and then my whole life was uprooted when I had to move across the country.”

I’m about to hurry on, wanting to keep Hawke from probing deeper into my most difficult years, but I’m surprised when it’s Charlie who stops me from continuing.

“Wait, your parents—” She cuts herself off, like she’s unsure how to ask what she wants to know. “It’s just... I thought I saw photos of you at all fourLost Heirspremieres with... with your parents?”

“Adoptive parents,” I tell her, understanding her confusion, since they’ve been in my life for so long now that I refer to them simply as “my parents.” I try not to advertise my tragic past—I don’t hide it, but I also don’t go out of my way to use the orphan card, and I always decline any interviews that want to focus on my time in foster care and the whole adoption process. “My birth parents died when I was seven.”

Her face floods with too many emotions for me to catch them all—though I do see shock, empathy, and sorrow before she turns to stare into the fire, a muscle ticking in her jaw.

“That’s why you moved to California?” Hawke asks.

“Yeah.” I look away from Charlie and back to him. “It was hard to adjust at first, but my parents—my adoptive parents—have always been my biggest supporters, even when they took on the mammoth task of caring for a lonely, grieving boy.”

I cast my mind back to those dark days, everything I felt back then rising swiftly to the surface: the pain, the isolation, the devastation. It’s not surprising that I can feel it so acutely now—it’s been bubbling away at me all day, ever since we arrived at the first stream for lunch, and then this very river before us, gleaming under the moonlight. I know Charlie saw it in my expression earlier; I couldn’t hide it fast enough, and in turn, she didn’t hide her concern. But she didn’t press me, and for that, I’m grateful, since there are some things I don’t want the world to know—things that are private and should stay that way.

Like how the very last day I saw my parents alive was the day we went camping, and the very last photograph ever taken of us is the one I carry with me everywhere I go—the same photo that has been used by the media for years, and everyone thinks is just a cute anecdote from my childhood, when really, it’s the day my life changed forever.

I knew coming on this trip was going to be difficult, because I knew it would dredge up these memories. Summer knew, too, which was why she was so worried about me. She and Maddox are two of the only people who know the full truth of what happened that mournful day, though there are others like Gabe who are aware that my birth parents died sometime around then. Since I’m not eager to share the details with whoever might be watching this episode when it airs, I quickly, and pointedly, move on.

“It took some time for me to get used to California. LA is so different from the small town I grew up in, and everything seemed so big, and so... busy,” I say, recalling the difficult transition from forests and mountains to traffic and skyscrapers. “It didn’t help that I was a scrawny kid, and new to school, so I got picked on a lot. I was nerdy, too, and even though I enjoyed sports, I preferred to be reading books or playing video games.” I shrug. “It’s a cliché, but all that made me a target.”

“You were bullied?” Bentley asks softly, beating Hawke to the question.

“Relentlessly.”

Compassion fills Bentley’s features, while Hawke’s expression turns thoughtful as he notes, “You don’t seem too torn up about that.”

I take a sip of the eucalyptus tea Charlie made us using leaves from the surrounding trees. It’s bitter, but has a fresh, almost minty aftertaste. “Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t pleasant,” I say. “But compared to the grief I was dealing with, it didn’t really penetrate. My demons were bigger than any school kids. When I didn’t react, they lost interest in trying to torment me. And then I met Maddox and?—”

I cut myself off, but it’s too late.

“Maddox?” Hawke asks.

I’m careful, so very careful, when I answer, “My best friend.” I don’t mention how I’m unsure if that title still holds true. “We were paired up for a homework project when we were ten—I don’t think we’d spoken to each other before then, but we became fast friends and were soon inseparable.” I look at Charlie. “Much like you and Ember, without the next-door-neighbors part.” I swirl my tea and continue, “He’s actually the one who dared me to audition forThe Lost Heirs, since we were both obsessed with the books, and he thought it would be a laugh if we went to try out, him for Sir Archer and me for Prince Tyron.”

Hawke tilts his head to the side. “Was he upset that you were cast and he wasn’t?”

“No—he didn’t even audition in the end.” My lips quirk upward in memory. “He got so nervous that he ran straight for the bathroom when they called his name, but when I told him we should just go home, he refused to let me ‘chicken out’—the little hypocrite.” I smile as I think about my best friend, but despair quickly follows, so I clear my throat and hurry to finish, “You know what happened next, so I guess you could say I have him to thank for where I am today.”

It’s not a lie—in so many more ways than I would ever publicly say. Not even my mission to improve my image would have me throwing my best friend under the bus, regardless of all the reasons why that would help me. It’s a line I can’t—and won’t—cross.

“What about your other childhood friends?” Hawke asks. “I hear you’re close with your co-stars, especially Summer West. Have you two ever been more than?—”

A startled laugh leaves me, and I interrupt, “No, absolutely not. I love Summer like a sister, but the key word there issister. We met when we were twelve, so we basically grew up together, through all those awkward puberty years and everything that came with them. It’s weird to think of her in any way that’s not platonic, and I know she feels the same about me.”

“But you have so much on-screen chemistry,” Charlie says, sounding shocked.

“She’s a phenomenal actress,” I say. “She makes it easy.”

Charlie opens her mouth before snapping it shut again, a blush rising to her cheeks. I’m curious what she was going to say, whether she was going to insult my acting skills again—or perhaps the opposite, given her embarrassment—but Hawke speaks before I can coax it out of her.

“It must have been hard, everything that happened with Summer last year. But you stood by her side and even defended her, at great cost to your own career. Can you tell us about that from your perspective?”

The fish I ate turns sour in my stomach. I wonder if Gabe put Hawke up to this line of questioning as well, before realizing that of course he did. Anything to help warm the viewers—and the studio—toward me.

I swallow the last of my tea to stall as I think of a way to answer. Summer won’t care if I speak about it, since she’s encouraged me to do so, many times. But in my mind, it’s her story, and I never want to misrepresent what happened based on my own limited viewpoint. Because of that, my words are hesitant when I reply, “You’re right, it was hard, but that’s because my friend was hurting and no one was listening to her. It was her word against one of the biggest directors in the industry. No one wanted to believe the things she claimed he did to her, so they brushed it off, saying she was exaggerating, that he was just ‘having some fun,’ that she should be ‘grateful’ he paid her that kind of attention.”

My voice turns as dark as my mood. “It was her first lead role outside ofThe Lost Heirsand it should have been something special. Instead, it broke her.Hebroke her. And now, because she had the courage to stand up to him and warn others about his nature, she’s been blacklisted. She hasn’t even been able to get an audition since she went public, let alone an actual role.”

---