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FEBRUARY 2025

KENNEDY'S POV:
So... for the introduction: my name is Kennedy Reynolds, I know I know... I'm famous and iconic as you all will see.

Anyways, as I was saying my life is the best one someone could have asked for, I have a perfect family,my mother is literally the person I aspire to be (I watched Gossip Girl too many times, I love Blair tho, don't tell mom!) and my father, he's just magnificent in everything he does, especially in humor because I lose my breath every time he tells us a joke when we dine together.

Sadly, because I'm the eldest out of all my sisters, I have responsibilities and that means taking care of them whenever my parents are gone with business. Don't get me wrong,

I love my little sisters way too much actually, but sometimes they can be very irritating. Inez for example who can't just shut up about her tiny celebrity crush, I seriously don't understand her, she's 7 so it's not a big deal, but still... what does she see in Walker "Ron Weasley" Scobell?!...

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Emaline🧁

Babeeeeee!!!!
Have u listen to the new Tay-Tay album???

Uhm.... Hiii Em
And no, not yet

HOW DARE YOU CALL YOURSELF MY BSF?????

Bcs I AM UR BSF, DUH!
I will listen to it I promise but not now

Uh??? Why? What's more important than listening to Tay-Tay???😤

Mom said we have some guests this evening at dinner and I have to help her:))

OHHHH???? Who if I may ask?

Ron Weasley and his family😒

OOOOOO😏😏😏
He kinda looks good now...

U blind? Girl stfu

U like him but u just won't admit it

🥴🥴🥴 ewww and ewwww and no
I hate him, he's so irritating and I just hate him okay?!

Ofc ofc🥱
Say that to someone who believes it, Kenny;)

I scoffed shutting off my phone and throwing it on the bed, I seriously couldn't get why everyone thought that I liked this boy.

I didn't even get the girls on the internet, especially on TikTok, who seemed to be head over heels for Walking School Bell, I mean come on.

Sure, he played in a movie with my dad and since then they kept in touch and all that stuff, but that didn't mean I must suffer his presence.

It was not the first time my parents invited the Scobells at dinner, and I quite liked Leena and Tanner, they were the only people who I found myself talking too besides my family of course.

Out of a sudden my little sister, Inez, stormed into my bedroom looking like she had been hit by thunder or like electricity had been plugged in her.

"WALKER SCOBELL IS COMING INTO OUR HOUSE! KENNY KENNY KENNY! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT????" the little girl shouted as I covered my ears with my hands, this scene left me terrified. I sat down on the bed mouthing some lyrics of my favorite song while Inez was running all around my room.

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WALKER'S POV:
The car smelled like coffee, ChapStick, and whatever candle my mom insists on lighting every time we go somewhere "important." It was vanilla or cinnamon or something—fake cozy. But nothing could mask the tension that always brewed right before a "polite family dinner" with Hollywood royalty.

"We are guests," my mom said, turning halfway in her seat like she was addressing a kindergarten class. "No phones at the table. Be engaged. Be respectful. And for the love of everything—Tanner, chew with your mouth closed."

Tanner groaned from beside me, dramatic like we were heading into war.

"What if I get a text?" he said. "What if something goes viral?"

"You're not that important," Leena shot back from the front seat, not even looking up from her book. "No offense."

"Rude," Tanner muttered. "Also, false."

I didn't say anything. I just stared out the window at the blur of trees and snow, trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted. Not nerves exactly. Just...weirdness.

I was excited to see Ryan again. It'd been a while. He was basically my second dad during The Adam Project. The guy's a walking meme, in the best way. Being around him feels like being stuck in a live-action GIF. And Blake's cool too—super chill, kind of like if sunshine had a sharp wit and perfect hair.

But then there's her.

Kennedy.

Kennedy Reynolds is... I don't even know. A human storm cloud in designer boots. She's like those quiet indie girls who draw in sketchbooks and always look annoyed, except she actually is annoyed. All the time. Especially with me.

I swear she's had a personal vendetta since we were ten. I used to joke that she was just mad I was cooler than her. Now I think she genuinely hates my existence. And the worst part?

Leena loves her.

"She's mature," my sister once said, as if Kennedy was a Nobel Prize winner and not the same girl who once threw a juice box at my head on a movie set.

And then there's Tanner. My 13-year-old brother has a full-blown crush on her. He won't admit it, but the kid turns red if she's in a two-foot radius. One time, she smiled at him and he forgot how to speak.

So yeah. That's the dinner we're walking into.

Fun.

"Walker?" my mom said, snapping me out of my mental spiral. "You listening?"

I blinked. "Yeah. No phones. Respect. Mouths closed. Got it."

She smiled like I was five. "Good. Just be yourself."

I resisted the urge to laugh.

Because if I was really myself?
Kennedy would probably punch me before dessert.

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KENNEDY'S POV
The floorboards in this house creak like ghosts are still living rent-free. It's charming, I guess. "Historic," my mom always says with a warm smile, like she personally fought in the Revolution. The house has been in Architectural Digest twice, which sounds fancy, but it still smells like old books and lemon polish no matter how many Diptyque candles she lights.

I sat cross-legged on my window seat, scrolling through Instagram, phone tilted just enough to catch the golden hour lighting. My hair was already curled—loose, glossy waves—and I'd picked out a soft mauve satin dress that made me look like I had my life together, even though I'd rather be in sweatpants drawing in my sketchbook.

I didn't post anything yet. I wasn't in the mood to fake a caption about "cozy family night." Especially not with him on the way.

I swiped past a story from @percyseriesofficial:

"Walker Scobell wraps
Sea of Monsters! 🎬⚔️🌀
#PercyJackson #SeaweedBrain"
Ugh.

Perfect. Just what I needed before dinner—a reminder that the universe insists on keeping Walker Scobell in my orbit like we're in some slow-burning sitcom no one asked for.

"KENNEDYYYY!"
Betty's tiny voice shrieked from somewhere downstairs.

"IN MY ROOM," I called back, sighing.

Cue thunderous footsteps and chaos.

First came James, age 9, cool and unfazed, carrying a book and rolling her eyes at the noise behind her. Then Inez, full of glitter and drama, practically danced into my room in a flurry of curls and excitement.

"They're almost here!" Inez squealed, spinning like she was in a Disney Channel opening credit. "Is Walker still blond? Did he get taller?"

I didn't look up. "Why do you care?"

Inez grinned. "Because he's cute, Kennedy."

I shot her a look so sharp it could cut diamonds. "You're eight."

"Eight and aware."

I groaned. "Congratulations. You're annoying and too young to thirst over celebrities."

"He's not a celebrity. He's Walker. You used to have playdates, remember?"

"Don't remind me." I leaned against the cold glass of the window. "Playdates with boys who quote Deadpool and steal my markers."

Inez flopped dramatically onto my bed. "You're just mad because he's famous now and you're still pretending not to care."

James sat in the chair by my desk. "Inez, stop baiting her."

"Thank you," I muttered.

"No, really," James added, deadpan. "She's already spiraling. Look at her scrolling like he personally offended her existence."

I shut my phone off and tossed it onto my sketchbook.

"Can someone please make sure Betty isn't wearing glitter lip gloss again?" I called toward the hallway. "Mom's gonna lose it."

"She's wiping it on Olin," James said without looking up.

Perfect.

Downstairs, I could hear the clatter of dishes and my dad's voice calling out, "No, no, not the blue plate for the salad, that one's too artsy."

Classic.

We were supposed to be "casual" tonight, but that only meant five courses instead of six and no place cards at the table. And, of course, Ryan Reynolds aka my dad and Blake Lively aka my mom casual still involved table runners and vintage glassware and signature mocktails named after our family dog.

I stood and smoothed my dress in the mirror. I looked... good. Annoyingly good, considering who would see me.

I wasn't trying, obviously.

I was just... existing beautifully.

And when that stupid, smug, perma-grinning face walked through my door tonight?

Well, I'd smile.

Because nothing unsettles a boy faster than the girl who hates him... looking absolutely unbothered.

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WALKER'S POV
The Reynolds-Lively house was basically a castle. Stone path, white shutters, ivy crawling up the walls like it was grown in a fairy tale. It had that old, rich, "I don't need to show off because I already own a vineyard" kind of vibe.

We stepped inside, boots off at the door, and the smell hit instantly—baked bread, candles, and that fancy-wood scent rich people somehow bottle. Mr. Reynolds was already calling out something sarcastic about how we took forever, and Blake was hugging my mom, all warm and golden.

But the one person not waiting in the grand entry?

Kennedy.

Not even a shadow of her on the stairs. Not a single eye roll or "ugh, you again."

Typical.

The adults moved toward the dining room, and Tanner beelined for the kitchen like there might be snacks. Leena was instantly in love with baby Olin, practically squealing while she cradled him like he was a puppy made of gold.

James was in the corner chair, nose buried in a book, ignoring everyone as usual. I kinda respected it.

I stood in the middle of it all, hands in my pockets, scanning the room like I was still missing something.

I wasn't.

She just didn't want to come downstairs yet.

And that? That made me smirk.

I knew exactly why.

I slipped away quietly, my shoes barely making a sound on the stairs. This house had too many rooms and too many hallways, but I didn't need a tour. I remembered the layout. I'd been here enough.

Kennedy's door was open.

She hadn't changed it since we were eleven, when I first came here—same white trim, same brass doorknob with the little dent from the time Tanner tripped and slammed a Nerf gun into it.

I leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

She didn't hear me.

Her back was to me, crouched down in that effortless way she always moved when she was with her siblings. Her long, dark hair hung loose and glossy, catching the soft glow from the lamps. She was wearing a short, pale pink dress—simple, sleeveless, kind of soft-looking—but it wasn't the outfit that caught me.

It was her.

Kennedy Reynolds, giggling, as she wiped glitter lip gloss off her five-year-old sister's face.

"You look like a disco ball," she said, laughing softly as Betty scrunched up her nose.

"Do not tell Mom," Betty said, wide-eyed.

"Please. I'm not a snitch." Kennedy smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Betty's cheek, brushing a curl behind her ear.

Then she stood, turned—

—and froze when she saw me.

I pushed off the doorframe slowly, letting my smile spread, easy and infuriating.

"Hey, Kenny."

Her name—Kenny—hit exactly how I meant it to: like a pebble flicked at a calm surface, just enough to cause ripples.

She cleared her throat and forced a smile, though her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit.

"Walker," she said like it hurt her to acknowledge me. "You're here."

"Sharp as ever." I tilted my head, taking her in. "You dressed up. That's cute."

She didn't reply, but the tension in her jaw said plenty.

Then Betty, oblivious to the energy shift, squealed, "Walker!" and ran to hug me. I dropped down to her height without thinking, smiling for real this time.

"Hey, B," I said. "You glowing tonight or did you rob your sister's makeup bag again?"

"She tried to stop me," Betty admitted, giggling.

"I'm sure she did." I grinned and poked her side, making her squeal again before she darted past me and ran for the stairs.

Which left me and Kennedy.

Alone.

In her room.

She crossed her arms slowly, lips pursed, gaze cool and calculating.

"I see subtlety still isn't your strong suit," she said, eyes flicking down to my black suit, like she was unimpressed even though I saw her glance twice.

"I clean up nice," I said, shrugging. "Didn't want to outshine you or anything."

Her laugh was dry, no humor. "Don't worry. You never do."

Ouch.

But I smiled anyway.

Because if there's one thing Kennedy Reynolds doesn't know how to handle, it's when I enjoy the war more than the win.

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KENNEDY'S POV
I picked up my phone from the windowsill, glanced at the blank screen, and mentally begged the evening to fast-forward to the part where I was already in pajamas and this entire dinner had just been a fading memory.

Walker was still standing there.

Blocking the door.

Like he belonged in my room or something.

I didn't say a word—I just walked past him. Except... I might've bumped his shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make it known that I wasn't going to step aside for him. Not now, not ever.

He let out a low chuckle behind me, and I hated that it sounded smug.

Of course he followed me. Of course he had nothing better to do than trail me like a lost golden retriever with an ego problem.

I could hear him a few steps behind as we descended the stairs. I kept my head high, spine straight, heels clicking softly against the polished wood.

Downstairs was warm and chaotic and full of light—typical for my family. My mom was doing her third check of the place settings, my dad was joking with Pete Scobell about salad forks, and the little ones were already half-covered in crumbs despite dinner not even being served yet.

Leena spotted me first and squealed.

"Kennedy! Oh my gosh, you look amazing!" She wrapped her arms around me like I hadn't just seen her a few months ago. I hugged her back because I actually liked Leena. She was sweet, grounded, and exactly the kind of girl I needed as friends. She was also weirdly obsessed with my sketchbooks, which made her have a plus point.

"You look gorgeous too," I said, and I meant it. "Like dangerously elegant."

Leena laughed. "You sound like my mom."

Then I noticed Tanner, awkwardly trying not to stare but completely failing. He looked like someone had hit pause mid-blink.

I gave him a soft, sweet smile—the kind that probably short-circuited his 13-year-old brain—then walked over to hug Heather and Pete. They were always warm. Familiar. The kind of people you couldn't stay mad at, even if their son was, you know... Walker.

Everyone started to shuffle to the table, voices overlapping with casual chatter, chair legs scraping, glass clinking.

And then, naturally, I got stuck sitting directly across from him.

Walker took the seat slowly, smoothly, like he'd planned it. His dark jacket was sharp, well-fitted, annoyingly clean-cut. His hair was still that too-light blond, his eyes too blue, and his smile?

Smug.

He propped an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand like this was all very amusing to him.

I didn't give him the satisfaction. I turned to help Betty with her napkin, letting my fingers gently guide her hands.

I could feel his eyes on me though.

Like a weight on my skin.

Across the table, Walker cleared his throat once, lightly. It was theatrical.

I glanced up.

He winked.

He actually winked.

I blinked once. Slowly. Then turned my head to James, who hadn't moved from her book the entire time. "If I slide under the table and army crawl to the front door, will you cover for me?"

James didn't even look up. "Absolutely not."

Fair.

The appetizers hadn't even been served yet, and I was already praying for a blackout.

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KENNEDY'S POV
The dining table was full of overlapping voices and forks hitting plates and the kind of polite adult laughter that always felt two seconds too delayed. My mom was smiling at Mrs. Scobell while Olin threw a piece of roasted carrot directly onto the floor. Dad didn't notice—he was too busy retelling some ridiculous story about a film set explosion that allegedly singed his eyebrows.

Across from me, Walker sipped from his water glass like he was on a talk show.

I tried to focus on Leena, who was asking me about New York Fashion Week. Something about backstage chaos and photographers with egos. I nodded and answered when I could, smiling through it all, like I wasn't internally unraveling.

Then my phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

Emaline 🧁
Girl
We have a problem
A BIG one.
Your ex is on the move.
Like... he's coming to your house. Now.
My stomach dropped.

"Seriously?" I whispered, screen lighting up with a dozen unread messages.

I felt the Dad Senses activate before I even looked up.

Dad's eyes locked on mine, then flicked to the phone.

I smiled. A little too sweetly.

"It's important," I said innocently, sliding the phone down just a little.

He raised one brow.

I matched it.

He held the look.

I sighed, already losing. "Okay, fine, I'll check it from the living room—not at the table."

He shook his head slowly but didn't stop me. "Five minutes. Tops."

"Ten," I bargained, already pushing my chair back.

Walker smirked like he knew exactly what was going on (of course he didn't), and I gave him a look so sharp it could've sliced his soup spoon in half.

I walked off casually—calm, collected, like I wasn't seconds away from vomiting.

I stepped into the living room and immediately tapped open Emaline's messages.

Emaline 🧁
Saw him with the guys before they left the field
He was talking about "setting things right"
Then Lexi said she saw him with his keys out.
Kennedy. He's coming to your house to do the whole "I'm sorry" speech.
Tonight.
You need to LOCK your gate.
Do NOT let this man inside. He is ✨delusional✨.
I swore under my breath and squeezed my phone so hard my fingers ached.

Just what I needed—Miles Bentley, king of Fox Lane High School Lacrosse, self-declared golden boy, and my ex-boyfriend, pulling a rom-com stunt like we were in some cheap Netflix movie.

We broke up a week ago. Because I caught him making out with some girl in a sparkly pink hoodie behind the bleachers. He'd texted, he'd called, he'd sent "sad boy" Snapchats. I blocked him. And now?

Now he was at my house.

Or close.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

Then—ding-dong.

The front doorbell rang.

I froze.

From the dining room, voices dipped, confused.

"Are we expecting anyone else?" my mom asked, brow furrowing.

"No," my dad said. "Did you order something?"

"Not me."

Walker's mom and dad glanced at each other. I could feel the air shift.

I had to fix it fast.

I flew back into the dining room with a too-wide smile and zero chill.

"Oh! It's nothing! Just something I ordered!" I laughed, hard. "It's just a package. Makeup stuff. And some... new fits. Very boring."

I waved a hand dramatically like that would make it more believable.

Everyone stared.

Even the baby looked skeptical.

Ryan narrowed his eyes like he knew I was full of it but also didn't have the energy to deal.

Walker, of course, leaned back in his chair slowly and gave me a smug, knowing look.

Like he knew exactly who was at the door.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I turned on my heel, walked toward the foyer, and braced myself for battle.

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I opened the door just a crack, heart racing like I was in a horror movie and not just dealing with Miles Bentley's ego.

Sure enough—there he was. Standing on my porch like a lost golden retriever with a bouquet of roses and his varsity jacket half-zipped. His hair was still annoyingly perfect, his smile just crooked enough to get girls with no standards to swoon.

"Hey, Kenz," he said, like we hadn't been completely done for a week. "Can we talk?"

Before I could say absolutely not, I stepped outside and shut the door behind me, blocking off the table full of confused adults and a smirking Walker Scobell. I could feel his stare from the other side of the walls.

I crossed my arms. "You're seriously here?"

Miles held out the flowers like they were some magical peace offering. "I know you're mad—"

"Mad?" I laughed under my breath. "That's cute."

He sighed, like he was the victim. "Look. I messed up, okay? But we had three beautiful months, Kenz. Since November, everything's just been—"

"No." I held up a hand. "Stop romanticizing it. We didn't have three beautiful months. You had three months of dating a girl with famous parents, hoping it would boost your social clout and get you a verified check on Instagram."

He blinked.

I wasn't done.

"I never posted about us—not even once—because I didn't want the entire internet dissecting my life. I told you that. I told you what would happen if people started guessing. But you couldn't handle it, could you?"

"Kenz—"

"Don't," I snapped. "Don't call me that."

He took a half step forward, voice dropping into that flirty, fake-soft tone he used when he wanted to manipulate people. "Come on. You know I didn't mean to screw up. That girl—Lexi or whatever—she kissed me. I didn't—"

"Oh my god, stop." I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars. "You were leaning into her like you were about to propose."

Miles looked stung for half a second—but then he did the classic thing guys like him do: he doubled down with charm.

"Okay. Okay. I messed up. But you have to admit... we were good together. I mean, look at us. We looked good. People literally asked if we were a Netflix couple—like, Riverdale tier."

The ick hit me so fast, I almost gagged.

"You're unbelievable," I said flatly.

He smiled like I complimented him.

That's when I knew—truly, fully knew—there was nothing left in this.

"You should go, Miles."

He dropped the smile. "Wait, seriously? That's it? You're gonna ghost me forever now?"

"I'm not ghosting you. I told you we were done. You just didn't listen."

He gripped the flowers a little tighter, lips pressing together in that dumb dramatic way. "You'll regret this."

I raised an eyebrow. "The only thing I regret is thinking you were different."

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WALKER'S POV
I wasn't spying.

Okay, fine—I was curious. Kennedy had practically sprinted to the front door, and her "I ordered makeup and clothes" excuse? Weak. Like, embarrassingly weak. Even Tanner could've come up with something better. And he once told our grandma he couldn't visit because he had to "protect his Minecraft village."

So yeah, I followed.

Quietly.

From the hallway, I couldn't see her, but I could hear her.

The front door creaked open, and I caught muffled voices. One was hers—tight, sharp, annoyed.

The other?

A guy.

His voice was deep and dramatic, practically dripping with apology. The kind that's less about being sorry and more about trying to get something back.

"...three beautiful months together, Kenz. You can't just pretend that didn't happen."

Kenz?

I winced.

Then Kennedy, cool and brutal: "Three beautiful months where I was a PR trophy for you. That's what we were, right? You liked the headlines. The attention. The idea of dating Ryan Reynolds' daughter."

Oof.

There was silence.

Then Kennedy again, biting: "I couldn't even post a picture with you. You know why? Because the second I do, it's all over the tabloids. But you? You kept pushing for it. You wanted the clout—and you still kissed someone else behind the bleachers."

Okay, now I wanted to punch this guy.

And I didn't even know who he was.

I pushed the door open, stepping halfway into the doorway. Kennedy was on the porch, standing stiff, arms crossed tightly against herself. The dude facing her had shaggy lacrosse hair and was holding a crushed bouquet like he'd been gripping it too hard. His jaw was tight. He wasn't yelling, but he wasn't backing off either.

Kennedy hadn't even noticed me.

I cleared my throat.

She turned, startled.

"Your mom asked what's taking so long," I said, voice flat. "Next dish is already being plated."

Kennedy nodded once, about to step off the porch.

But then—he grabbed her wrist.

Not hard. But not gentle either.

She froze.

So did I.

"Stop it," she whispered, voice low but fierce. "Seriously, just—stop."

She tried to yank free.

He didn't let go.

Kennedy shoved his chest hard with her free hand. It wasn't dramatic, but it was enough to throw her balance.

She stumbled back—

—and landed right into me.

I caught her by reflex, arms locking around her waist from behind.

She didn't say anything.

Didn't turn.

Didn't even breathe for a second.

Her body was tense, tight with something that wasn't just embarrassment.

She was scared.

I looked at the guy and something in me snapped.

"You heard what she said," I said coldly. "Get lost. Now."

He looked me over like he was debating it.

Then he scoffed.

"Cheating bitch," he hissed under his breath—to her—and turned toward his stupid, too-loud motorcycle.

I didn't move.

Neither did she.

We both stayed still as the engine of his motorcycle roared to life, then faded down the road.

Only then did Kennedy breathe again.

She realized I was still holding her.

And immediately pulled away, cringing.

"What the actual—" she mumbled, brushing my hands off like I had the plague.

I stepped back too, wiping my palms down my suit jacket, clearing my throat. "You're welcome."

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might pass out. "Don't make it weird."

"You're the one who fell into my arms like a damsel in distress."

"I was pushed," she snapped.

I smirked. "Still counts."

She muttered something that sounded like I hate you, and we walked back in like nothing happened—like she hadn't almost collapsed on me and I hadn't just threatened to deck some guy whose name I still didn't know.

But the thing is...

I was still thinking about it.

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WELL I LOVE FAME FANFICS, ESPECIALLY WALKER FICS😭