I wanted to believe what she said, but I could tell by her expression that she wouldn't.
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Evan bounded into the conference room like a kid in a bouncy castle. He clapped his hands together. “We've got some good news,” he declared.
“Thank God,” Mom said. “It's about time.”
“So the news about Nico being with both girls and his lies about the car has changed the focus of the coverage. If there's anything the media hates, it's some perv who abuses kids.”
“We're only a couple of years apart,” I pointed out.
Evan shook his finger in my face. “No. He's an adult in a position of power and authority who manipulated young girls for sexual purposes. The media company we hiredâ”
I sat up. “What you do mean, media company?”
My parents exchanged a glance. “We thought it would be best to bring someone on to represent your interests,” Dad said. “Someone who could make sure your perspective is out there too, spin things, so to speak.”
“If it's my interests, how come I wasn't even told?” I asked. “You keep treating me like a child. This situation involves me. You can't keep shutting me out when it's information you don't want to share. First there were the pictures, now this.”
Dad's nostrils flared. “You want to be an adult? Well then, we're trying to change the story that you're a selfish, insecure slut who murdered your best friend over some guy.” Dad's voice bounced around the small room. “The whole world basically thinks you did it, and if we don't figure out a way to fix this, then your butt is going to be in jail for a long time. So maybe you could appreciate how we're trying to help you instead of back-seat-driving this.”
I was shocked. He'd never spoken to me like that before. Dad ran his hand over the top of his head. Everyone else in the room was silent, suddenly fascinated by the tabletop, unable to meet my eyes.
“I know you guys have done a lot,” I said, my voice coming out tight and small. I wanted to explain that he was misunderstanding what I had said. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate everything, but I needed to be a part of the decisions being made. They'd stepped in and were managing every aspect of my life, but it was my life. I was the one who was going to have to live with whatever happened, so they couldn't shut me out with the excuse that they didn't think I could handle it.
“Do you?” Dad said. “Your mom lost her job, she's had to move to an apartment to get away from the media, your stepmom and I had to open a line of credit against our home to cover these costs. Your mom coordinates everything, including trying to make sure that you have just the right kind of juice because you don't like the kind they serve here.”
I winced. I hadn't asked my mom to buy me the Tropicana we always had at home, I'd simply said that I couldn't stand the stuff in the cafeteria. It had pulp in it. I hated how the threads of pulp would stick in my throat. Thick strands of fruit hair. When I'd mentioned it, she'd brought in a carton of Tropicana and put it in the patient fridge on the ward with my name written in Sharpie on the side. Then I realized I'd missed the important thing.
“Wait, you lost your job?”
Mom glared at my dad. “I didn't lose my job. The company felt that it might be better for everyone if I took a leave. Just until things with you are settled. It's worked out perfectly; it's given me more time to be here.” Mom smiled as if she were glad about how things had fallen into place, but I could tell the truth behind her fake smile. Her boss didn't want the mom of a murderer working there. That's the kind of thing that can be bad for business.