him. I know this because, despite the terror that’s inside me over what is about to come, I am satisfied.
I focus on Carrick, even as Tina and Bark come to take me away. I watch him, still, strong and silent, like the rock he was named for.
Tina and Bark take me out of court and lead me back into the waiting room where I had lunch not long before. My head is still spinning from what has just happened. It’s all a blur already, and I need someone to help bring it all back to me, to remind me of what has happened. What did I say?
I notice Tina’s grip on my arm is tighter than usual, and so is her face.
“Tina?” I hear the terror in my voice. Gone is my earlier certainty and bravado, if that’s what it is called. I’ve learned that to be courageous is to feel fear within, every step of the way. Courage does not take over; it fights and struggles through every word you say and every step you take. It’s a battle or a dance as to whether to let it pervade. It takes courage to overcome, but it takes extreme fear to be courageous.
Tina ignores me, purposely turning her face away from me, but I can see the scowl. “Do you have any idea how stupid you’ve made me look? I believed you. I told everyone who listened that you were a good girl.”
“Tina, I’m … I’m sorry. I don’t know what …”
“It’s done now,” she snaps.
She leads me into the room, and I look around, suddenly very afraid, uncertain of what will happen with every new second. Bark closes the door behind them. I hear the lock and I’m alone.
I hear footsteps coming in my direction, down the hall. Loud, urgent steps. There is only one pair. I stand in the middle of the room and brace myself.
“Open it!” I hear Bosco shout, and I jump, startled.
The door flies open and I see the flash of a red cloak. It is Bosco, but it is not Bosco as I’ve ever seen him before. His face is like thunder, and red to match his robe.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he yells, louder than I’ve ever been spoken to before, and I’m stunned.
Tina gives him, then me, a nervous look and swiftly, quietly closes the door, leaving me inside alone with him.
“Bosco, I’m—”
“Judge Crevan!” he yells. “You will address me as such at all times, do you understand?”
I nod manically.
He seems to notice the effect he is having on me, and he calms a little. He lowers his voice.
“Celestine. You gave me your word. We discussed what we would do. I put my word, my career, on the line for you, and you betrayed me.”
“I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t think—” I stammer, but he cuts me off.
“No, you didn’t bloody think at all, did you?” he says, pacing, lost in thought, and I’m glad to be removed as his target of anger. “They’re having a field day out there with this. My own press, and the public. Seventeen-year-old young woman, educated, the envy of other girls they’ve built you up as, that I’ve built you up as –” he rolls his eyes – “speaks out in court, admits to being and is proud to be Flawed. Do you have any idea what this can do? How dangerous it is? It could breed an entire generation of imperfection, of greed and errors.” He stops pacing and comes close to my face, and I wonder how I ever found him handsome, because all the handsome is gone now. “Did you not understand, Celestine, that this is not about you? It is about our country’s future, ensuring reliable, perfect, ethically sound, morally competent leaders who can make pure decisions and lead us to prosperous times. Did you not understand that?”
He is in my face, demanding answers and explanations, and I can barely think.
“I will not have them make a poster girl of you. I wanted you to be on our side.”
“I am on your side, Bos— Judge Crevan,” I quickly correct myself. “And I don’t think you have anything to worry about, with my effect on people. I am not a motivator. I couldn’t lead anyone even if I tried. I just want to be normal. I want to fit in. I want to be with my friends I want to go home. I don’t want anybody to build me up as anything that I’m not,” I say, tears in my eyes. “You know I love Art so much. I love being a part of your family. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you both. I am sorry that I have embarrassed you, and I am sorry that I have put you in this position, but I just couldn’t do it to the old man. I just couldn’t let him be punished for something I did.”
“Who?” he says, confused.
“Clayton Byrne. The Flawed man.”
“But didn’t anyone tell you? He died, Celestine. He died in the hospital last night. I told you that he wouldn’t live to see punishment.”
“Oh.” I exhale shakily. Was it all in vain?
“His family shouldn’t have been in court.” He continues pacing. “I wouldn’t have allowed it. It must have been Sanchez. She’s playing a game, and Jackson is falling for it. She’s been against me for some time, but I see she’s upped it now. This is a whole new level.”
Sweat breaks out on his brow. I have never seen that before, not even on the hottest day as he stood over his barbecue. His hair, which has come undone from its blow-dry, is starting to stick to the beads of sweat on his forehead. He stops pacing and looks at me, desperate, close to my face.
“Would you recant, Celestine?”
“What?”
“We can still swing this. It will be difficult, but Pia can do it. A reality show. She can follow you round, show the country how perfect you are. And the world. You know there are other countries contemplating adopting our system? They have been watching us for a while. I could be president of The Global Guild. I’m going to speak about it in Brussels this month. Celestine, this couldn’t be worse timing.” He looks at me again, wild, desperate, intense. Terrifying. Art is gone from any of this man. I no longer see the face I love in him. “Would you recant?”
“I … I … I can’t.” I can’t go back in there and take back what I said. It would be completely illogical. Who would trust me?
I once took my lead from Bosco. I thought that he knew everything, that he was perfect, but I’m surprised by what I see right now, this panicking, conniving man, desperate to maintain his sliding power. He is clutching at straws that are so delicate they will disintegrate upon his touch, and he is using me in the centre of all this. Granddad was right.
“I can’t. I’m sorry,” I say gently. “Could you please let me explain this to Art myself?”
His face hardens, and I brace myself for another shout, but instead he is so quiet I have to strain my ear to hear, which, of course, is worse. It’s almost a hiss.
“If
