The sun rose slowly over Sulphur Springs, Louisiana, painting the sleepy town in shades of gold and pink. While most kids enjoyed a rare morning to sleep in, the cast of Netflix's newest reality series, Spill, gathered inside a buzzing production building.

The studio was sleek and cold, its polished floors gleaming under the harsh studio lights. The group sat around a long, sharp U-shaped table, with branded Starbucks cups scattered across its glossy surface like lifelines.

Glasses perched on tired faces. Pimple patches gleamed under the lights. Slouching bodies hinted at exhaustion. It was barely sunrise, but this was the reality now-early call times, endless prep, and long days. Being part of a TV show meant glamour came after the grind, and they were just starting to feel the weight of it.

The door creaked open, and Quay strolled in, his signature confident grin lighting up the room.

"Good morning, sleepyheads," he said, his tone chipper enough to make a few heads groan in response.

Without missing a beat, he made his way to the front of the room. But before reaching his mark, he slammed his binder down-hard-right next to Tristan's head, where it rested on the desk.

Tristan jolted upright, his hair a mess, his expression caught between confusion and pure exhaustion.

"How are we feeling today?" Quay asked, looking entirely too energized for this early in the morning.

"Do we have to do this every week?" Griffin asked, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

"Do what?" Quay asked, raising an eyebrow like he didn't already know the answer.

"Wake up this damn early," Ariana mumbled, her face buried in her arms.

"Unfortunately for you, yes. Just about every week," Quay replied with a smirk. "But we get it-early mornings suck. That's why there's an IHOP bar being set up in the lobby."

That earned some attention. Heads lifted.

"Wake me up when the foods ready," Cici muttered, letting her head drop back onto the table.

Quay shrugged, amused. "Tempting, but nah. Anyway-wait, hold on. Where's Trusty and Cole?"

"Nyrie said she had a waxing appointment this morning," Griffin said casually, almost too casually. "No clue about Sydnee."

Silence. Every head at the table turned toward him, a mix of shock and suspicion in their eyes.

"And how the hell do you know Nyrie's getting waxed?" Bailey asked, narrowing her eyes.

Griffin hesitated. "She told me," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Player," Cici muttered under her breath.

"Right," Harper whispered, though her tone wasn't as quiet as she thought.

Griffin's eyes snapped to her, his glare sharp. "The hell does that mean, Harper?"

She shrugged, feigning innocence, but the tension in the room was impossible to miss. Quay watched the exchange with interest, a small smile tugging at his lips before he clapped his hands, breaking the moment.

"Ay, ay, ay, save it for the cameras," Quay said, holding up his hands like he was trying to calm a storm.

Harper rolled her eyes.

"Okay, everyone," Quay said, opening his binder with a dramatic flair. He flipped through the pages, looking for something before finally tapping the paper with a satisfied nod. "Got it. Big announcement time."

The room quieted, eyes locked on him.

"Our show's rating has officially been changed to TV-MA," he said, his tone serious, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "That means we can show stuff like strong language, graphic violence, sexual content, and some real disturbing themes," he added, a grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck yeah!" Tate whooped, raising his hand as if he'd just won an award.

"And yes, Ariana," Quay said, looking at her, "you're free to drop the F-bomb as much as you want now."

Ariana's face lit up, a giggle escaping her lips.

"But," Quay continued, holding up a finger, "it's still going to be bleeped out. We're not going full uncensored just yet."

"Shit," Bailey groaned.

The group burst into laughter, and even Quay chuckled.

He flipped another page in his binder, making a sound of mock concentration. "Alright, here's the deal: You'll all have microphones strapped to you 24/7. The only time you're allowed to take them off is when you're pissing, shitting, or, God forbid, diarrhea-ing. And trust me, if that happens, I don't want to know. But if you really gotta go, just take the mic off. I won't judge. I'll just be silently judging you internally." He winked, letting the awkward silence linger a bit before he laughed. "Kidding, kidding, sorta."

The group snickered as Quay scanned the room, clearly enjoying himself.

"Also, big important thing," he said, flipping his binder closed like he was wrapping up a grand finale. "You're all gonna sign contracts later, but for now, listen up-no posting anything about the show. No spoilers. No BTS that's too behind-the-scenes."

"Oh, but I don't want us to be that cast that people say never gives them content," Cici chimed in, looking a little worried.

Quay smirked and threw his hands up. "Womp-womp!"

"Ugh, fine," Dakota groaned. "But when can we post?"

"Three weeks before the premiere. That's when you can start hyping it up on socials." he remarked.

The group groaned in unison.

Quay sighed, tapping his binder. "Listen, you can tell your followers that you're in the show, but don't go spilling the details. The show's official Instagram will handle the big reveals, and I want everyone to hold off until it's time for the official announcement. It should be happening really soon, maybe even today if everything goes as planned."

He gave everyone a pointed look, making sure they were listening. "You can post about being on set or tease things in a general way, but nothing that reveals too much-especially spoilers. You can do vague stuff like 'Big things coming soon' or 'Set life vibes,' but don't get into specifics. We want to keep some mystery around this."

Just as he was about to continue, the door swung open, and Nyrie Trusty, and Sydnee Cole walked in, a little sheepish but trying to act like they hadn't missed the beginning of the meeting.

"Ah, perfect timing," Quay said, clapping his hands together. "Here come the late arrivals."

Griffin was already on his feet, beaming. "Nyrie!" He bounded over to her like a golden retriever who'd just spotted its owner, pulling her into a hug. "You made it!"

"Shh, Griffin," Nyrie whispered, her eyes twinkling as she shot a quick glance at the others, aware of how much attention they were getting.

Griffin, completely unbothered, pulled her next to him, and Sydnee followed, sitting down next to Nyrie with an easy smile.

Harper shifted in her chair, quietly observing their interaction. It could be that she was feeling more sensitive than usual at the moment, but at six in the morning, she felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

"Glad you guys could finally grace us with your presence," Quay said with a wink, not missing a beat. "But no worries, I was just about to break down the real heart of this experience."

He took a deep breath, spreading his arms out wide. "Okay, gang, look around. These are your people. Harper, Griffin, Nyrie, Sydnee, Dakota, Tate, Zoey, Camry, Cici, Ariana, Bailey, Tristan, Wyatt, and Topher." He said each name like it was important, making eye contact with each person. "This is your cast. You're gonna work, eat, breathe, and probably annoy each other for the next few months. But guess what? This is your family now. Whether you like it or not." He grinned, clearly relishing the effect his words had on the room.

"Got it?"

The group nodded, some more enthusiastically than others, but all quietly accepting the reality.

"Good. Because we're about to make this shit show legendary." Quay rubbed his hands together like a mad scientist.

The group couldn't help but laugh. It was a weird feeling-this bizarre mix of nerves and excitement, but with Quay's energy, it was clear that they were all in for one hell of a ride.

"Now, let's go get some food and come back to really get this thing started," Quay said, practically jumping out of his seat.

The room erupted in cheers. Food? That was a deal everyone could get behind.

"See you back here in 30!" Quay called as they all filed out.

**********

Time passed, and the group had eaten a feast of pancakes and waffles stacked high, eggs, bacon, whipped cream, and biscuits-everything. The group could definitely get used to that part. But now, they stood outside a massive row of sleek, modern trailers, the cool wind nipping at their hoodies and sweatshirts.

Quay faced the group, scanning them with a knowing smirk. "Zoey!" he called.

Zoey glanced up, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

"What do you see?"

She blinked at him, confused. "Uh... trailers?" She raised an eyebrow. The answer seemed pretty obvious.

"Missing a word," Quay said, dragging out the suspense. Then, with a satisfied grin, he gestured grandly. "Ladies and gentlemen, these are your trailers."

Eyes widened. Jaws dropped.

"We get our own trailers?" Camry asked, her voice barely containing the excitement.

Quay nodded.

"Thank god," Nyrie muttered. "I would not want to risk sharing a trailer with this bitch." She jerked her thumb toward Harper.

Griffin barely stifled a laugh, earning a sharp look from Harper before she turned to Bailey, who only raised an eyebrow.

Quay, completely unfazed, clapped his hands together. "Anywho, anyhow, anyways-there's someone I want y'all to meet." He turned toward one of the trailers, grinning. "COME OUT, DAWG!" he hollered.

"Oh god," Cici muttered, wincing at Quay's tone.

Just then, a man stepped forward, carrying himself with an effortless confidence-rugged yet refined. A strong jawline, neatly trimmed beard, and dark brunette hair styled just enough to look intentional without trying too hard. But what stood out the most were his eyes-striking green, sharp yet warm, holding a depth that made him instantly intriguing. He wore a light button-up, the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, making him look both professional and approachable.

"You look like Poseidon," Topher said, studying him with a tilt of his head.

The man pointed at him with a nod. "Thank you."

Quay smirked. "Gang, this is Mr. Aiko."

"I'm the Base Camp Coordinator," Mr. Aiko introduced himself. "I handle trailers, logistics, and making sure everything runs smoothly on set." His voice was calm, efficient, the kind of voice that made you pay attention. "And if you follow me, I'll give you a look inside one of your trailers."

Excitement buzzed through the group as they followed him across the lot. Phones immediately came out as they passed between the trailers, snapping pictures of their names written on paper and taped to the doors. It was real now.

At the very end of the row, Mr. Aiko stepped up the small stairs of a trailer and pushed the door open. "Squeeze in, children," he said dryly.

The teens piled in, shuffling into whatever space they could find.

"Damn," Tristan muttered, eyes sweeping the room.

"Indeed," Mr. Aiko said with a small smirk.

He walked through the space with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. "Microwave, bar fridge, TV," he pointed out, moving further in. "Lounge area." The teens' heads turned, taking in the cozy seating nook.

He motioned toward the back. "Shower."

A few impressed murmurs rippled through the group.

"And, obviously, the makeup station and wardrobe," he said, gesturing to the largest area along the wall, complete with a brightly lit mirror and racks waiting to be filled.

"And we all get one of these?" Ariana asked, still taking everything in.

"All yours," Mr. Aiko confirmed. "Later today, or anytime before Tuesday, you can come by and decorate your trailers. But some are bigger than others-"

"SHIT!" Tate suddenly screamed.

In an instant, chaos erupted.

A stampede of teenagers rushed toward the door, shoving and scrambling to get out first, desperate to claim the best trailer.

Quay, still standing inside, blinked in confusion at the sudden mass exodus. He turned to Mr. Aiko with a raised eyebrow.

Mr. Aiko sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was kidding."

**********

"I'm really sorry you guys didn't make the school," Zoey said, shifting deeper into her straddle on the floor, her legs folded neatly to the side.

"Yeah, yeah. We know you could care less," River deadpanned.

"Nooooo," Zoey dragged out, but the way her voice went up an octave completely gave her away.

The dancers barely lasted a second before bursting into laughter.

It was now 11 o'clock, and like most Saturdays, the company teams at Sulphur Springs Dance Studio had been summoned for practice. Everyone was exhausted, dragging through the morning with sluggish movements-but not Zoey. If only they knew she'd been up since 5:30 for a production meeting before heading straight to the studio by 8. She'd already pushed through hours of conditioning and strength training, but she wasn't about to brag.

"So... any more details about the show?" Matt asked, stretching his arms over his head.

Zoey winced. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Well, damn," Matt threw his hands up dramatically.

"It's not me, I swear," Zoey said quickly. "They won't let us say anything."

"Yeah, they won't," Camry added, backing her up.

"Right, like I'm not capping," Zoey insisted.

Heritage glanced around the room. "Where's Harper... and Kota?"

"They had some more things to do for the show," Camry explained.

"Show, show, show," Saylor groaned, rolling onto her back.

Zoey narrowed her eyes. "Oh god, you guys cannot be getting mad."

"Please," Camry said flatly, already sensing the tension.

"Oh, babes, mad? Us?" Matt said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why on earth would we be mad? I mean, it's totally fine that we-the best dancers at this studio-got rejected from an arts school while our so-called teammates got cast in some reality show that's about to skyrocket their followers and clout. And let me guess-next thing we know, you'll be at the premiere, front row, sipping coke with the Percy Jackson cast like it's no big deal. But sure, yeah, totally fair. Obviously, this should've gone to people who deserve it." He folded his arms, lips pursed in dramatic exasperation.

Silence.

Zoey blinked, her head tilting slightly. "...Deserve?"

Matt gave her a look.

Zoey exhaled a dry chuckle. "Okay," she said, pushing herself up. Camry followed suit without hesitation.

"Contemporary starts in ten," Rylann reminded them hesitantly.

"Contemporary, my ass," Zoey muttered, yanking the door open as she and Camry walked out.

As soon as they hit the hallway, she scoffed. "Bitches."

"Zozo," Camry warned.

"You were thinking it too!" Zoey shot back.

Camry pressed her lips together but didn't deny it.

Just then, the studio doors opened. Normally, Zoey wouldn't have paid much attention-it was usually just a parent or one of her dance friends-but this time, her gaze snapped to them. Because stepping inside was none other than Rylee Woodgrip.

His curls were styled just right, pushed up effortlessly on his head. He was dressed in a black RDC hoodie and matching sweatpants, hands tucked in his pockets, a gold cross chain resting against his chest. His eyes flickered around the room before settling on her.

"Why are you always here?" Camry asked, arms folding across her chest.

"And why are you always questioning my presence?" Rylee shot back smoothly, making Camry roll her eyes.

Zoey stayed silent, her expression unreadable as she crossed her arms.

"Hey, Zozo," he muttered.

Her posture stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

Rylee exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, Zoey-"

"RYLEEEEE!" a voice rang out before he could finish.

Sydnee Cole strutted in like she owned the place, her long curls cascading down her back. She was matching with Rylee-black hoodie, black sweatpants, the whole look intentional. She moved beside him, fingers curling around his hand before her sharp eyes landed on Zoey.

"You look drained," Sydnee said, a smirk playing on her lips.

Zoey barely had time to react before Sydnee's voice cut through again.

"And you get out of breath that fast? Fat-ass."

Silence.

Zoey felt the words hit her harder than they should have. Harder than she wanted them to. A lump formed in her throat, and the sting in her eyes burned. But she refused to let the tears fall-not here. Not in front of them.

Her eyes flicked to Rylee, searching for something-anything-but he didn't say a word. He just stood there.

That was all it took. Zoey clenched her jaw and stormed past them, pushing through the studio doors and heading straight for the dressing room.

"Crybaby," Sydnee called after her. She turned to Rylee with a satisfied smirk. "Come on, no need to be left with the ugly Woodgrip."

Camry's fists clenched at her sides. "Fuck you, Sydnee."

"Rylee's job," Sydnee shot back before dragging him toward the exit.

As they disappeared, Topher stepped in, brows furrowed. "Why the hell is he here?"

"Doesn't matter," Camry said, shaking her head. "Zoey's crying in the dressing room."

Topher didn't hesitate. The second Camry mentioned Zoey was crying, he was already moving, pushing past her and heading straight for the dressing rooms.

This wasn't uncommon. Dancers broke down here all the time-he'd seen Griffin in this very room, holding Harper together more times than he could count. But this? Zoey crying? That wasn't normal.

He found her sitting on the bench, arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders shaking.

"Hey, Zee," he said gently as he stepped inside.

Zoey barely looked up before she was moving toward him, her body collapsing into his as she rested her head on his shoulder. A soft, broken sob left her lips.

"She called me fat," she mumbled.

Topher froze. Then, his jaw clenched.

"Bullshit," he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "Your body is tea."

Zoey sniffled, blinking up at him, her eyes red and glassy.

Topher huffed, his hands resting lightly on her waist, his grip firm but comforting.

"Do you even know how snatched you are?" he said, tilting his head. "People would kill to have your body. Don't let some basic, crusty, wanna-be Regina George knock you down."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Zoey cracked a smile. The brightest one she'd had in a while.

**********

Harper sat cross-legged on the couch, laughter spilling from her lips as she leaned into her friends. The girls were tangled together, limbs overlapping as they collapsed onto one another in a giggling mess.

Outside, the golden glow of the Louisiana afternoon bathed Sulphur Springs, but inside Cici Frost's house, the real warmth came from the four of them-Harper, Cici, Bailey, and Ariana.

They had completely wrecked the upstairs living room, pushing the couches together into one giant, cozy nest. Empty Wingstop containers were strewn across the floor, evidence of their feast, but now, full and satisfied, they were sprawled out, lost in endless rounds of gossip and laughter.

As the laughter started to die down, Ariana sat up suddenly. "Wait. I just realized something... This is technically a cast hangout now."

Cici