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 would 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.”