Reality Check by Kelli London Page A

Charly turned her attention back to Sully. “Aren’t you on the other bus, the boys’ bus?”
    He pulled back the curtain a bit, enough for her to see his face. “Yes, Charly. I am.” He forced a smile, then purposely cringed. “I’m not sure if you know it or not, but this is the other bus.”
    Charly didn’t understand. She was sure that males traveled separate from females, and had been assured by Mr. Day that she and Annison would be together. “You sure? I’m almost certain that costars bus with costars. So that means me and Annison and you and . . . Liam?”
    â€œYes, Liam,” Sully said, approaching her. “It’s okay to say his name. I see how you look at him,” he teased. “But yes, that’s my costar—no, I take that back. I’m his costar. Costar is supposed to mean we’re equal, but he’s like huge in England—like Idol huge, bigger than me and my teen Nick show. Anyway, that’s who we’re waiting on. I’m sure I would text him to hurry—okay, actually I wouldn’t. I don’t talk to him unless I’m forced to—but even if I was willing, my cell only makes and accepts calls. It doesn’t text or go online. I don’t believe in all this technology—it’s an interruption of life.” He looked at his watch. “I think English Pretty Boy Floyd’s helping Annison and her crew on the main bus. The real limo of the highways.”
    Charly shook her head. Nothing made sense. She took her phone from her pocket to see that her battery was almost dead.
    Sully continued. “Really? I guess you don’t know the real deal about this series. Annison and Liam are the costars; we’re their sidekicks. They can dress it up and call us costars if they want; it isn’t true though. She gets her own bus, and only she and her assistants ride in her motor limo. We, on the other hand, get to ride in our motor coach.”
    Now Charly was confused. “I thought you said they—Annison and Liam—are the stars. What bus does he ride in?”
    Sully laughed. “He doesn’t. He flies everywhere in a jet. Period.”
    â€œMiss? Sir? Can I get either one of you anything? Perhaps something for the puppy?” a raspy voice interrupted.
    Charly turned around just as she’d reached the bunks—the tiny bunks that couldn’t have been more than three feet wide and six feet long—and laid eyes on a tall, burly boy whose hair was missing. All of it. From where she stood, she didn’t see hair or eyebrows, and she assumed his eyelashes weren’t there either. She spotted an outlet next to the bunks and plugged in her phone.
    Sully laughed. “Good one,” he said to the guy. “Perhaps! Ha!” He was amused. “You sound just like you’re from across the pond.”
    â€œRight?” the guy said to Sully. “Anyways, we’re here!” He turned his attention to Charly. “I’m Eight,” he said, then lifted his hands, showing off a blur of red fuzz. “Oh, and how could I forget the most important person on this bus, Annison’s Doll?” He sneered. “She’s all yours, Charly.”
    Charly drew her brows together. What on earth was this guy talking about? “Sorry?”
    He laughed. “My name’s Eight. Really. And don’t laugh because it’s not funny. Before you ask, let me run the math for you. I was born August eighth at eight-oh-eight in nineteen eighty-eight. And Doll’s all yours.”
    Charly nodded, taking in his answer. It was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, but all the eights made sense, so if his mother wanted to name him after numbers, what business was it of hers?
    Sully walked up to her and put his hand on her back, then walked to the sitting area. “He’s telling the truth, Charly. Eight’s a good guy. He’s with me. Long