Flawed (24 page)

I sigh. “I don't know what it's like when you're older, but every teenager wants to be perfect. Nobody wants to stand out, at least I never did. And the people that do stand out, they're just being themselves. Everybody wants to look like they know what they're doing, when really most of the time nobody has a clue. Maybe it's different with adults.”

Pia smiles. “Not really that different with adults at all. It's not easy being a journalist,” she says, and I throw her a bored look. “No, seriously. Not everything we write is published the way we want it to be. We don't always have control over our voice.”

She'll never apologize for the article that got me thrown out of school, but perhaps this is the closest she'll come to it. Today her article is about whether Angelina Tinder “coached” me to become Flawed and questions who else she taught piano to. She misquotes me a few times from previous interviews, twisting my words to fit into her context. There is a photograph of Angelina before the Ousting and a photograph of my startled face leaving her house. The headline is
FLAWED PIANO TEACHER RECRUITS
.

I study Pia, and I know what she's struggling with: tell the sixth-brand story or not. Bring down Crevan, or not.

“So tell them you want it to be said your way.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Yes, it is.”

“They don't listen.”

“Then leave. Go work somewhere else.”

“The world doesn't work like that, Celestine.”

I shrug.

“So if I left this extremely well-paid job, where I might not get to report everything in the way that I want, but I get to report it—I have my own show, my own column—who would feed my two children?”

“Lies wouldn't.”

This strikes her, and she's silent some more.

“I've changed my mind. I'm going to call Tina's house today, ask some questions. Can we meet later tonight?”

“I won't be here.” On her look, I give her more. “I'm going to a party. Someone from school.”

“Good for you,” Pia says.

If I didn't know better, I'd think she was almost happy for me. But I can't trust her fully. What if she is working with Crevan to find out what my plan is? What if she finds the guards and talks them out of telling the truth? Threatens them with a story or with accusing them of aiding a Flawed? And if I tell her about Mr. Berry's recording of the Branding Chamber, what if she destroys the video? No, I can't trust her. She is too close to Crevan, and she has done little so far to earn my trust. I can't tell her about Carrick or Mr. Berry's video.

I'll just have to get to them before she does.

 

FORTY-TWO

“SO WHOSE PARTY
are you going to?” Juniper asks me at breakfast, after Pia is gone.

“Logan Trilby's.”

She stops chewing her cereal, her sugary cereal that she continues to eat while I'm limited to oatmeal. “Logan is the biggest asshole going.”

“He's been nice to me.”

She frowns. “What's he celebrating?”

“His eighteenth.”

“I'm pretty sure Logan is nineteen. He had to repeat his final year he's so dumb.”

“No, he's not.” I whip out the invitation.

She studies it with a frown. “Oh.” She hands it back, and we sit in silence. “I didn't hear anything about it.”

Despite the tension between us over the past couple of weeks, she is my sister and I do have the capacity to feel sympathy for her. I'm thankful for that. It reminds me I'm human.

“Well, I'm sure they were just being nice to me. I wouldn't feel bad about it,” I say gently.

She starts laughing. “Do you think I'm jealous? No way. Believe me, I'm not. You can have your party. What I meant was, I never heard about a party, and I wouldn't trust them.”

“Why? Because I'm Flawed?” I ask, my anger flaring up instantly, always there ready and waiting for me to use in my overflowing reservoir. “You think the only reason I could be invited anywhere is because it's a trick?”

“I'm not saying it's a
trick
,” Juniper says weakly.

“So where are you going tonight?” I ask, the anger thumping inside me. “Are you going to disappear tonight like you do every night?”

Juniper looks at me in surprise, a mouth full of cereal. She chews slowly, and I can tell she's trying to think.

I know it's unfair of me to bring it up so loudly in front of everyone, but she is up to something and what she said about Logan has really hurt me. Finally, I'm making friends and she's taking away from the thrill I should be feeling. My heart is racing as I watch her eat her sugary cereal; it's making me angrier and angrier.

“What are you talking about?”

“For the past two weeks I've gone into your room at midnight most nights, and you haven't been there.”

She laughs as if I'm ludicrous, which annoys me. I don't like people thinking I'm crazy. Not now. Not after seeing Angelina Tinder lose her mind. I don't want that to happen to me. Mary May looks up from her paperwork. Mom and Dad watch us with interest.

“Fight, fight, fight,” Ewan chants, before Juniper kicks him under the table.

“Maybe I was in the bathroom.”

“You weren't.”

“How do you know?”

“I checked.”

“Okay, stalker.”

I don't like how she looks at me.

“Is this true, Juniper?” Dad asks, coming over to the table.

“You're going to give me shit when you know Celestine was leaving the house most nights to meet Art?”

Mom looks at Mary May in panic. “
Before
the branding. Juniper, please clarify,” she says sharply.

“Before the branding,” she says as though she's a scolded child.

“What you both used to be able to do before and what you can do now is different, Juniper. If people see you and think that you're Celestine, she will get into trouble. Like the hair,” Dad says, looking at Mary May angrily.

“So I can't live my life because Celestine can't?”

“Celestine can live her life, so watch your mouth, young lady,” Dad raises his voice, which startles us all.

“Anyway, I haven't been sneaking out,” she says, eyes down, and I know she's lying.

“Are you calling me a liar?” I ask.

She glares at me. “I don't need to call you anything. Stick out your tongue, Celestine.”

“You stupid, little…” I pick up my oatmeal and hurl it at her.

Mom and Dad dive on both of us, separating us. Juniper is sent upstairs to change her oatmeal-covered clothes.

“Go on, take another hour to get dressed like you always do,” I shout after her.

“Celestine, stop,” Mom admonishes me.

Mary May takes out her notebook.

“What?” I snap. “Fighting with siblings isn't allowed, either? What do I get as punishment, extra pumpkin seeds for dinner?” I stand up and make my way to the sink. As I reach past Mary May to get the cloth behind her to clean the oatmeal, she must think I'm going for her and brings her hand back and slaps me hard across the face with her leather glove. The pain stuns me as much as the shock of it.

“How dare you!” my dad yells, rushing over to her, but then he stops right in front of her as though there's a force field stopping him from getting close, which I guess is exactly what there is. She's untouchable. She is what I thought I used to be.

My eyes prick with tears, my face stinging, but I won't let Mary May see me cry.

Mom rushes to my side, “My baby, my poor baby.” She hugs me while over her shoulder Mary May looks at me menacingly with cold blue eyes. Mom pulls away and takes the cloth it is now obvious that I was reaching for, though I don't see a hint of regret in Mary May's face. “I'll do this,” she says, her voice trembling with anger. “A mother can help her daughter. Now, is there anything else I can do for you this morning, or is that all?”

Mary May seems to be unmoved by it all, maybe she's even enjoyed it. “I understand that Celestine has a party tonight. Curfew breaking is considered a very serious breach of the rules. Celestine would have to go before the Guild court to decide her punishment, but punishments usually bleed into the rest of your family. Simply put, if you break the rules, your family will be punished. Just ask your friend Angelina Tinder; ask her where her boys have been this week.”

I think of the silence in their house when I visited, how there were no signs of their presence, no sounds of their playing. I swallow.

Mom looks at me; her fear is clear. “They were taken into temporary foster care for one week.”

“I won't be late,” I say quietly. I couldn't cope with Ewan being taken away from us.

Mary May gathers her things to leave. “By the way, Judge Crevan tells me we will soon be recruiting an old friend of yours. Art Crevan is to become a new member of the Whistleblowers, and I've been honored to be asked to personally train him myself.” She gives me a look, a satisfied twinkle in her eye, before she closes the door behind her, leaving me shivering in fear.

“Art couldn't. He wouldn't. Working for the Guild is the last thing he'd ever do. He wants to go to university. I'm going to study mathematics; he's going to study science. That's what we planned.”

Dad sits on my other side as Mom applies cream to my face to stop the bruising from coming up.

Dad sighs. “Oh, Celestine, I'm sorry.” He kisses my forehead. “Try not to worry. Last I heard, they still don't even know where Art is. Crevan has put a lot of manpower into finding him, but there's been nothing yet.”

“I hope he got away,” I say, for the first time realizing Art might be right, maybe we can't make us work.

“Me too.” Dad smiles sadly. “Now put it out of your mind. I know that's hard, but you have to look forward. Let's think of tonight. New beginnings. New friendships.”

I nod, trying to ignore the throbbing in my cheek.

“What was all that noise?” Juniper says, entering the kitchen. “Dad, did you shout?”

She has taken far less time to dress than I expected, and as soon as I see her, I suck in air. She is wearing my clothes. Pink skinny jeans and a cream crop top that I threw out last night. I'd tried it on, but it revealed the
F
brand at the base of my spine. I can never wear it again. I threw all those clothes out so I'd never see them again, never be reminded of the life I had to leave behind, the person I used to be. And now she's wearing them. It all looks unusual on her, out of place.

“What?” She looks at me self-consciously, angry and embarrassed at the silence that has greeted her. Wearing it is retribution for my calling her out earlier, but it has backfired. Even Mom and Dad are uncomfortable with what they see. “You're wearing
my
clothes. What am I supposed to do?”

I watch Juniper walk across the kitchen confidently in my clothes, in the crop top that would reveal both my chest and spine brands, in flip-flops that would reveal my foot brand. Reminders, rubbing it in my face.

Today Juniper must get the bus to school. She was quite happy with the chauffeuring, but now that I can't attend any longer, she's back to getting the bus. I was worried for her, hoping she wouldn't get into any trouble on the bus, but now I couldn't care less.

“I need some air,” I say quietly, feeling dizzy.

“Hold on.” Mom holds me back at my shoulders as Juniper steps outside into the full glare of the media. There's a small, amused smile on her lips. “They'll think she's you.”

I look outside to see Juniper being surrounded by the press. She can barely move forward they're so much in her face. I bite my lip to hide a smile, then slip outside. Perhaps Mr. Murray was correct about being able to slip into the cracks.

 

FORTY-THREE

LOGAN'S HOUSE IS
on the other side of town, in an equally leafy neighborhood in a nice part of the suburbs. I blare the music and lower the window to feel the wind in my face. I sing loudly, feeling free. As long as I have friends who will support me and be friends with me for who I am, I can do this, I can live this life. It's not what I wanted, it's not what I planned for in my carefully thought-out plans of yesteryear, but it's the hand that I've been dealt, and I will make as much of it as I can. I sing along to the radio, feeling happy, feeling like maybe I don't even need to worry about outing Crevan's act in the chamber. I can live this life. I can be happy.

I'm nervous about arriving at a party with people I don't know, but it's more of an excitement. I'm ready to do something new. I'll be there by 8:00
PM
. Two hours of being young again ahead of me, because I don't want to be home late. I want to be home well ahead of Mary May's arrival, so there's no doubt that I have not broken any rules. Two hours is perfect. New friends, new beginnings.

Despite my parents' nerves about my going, they are both delighted that I'm doing something that a seventeen-year-old should be doing. That I'm not holed up in my bedroom crying as I have been the past few days. But mostly one of the reasons they were so open about my coming here was that they know Logan's parents. Not personally, but they know of them. Everybody does. They are both pastors, a husband-and-wife team. Because of this, they get a fair amount of media attention, and they have been upstanding citizens. I feel this is probably why Logan reached out with the olive branch. He lives in a house that encourages understanding and forgiveness. He knows what it's like to be perceived as being different, to be watched by others and analyzed and dissected until there's nothing left of you but to feel raw and naked.

We follow the directions in Logan's invitation to a modest white house with a pretty yard. They even have a picket fence. Mom and I embrace, and Mom holds on to me tight, too tight, afraid to let go, but she finally does, eyes teary.