“No one but you and your daughter has ever been willing to help me before. I...” It’s difficult to sort through the hit-in-the-head blur of thoughts. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
The governor stares straight into my eyes. “You accept the help. As I said, start from the beginning. I need to know what I’m up against.”
Ellison
Drix: Your dad asked me to give him twenty-four hours to think things through and he’ll get back to me on how to handle everything. He also asked me to stay away from you for a while. He’s mad and he has a right to be. He knows I’m texting this to you, but then I’m going to respect him and not contact you again until he gives me permission. We’re strong enough to see this through. Are you with me?
Me: Yes.
Drix: I love you. Remember that.
Then there was nothing. We’re nearing the twenty-four hour mark and that quiet is a dark space that’s filled with shadow monsters and hollow pits. Dad won’t talk to me. Mom can barely glance in my direction. The house is full of staffers, and there’s this low buzz of panicked energy among them all. Bees on the defensive as their hive is about to be endangered.
I sit on the top step of the stairs with my cell in my hands in the vain hope Drix will contact me again, but he won’t. Not until my father grants him permission, and from the pissed-off flare my father’s ignoring me with, I’m thinking that permission will come in never.
Patience. This entire situation is going to require a massive amount of patience, and my father is a good man. I have to have faith this will work out.
Clicking of heels and my mother rounds the corner from the hallway and appears in the foyer. At the bottom of the stairs, she looks up, and when our eyes meet sadness rolls over me. From the way she falters, it appears that same sadness crashes into her.
“We need to talk,” she says. I stand, head to my room, and Mom’s footsteps follow.
I sit at the top of my bed and hold a pillow to my stomach as Mom closes the door behind her. She’s dressed in a black pants suit, her blond hair is slicked back in a bun, and she’s perfection. Always perfection and I start to wonder if she ever feels exhausted.
I expect her to remain standing, to lecture me on all that I’ve done wrong and then leave. Instead she sits on my bed with her back toward me. She surveys my room that hasn’t changed since we redid it when I turned fifteen. Soft light green paint, white crown molding, framed pictures of wildflowers on the wall. Besides my laptop on my dresser, there isn’t much of the room that speaks to my personality, but then again, at fifteen, I thought this is who I was. Maybe I was that person, but I’m not her anymore.
“You have put your father in a terrible position,” she says. “If he announces Hendrix Pierce is innocent, that he accepted the plea deal because he couldn’t afford a decent lawyer and his public defender was too busy to help, it will appear as if Hendrix was railroaded into accepting the deal so that the district attorney could raise his conviction rates.”
I hang on tighter to the pillow. “Railroaded is how he felt.”
“Maybe that’s the case, but do you not see how this will ruin your father’s career?”
I don’t see. “Dad didn’t arrest Drix, he wasn’t the public defender, and he wasn’t the one that offered the plea deal. All Dad did was create the program, and the district attorneys across the state were responsible for recommending teens. That’s it. This isn’t Dad’s fault.”
“No, it’s not, but that’s not how people will see it. The media won’t care your father was trusting the district attorneys with the recommendations. They’ll want to know why your father wasn’t a private detective and sleuthed out every fact and clue for every teen in the program.”
A strangling in my stomach. “That’s ridiculous. No one will blame him.”
“You can’t be that naïve. You hung out with a boy on a midway for a matter of minutes, and look how the media behaved. They love a scandal. The media could care less your father has saved lives. All they’ll care about is that an innocent boy was punished for a crime he didn’t commit, and they’ll care your father was the person in charge when it happened. They’ll try to search for any angle to crucify your father. They’ll speculate that he told the district attorneys to railroad good potential candidates so he could have a successful program. They’ll tear that program apart and take your father’s career along with it in the process.”
I drop the pillow and lean forward on my knees. “But the program does work. Drix will tell everyone that. He says the program saved him, and he’s so grateful to Dad for being chosen. I know Drix will tell people Dad had nothing to do with being arrested and the plea deal and—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She cuts me off. “The truth does not matter—it never does. The only thing that matters is the headline. No one reads the retraction. They’ll look for every potential evil in every detail. Have you not figured it out? This country doesn’t want heroes. Not when it so thoroughly enjoys kicking a villain.”
A bit of crazy nibbles on the outside of my brain. “So you’re saying what? That we should do nothing? That Drix will live the rest of his life with the world thinking he’s a criminal? That he should lose his shot with the youth performing arts school and whatever other opportunity in his future because the system is broken?”
Mom’s eyes are so cold I shiver. “He never had to tell anyone what he did. That was his decision. His records were sealed.”
My hands slam on the comforter of my bed. “Dad asked him to!”
“No one can prove that, and he could have declined. Hendrix Pierce is busy blaming the entire world for his problems when the truth is he could have fought for his innocence. Before that he could have chosen a better life. He has to take responsibility for his choices. He was passed out drunk and high at that store. He is not as innocent as you think.”
“Are you kidding me? Nothing you said matters. Drix is innocent and I can prove it!”
“At the expense of your father’s career?”
“You don’t know that’s what will happen!” I shout.
“And you’d be willing to possibly throw away your father’s career to find out? Over a boy you’ve seen while on campaign trips? Over a boy you’ve seen a few times at his house? You’ve known him months, and we have given you life. We’ve given you a great life. A perfect life. You’re seventeen, and you have no idea what real love is. Nor do you have any idea what the real world is like. It’s cruel and unforgiving. Do not make emotional decisions that will ruin the lives of the people you love.”
The blood drains out of my face. Did Drix tell Dad everything? “He told you I was at his house?”
“I knew,” she seethes.
My heart stops beating, and I experience the sensation of my mind leaving my body. “You knew?”
Mom closes her eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and within seconds her polished mask is back into place. “Of course I knew. I’m your mother. But I kept it to myself. I thought it would be harmless. Plus, you two were being discreet. I was a teenager once, Elle. I understand having a crush, and I also understand flames like this burn out fast. I also understood you needing your space, but I draw the line at self-destruction. None of this matters now. Hendrix is downstairs meeting with your father, and your father is explaining the situation to him.”
They must have brought Drix in through the back. The urge is to jump up, rush downstairs, but I understand now why Mom is here. She’s keeping me from charging in and making a mess.
“I will say this,” Mom says. “He’s more mature than you. He’s very respectful, and he understands that the world can be a cruel place.”
My stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
“It means that he is, at least, listening.” The cell in Mom’s hand chirps. She checks it, then sighs. “Your father wants you to come downstairs, but before you do, I w
ould like you to change, put in your contacts and please fix your hair. There are people in the house, and I expect you to start acting your age. I won’t ask nicely again. Then please do me a favor and try to be more like Hendrix and start listening and doing what you’re told.”
Hendrix
I open the door to Governor Monroe’s office and there’s a flash of blond in front of me. “Let me speak to him, Dad, please. Just a few minutes.”
I slip my fingers around Elle’s wrist, keeping her from storming in and saying more. She halts in my grip, and her eyes widen. A caress of my thumb against her pressure point. “I was coming to find you.”
Her head whips toward her father who’s still sitting behind his desk, and he nods his approval. Elle goes off balance. Last time the three of us were in this room together, her father was going nuclear.
“When you’re done talking to him, Elle,” the governor says, “go back to your room. I’ll find you when I’m ready to talk.”
Elle mutters an agreement, then we leave the office, and Elle closes the door behind us. She stares at me and I stare at her. Her blond hair is brushed out and styled, the colored contacts are in her eyes that make them a brighter blue and makeup covers her freckles and scar. It’s Elle, but not Elle, and I wonder if she feels numb when she dresses up to be someone else.
Because that’s how I want to feel—numb. No, I take that back. I don’t want numb anymore. When I returned home from my year away, numb is what I thought I wanted, but then Elle entered my life, and she helped me feel. The one thing about highs is that there are lows, and this low...it’s painful.
“Do you want some lemonade?” she asks, and a ghost of a smile plays on her face.
Lemonade. Someplace inside, I chuckle, but it’s buried down so deep that it doesn’t reach the surface. “Yeah.”
Quiet and pensive, we head to the kitchen. When we reach it, she begins the task of finding glasses, going to the fridge and pouring the yellow liquid. As if it were May again, I stand on one side of the island, Elle on the other. Two glasses of lemonade, but this time, neither of us drink.
“We don’t need Dad,” Elle says. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can ask the district attorney to reexamine the video. Tell him to look for the tattoo. We can—”
I cut her off. “The program worked.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t. She can’t. She wasn’t the one who wandered around for years so angry at the world that hitting, hurting and making myself bleed was my only solution. She wasn’t the one who hurt everyone in her path like a renegade hurricane. She wasn’t me, and she doesn’t know what it was like to wake up on a cold morning sober and breathe in clean forest air, to feel the dew on my face and clothes, watch a sunrise and know that this day I was born. That this was the day I promised myself I wouldn’t be the asshole again.
“You don’t. Not really. You can take my word for it, but you can’t know it worked because you didn’t go through it.”
“I’m not arguing the program—” she starts, but I cut her off again.
“Marcus changed, too. He was doing drugs and committing crimes. He wasn’t deep in a gang yet, but he was close. Since the program, he’s been hanging with us and staying sober.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t affect you clearing your name.”
“I try to clear my name and I’m a bastard,” I challenge. “Because everything your dad said is right. I take a puppy out of a hotel, and I had to publicly apologize. Your dad had to pay for damages that weren’t there. I go forward with this, and the program’s future is in jeopardy. Your dad’s job is in jeopardy. I can’t do that. I can’t be the person responsible for taking away the program that saved me, saved Marcus and saved every person in the program. If I clear my name, I’m the bastard who stole hope from anyone else screwed up like me.”
Elle silently watches me. She’s the beauty with a short temper when the world sways the wrong way. She’s the girl on the edge of becoming a woman who believes she can change the world. I don’t doubt she can, but it won’t be with me. Too many things stacked up against me and sometimes failure is unavoidable.
She taps her finger against the counter. “It doesn’t have to be this way. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. There has to be another way.”
“Tell me what the other choice is, and I’m game.”
She blinks rapidly with tears, and anger reddens her cheeks. I understand the feeling because it’s the damn story of my life.
“Two bad choices,” I continue. “Choice One: I stay silent, and I’m a criminal for the rest of my life. Covering for a crime done by my sister’s asshole boyfriend. Choice Two: I speak up, and the program that saved my life dies, and your father’s career is crushed. Anyone like me who needs the help won’t receive it. They’ll be damned the moment they enter the system.”
She wipes at the corner of her eyes, and her pain is killing me. “That is a worst-case scenario. You don’t know if that’s what will happen. Besides, my mom and dad can take the heat. They’ll figure it out. They’ll make it work.”
I crack my neck to the side. “And what if they’re right? I can’t take that risk.”
“Why?” she shouts, and that sends anger shooting down my spine.
“Because I’m not a bastard anymore,” I snap. “Because there are hundreds, maybe thousands more people whose lives can be saved if I stay silent.”
Her head flinches back. “The greater good? Is that what you’re suggesting? That your life, your future, means less than anybody else’s?”
Because I lived so much of my life only for me... “Yes.”
“I don’t accept that.”
“It’s not yours to accept or not accept. This is my decision.”
“What about your sister? Are you going to let her continue to date Jeremy? If you do nothing, they’ll stay together. If you do nothing, he’ll be preying on other people like Holiday and Kellen. He’s sick, and he needs to be behind bars.”
The muscles in my face contort at the sound of his name. First thing I plan on doing is outing that bastard to my sister. “Hundreds of teens just like me can be saved, Elle. How do I walk away from that?”
She mashes her lips together as she tries to fight the tears, but each tremble of her mouth vibrates through me. My own sorrow, my own grief begins to weigh me down.
“What about us?” she asks. “What happens to us?”
My throat tightens, and I clear it. She dreamed of me by her side, and she painted such a beautiful picture that even the part of me that remains in stone softened to the idea. But I was stupid for dreaming. Stupid for even thinking I had a chance with her. “Your dad said after the election we can see each other again, in private. If we do what they say, then he’ll consider letting us be seen together in public.”
“Consider? What do you mean consider? Me and you being together is not his decision to make. That is between me and you, and me and you alone.”
She’s hurting, I’m hurting, and I close my fists, then force them open. “We’re trapped. I’ve told you from the get-go we’re trapped. We don’t get to make a single choice in our lives. We’re puppets who thought for a few seconds we didn’t have strings.”
“Because you’re letting them tell you what to do!”
“Two bad options, Elle! Which one is it? Whose life do I destroy? Yours? Mine? Because those are my choices. I claim my innocence, I lose you, too, because your father will never let me see you. I’m choosing. I’m choosing to save people like me, and I’m choosing to be with you.”
My own eyes burn, and I swear while turning away. I look out the window at the gazebo and her dreams. I lost mine, but this is my only shot at helping her reach her dreams, and maybe that will be enough to push me through life. Nailing in shingles, twelve-hour days, being weathered in the heat and cold. Maybe then I’ll get to be with Elle fo
r a few more months. Maybe a thousand more lives like mine will be saved, and they’ll walk out of the program with a real blank slate and a real new future. Maybe Elle will have all she wants and more.
“If I stay quiet, your dad is going to let you apply for the internship and allow you to take the coding classes at school.” Because I learned fast once he started talking that I held his future in my hands. There’s not much that can be done for me, but I had no problem using that leverage to help someone we both love—his daughter.
“Why?” she whispers.
Because I love you.
“You’re important,” she says. “Your life, your future, is just as important as mine. Just as important as everyone else’s. This isn’t okay.”
It’s not, but two bad choices.
Silent tears stream down her face, and the sight makes my soul bleed. I want to hug her. I want to hold her. I want to tell her everything is going to be okay, but I don’t know if it is. “I promised your father I’d tell you, then I’d leave. Once the election is over, I can see you again.”
Elle covers her face with her hands, and I shut my eyes because I thought I was done hurting people. Her hands lower, she grabs hold of the glass of lemonade and throws it. The glass shatters, falls to the floor, and liquid drips down the wall.
“He’s wrong,” she says. “And so are you.”
I am, but either way I chose, I was wrong. At the garage, a car honks, and my time is up. That was the agreement. I had as long as it took for the driver they hired to take me back to my house on the other end of town. “If you’ll still have me, I’ll see you in November. If not, then know that no matter what—I loved you.”
And I leave, breaking both of our hearts.
Ellison
“When did you stop caring about the voiceless?” I barge into Dad’s office and could care less how many people are in the room. “My entire life, that’s what you ingrained in me. That we are blessed and our job is to help those in need. When did you change, or have you been lying to me the entire time?”