Cecelia Ahern - Flawed

I follow everyone out into the swimming pool area. They are all dressed for the pool. The boys and girls smirk at one another, the usual reaction to seeing one another’s partly naked bodies. I intend to sit in the viewing gallery and watch.

“You there, what are you doing?” our gym teacher, Mr. Farrell, barks at me.

“I’m not swimming, sir.”

“Why not?” He comes toward me, his many whistles rattling around his chest reminding me of the Whistleblowers. I hear the others snicker.

I keep my voice down. “My scars, sir, I can’t get them in the water,” I lie.

He suddenly realizes who I am, what I am, and takes a step back from me.

“She needs a doctor’s note, sir,” one girl, Natasha, calls. “If she doesn’t have one, she has to get in.” She flashes an innocent smile at the boy beside her, Logan. I recognize him, too, from my chemistry class, though we’ve never spoken.

“Have you a doctor’s note?”

“No, sir.”

“Then if you don’t have one, get in.”

“I didn’t know I had a gym class today. I was supposed to be in biology.”

“And why aren’t you in biology?”

“Because Ms. Barnes doesn’t want me in her class.”

“Well, I don’t want you in mine, either, if you don’t get into the water.”

“I can’t get in, sir.”

“Do you shower?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can get in. Get in.”

I land myself in Principal Hamilton’s office mere hours after I told him I wouldn’t cause him any trouble. Dr. Smith e-mails the necessary note to the school, explaining how it is best for my scars to stay out of the chlorine, but it’s too late, the damage has already been done.

I feel sick with nerves as I enter the cafeteria at lunchtime and chatter dies down as all heads turn to stare at me and judge me. Colleen, Angelina Tinder’s daughter, is sitting alone, and I build up the courage to make my way to her. I stand at her table, and she doesn’t look up. I know that feeling. The feeling that whoever is there is about to say or do something heartbreaking, so best not to look while they do it.

“Hi,” I say.

She looks up at me in surprise.

“How’s your mom?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes, then laughs. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Are you really this desperate? Where were you two weeks ago? Why didn’t you ask me then? Of course, you were too selfish to even say hi to me then.” The shy Colleen is gone, and in her place is this angry, spiteful young woman. I don’t recognize her, not from the girl I spent Earth Day with each year, and family get-togethers, when both of us were carefree and a life like this wasn’t even a thought in our heads. Of course she’s right about me. I didn’t greet her that morning after her mom was taken away. I was too afraid. And then I went on to make the biggest mistake of my life. I deserve what I got, in her opinion.

A few people come to the table and sit beside Colleen. Logan, the guy from swim class who has a rare friendly face; Natasha; and a guy named Gavin.

“Is she bothering you, Colleen?” Natasha says.

Colleen seems surprised at first, then looks at me smugly. I move away immediately, not wanting a scene, as the neighboring tables have gone silent to watch.

“Maybe there should be a special Flawed table in the cafeteria,” Natasha says, with her dark, sly eyes.

I keep my head down as I leave the cafeteria. My eyes are hot, and, just as I felt in the Branding Chamber, I don’t want anyone here to see me cry.

THIRTY-TWO

WHEN I ARRIVE home after that horrendous day of school, Mom greets me dressed head to toe in perfection: glowing, healthy blond hair down in loose waves, with a pleasant smile on her face. I smell cookies or something baking. She is like a 1950s housewife, and I immediately know something is wrong. She doesn’t ask me about my day at all, which I’m glad of because I feel like I’d just burst into tears.

“Pia Wang is here to see you,” she says.

Juniper looks at us in surprise, then realizes we want to speak in private. Feeling left out, she trudges upstairs to her room and bangs the door. My being Flawed, in a bizarre way, has brought me and Mom and Dad closer, given us more reason to talk privately, which I know is making her feel like she’s being pushed out.

“She’s here? In this house?” I whisper, looking around for Pia Wang.

Mom nods quickly, takes me aside, and whispers, “She’s in the library.”

“Did she just arrive uninvited?”

“Yes. Well, no. She’s been ringing every day for an interview, and I’ve been putting her off, telling her you were … healing, but now that you’re back at school, I can’t put her off anymore.”

“I don’t want to talk to her,” I hiss.

“By order of the Guild,” Mom says quietly. “Apparently, it’s part of the package. Every Flawed must be available to speak with Pia after the trial. And if I didn’t let her in…”

“You’d be seen as aiding a Flawed.”

“You’re my daughter ,” she says, her eyes filling.

“Mom, it’s okay. I’ll do it.”

“What are you going to say?” she asks nervously. “Perhaps we should call Mr. Berry.”

“I don’t want to be coached. He’ll just tell me to lie, and I can’t do that.”

It still hurts for me to put full weight on my foot, but I don’t want Pia to see me limping. She’s waiting for me in the library. I take a deep breath and enter. I tell Mom it’s okay for us to be alone. I would prefer it, without having to look at her constantly and worry if what I’m saying is okay. I don’t plan on saying much anyway. Monosyllabic answers would kill Pia, and that’s what I intend on giving.

Pia is even tinier in the flesh than on TV. She’s like a petite doll that looks like the wind could blow her over, though I know that is not the case. Even the wind would lose a battle with her. Her skin is soft and peachy, her clothes delicate and pretty, a silk ivory top with delicate organza flowers and a lace pencil skirt. She even smells of peaches. Everything about her is so fine and pretty, but then her eyes are hard. Not cold, but ready. All-seeing, aware of everything like two zoom lenses on a camera.

“Pia Wang,” she says politely, holding out her hand.

I stall, unsure what to do. My seared hand is no longer bandaged; I had to remove the light gauze for school so I wouldn’t be seen as hiding my flaws. I haven’t had to shake hands with anyone yet. My hand hangs limply by my side. I leave her hand hanging midair. Her eyes drop to my hand, and then she smiles. “Oh, of course.” She drops her hand. I’m certain she knew what she was doing.

I didn’t trust her before, and I don’t trust her even more now. If she tried to put me in my place, on the back foot, then she has failed. It is she who has fallen back first, because I won’t make this easy for her.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Shall we sit here?”

There are two armchairs by the bay window, which overlooks a small, pretty flower garden that Mom tends when she insists she’s having a fat day. But the shutters are still closed to protect our privacy from the press.

She holds out her hand for me to sit, as though this is her home.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time,” she says with a big grin. “You’re big news, Celestine. Seventeen-year-old ex-girlfriend of Art Crevan, branded five times, turns out to be the most Flawed girl in history. Talking to you is the biggest scoop of the year.”

“I find it intriguing that my life entertains you so much.”

Her smile lessens a little. “I’m not alone in that, obviously.” She refers to the press outside the house. “As you know, under the Guild rules, I have a sit-down with the Flawed, which will go out on our online news, TV, magazines.”