Page 13 of Fight For Me

She shakes her head. “It’s not about the money. Don’t you see what a big deal this would be?”

He just continues to scowl at her, and she sighs, looking to me and Fox for help.

“The show would follow us opening the store, Uncle Reed,” Fox says. “The producer already has interest from several cable networks. He thinks we can fast track the whole thing, start airing episodes in just a few months. It would get our line out there in a way nothing else could. You can’t buy publicity like that.”

“Who wants to watch a reality show about a bunch of nobodies opening a store?” Nix asks, and Santana leans over to smack his arm. “Hey!”

“They aren’t nobodies,” she says hotly. “Besides, there are tons of reality shows about fashion! Hello, that’s a huge part of the Kardashians early fame. Their first spin-off was about setting up a boutique!”

“Awesome,” Silas says drily. “Just what we want—to be like the Kardashians.”

Santana glares at him. “Like you’re anywhere near attractive or interesting enough to be like the Kardashians!”

“We’re not going to be like the Kardashians,” Fox snaps. “That’s not what this is.”

But most of the parents—and several of the cousins, including Will and Rose’s boyfriend, Leo—are watching us with narrowed eyes. I sigh.

“No one else has to participate,” I say. “We’re not talking about setting up cameras in all the family homes.”

“The filming would just happen at this new store?” Aunt Daisy asks, sounding skeptical.

Fox rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Uh. Not exactly.” He seems reluctant to meet his mom’s sharp gaze. “They’d put us up in a condo—”

“LikeThe Real World?” Santana gasps. “Oh my god!”

“You know way too much about reality TV,” Nix mutters.

But Santana is the only person in the room who’s showing any enthusiasm for this idea. The Ransomes have been approached about doing shows before, multiple times. A famous rock band who own their own record label, live within blocks of each other in Hollywood Hills mansions, and have fifteen kids between them? They’re an entertainment producer’s dream. But the parents are adamant about keeping the kids out of the spotlight. Furthermore, the band has been dead-set on letting their music speak for itself from the very beginning. With the exception of a few documentaries and Netflix specials focusing on their various tours, they’ve refused to allow cameras into their daily lives.

My stomach clenches.We knew this going in,I remind myself. Their reaction is the reason we’ve all been so nervous, the reason we put this off for so long. We knew they weren’t going to go for it.

“Let me get this straight,” Uncle Reed says, and from the tight clench of his jaw, I can tell he’s struggling to keep from yelling. “Without any input from us, you went out and solicited the services of an agent. Who then fed you some bullshit about being on TV—”

“Dad,” Everly snaps, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her.

“And now you think you’re going to move into some condo the producers own and allow cameras to follow you around every waking minute? All so you can sell some clothes?”

“Dad!”

He glares at his oldest daughter. “You’re not doing it. I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

Everly’s face has gone redder than I’ve ever seen it. My bestie is generally the happiest, most optimistic, bubbly person you’ll ever meet. But she also has a fiery side. And I have a feeling her father’s adamant dismissal is about to bring it out.

“Dad,” she tries again, her voice strained.

“I said no, Lele. That’s the end of it.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” she cries. “I’m not a kid—”

“You are a kid,” he growls. “You’remykid.”

“I’m twenty-one!” she yells. “And in case you didn’t notice, that means I don’t need parental permission to sign a contract.”

He glares at her for a moment, before turning to Cash. “What was that you were saying last week about locking them in their rooms? Did you buy the padlocks yet?”

“Let’s all calm down for a minute,” Aunt Daisy says, raising her hands. “Everly has a point. They’re all legal adults.” She narrows her eyes at her second-oldest son. “Though nineteen is a little young to be making these decisions without talking to your parents.”

“I’ll be twenty in a few months,” Fox mutters.