Cecelia Ahern - Flawed

I find it a bad analogy. I will never be the same again. But maybe he wasn’t mistaken. I will be as judged when I leave as I was when I walked in. Granddad’s right. It will never end.

Before I leave the cell, I look at Carrick for something, a response of any kind. He is up from his bed now and his eyes run over my dress. I feel naked under his stare, but I can’t move.

He nods at me. A good-bye, a good luck, I don’t know, but it’s not angry. I nod back. I take a mental picture of him, knowing it’s the last time I’ll ever see him as our lives go in two very different directions.

* * *

Dad, Mom, me, and Mr. Berry, flanked on either side by Bark and Tina, stare at the closed double doors ahead of us. Something is going on, because Bark and Tina are holding riot shields, which seems to unsettle Mr. Berry. He checks his green tie at least five times. They all know something apart from me. As soon as the doors open, I see that the security and crowd have doubled since yesterday, as have the media. The crowds are being held back by barricades, and security wear helmets and hold bloodred riot shields in their leather-gloved hands. The sound from the crowd is unbearable. I can’t make out anything anyone is saying, but if you could trap anger in a jar, this is what you would hear each time you twisted the lid.

A can of something goes flying before us and emits steam. Security bundle around it, and we all quicken our step. Mom shows no sign of wobbling today, her head and chin are up. And as much as I want to keep my eyes down, she forces me to follow suit. If I can’t feel it inside, then I at least want to appear as strong as her. Today there are people shouting at me for being Flawed, and there are people shouting at me for hating the Flawed. The only thing in common between them is that they detest me and are here to see me branded Flawed and Ousted from society. Nobody comes here to offer support, it’s merely to vent frustration, to use me as a punching bag. I don’t know how Bosco and Pia’s media campaign is going in persuading people to think I’m the Guild’s hero, but judging by the reaction today, somebody is losing: me.

Despite my terror, I look around. Maybe if I can put faces to the sounds, it will make me feel better. I see Pia Wang reporting from her raised platform, in her perfect clothes, with her perfect hair, even more doll-like in reality. A familiar woman with a pixie cut nods at me again respectfully, just as she did yesterday. A strange-looking man at the barricades blows a kiss at me. There is something familiar about him, but I’m sure I have never seen him before. He has a beard and long hair, hippie-like, but he seems too youthful to have such growth on his face. He wears a childish, elephant-shaped woolen hat. The large, floppy, oversized elephant ears cover his ears, and a trunk protrudes from his head. It is a bizarre thing to see on a man his age, as well as at this time of year, when it’s not cold. As I near him, I study him more, and he winks. It’s the blue eyes that give him away. Art. I knew he’d find a way to come. I almost stall in my tracks, but Mom and Mr. Berry keep me moving. I think of the elephant joke in his note and know that the hat is a reference to that and that he’s trying to cheer me up. It’s not something that’s going to make me laugh in this situation, but it lifts my spirits. I try hard not to smile, though.

“Celestine! Pia Wang from News 24,” she calls. The camera is on me, the red light on. “We’re live. Can you wave to the people at home?”

“Smile,” Mr. Berry says through his teeth, and I lift my face to the camera on the raised platform and give a small wave with a tiny smile. I don’t want to look like I’m enjoying this.

Like yesterday, there are plenty more flying objects, though the riot shields do a good job of blocking most of them. Still, some manage to splatter my dress, but Mom is prepared this time. As soon as we step inside, she whips out wipes and cleaning products, and I am once again immaculate. Once inside, it’s clear that we are all shaken. Mr. Berry asks for a glass of water and takes a moment to compose himself. Mom rushes to the bathroom.

Dad takes me aside.

“No matter what happens today, sweetheart, you know I’m proud of you. No matter what, I will love you,” he says with urgency.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He looks around, seems strained, unsure of whether to say something or not.

“Dad, tell me,” I say, voice low.

“I haven’t said much during all this. Your mom said it was better I don’t, but I think I need to. It’s just that … I don’t want you to think that because of what I do, it means that you can’t … that you can’t use your own voice. You understand?” He looks at me intensely. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days. His eyes are bloodshot. “Bob took a stand at work, he wanted to use his own voice and … well, he was punished for that. Angelina was punished because of him. It was a warning to us all. I will defend you no matter what, Celestine. I have no problem with that. I’ll tell whatever news story Crevan tells me to do, because that’s my job and I try to protect Summer, you, Juniper, and Ewan, but don’t be me. You do what you have to do.”

Now? He says this to me now ? Angelina Tinder was branded because Bob wanted to speak out? And yet, as soon as he said it, I know that I knew it already, somewhere deep down, somewhere I was afraid to say it out loud.

I swallow hard and nod, almost afraid of the intensity of his look, by his grip on my arm. I know Dad is trying to be helpful, but I can’t help but still feel confused as to what he thinks I should do. The plan was always to lie.

To not be deemed Flawed, I must betray the old man on the bus.

To be true to myself, I will be deemed Flawed.

TWENTY-TWO

I STAND IN the corridor, mind reeling. I am seventeen years old, and though I have fought with my parents about my being more responsible than they give me credit for, I am not ready for this decision. I enter the courtroom, my mind far from clear, my focused plan now a blur in my mind. I don’t even know what the right thing is anymore. Me, who is always so sure. My black and white is now fuzzy and gray.

I scan the room for Art. Even though I know we have just left him in disguise outside, I still remain hopeful he has entered through the public entrance. When I look at the back of the courtroom, I can’t believe what I see. Carrick is standing at the back of the courtroom, his cap on low over his face, arms folded, shoulders up as if he’s a bodyguard watching the door. Our eyes meet, but neither of us reacts. He even stands with the Flawed at the back as though he already is one. I’m beyond moved by his presence, and my eyes fill. I wonder if he has chosen to watch my trial or if they are making him, just as they forced us to listen to that man being branded. And if they are making him, then a lesson is about to be taught in order for him to learn. Either he is supporting me or they want to scare him.

Granddad grins broadly at me and gives me a thumbs-up. Juniper sits beside him, looking tiny and terrified. She gives me a small smile. I’m glad she’s here. My mind is at peace with her being ashamed of me at least.

The trial begins by listening to the first of my character witnesses, Marlena, my friend since I was eight years old. She is nervous, but she is loyal, telling stories of how I have always been mindful of correct behavior, even when around those who aren’t. I think she sums me up well: logical, loyal, fun, but always staying within the rules. It is the first time in two days that I recognize myself in somebody else’s description of me, and I’m glad of the general description of my being considered boring for a teenager.