Bosco looks at me to respond.
“I will.”
“Good. Now.” He takes out a tablet and taps and swipes his documents. “This nonsense on the bus this morning.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Art told me all about it.”
I’m not surprised by this. Art wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter, and I am sorry again by how my actions have affected the people I love. I assume Art told him the truth. Art would never lie to his dad, but would he to protect me? I’m suddenly unsure of the story I am to tell, particularly after being told by my parents to lie.
“Unfortunately, already there are people using your connection to Art to take advantage and undermine the work of the Guild. The minority, of course. You may be used as a pawn in their game, Celestine.” He looks at my parents and then back to me. “This is just extremely bad timing in light of the Jimmy Child verdict this morning, where people think I was too lenient. But, Celestine, you have always been one of my greatest supporters. You’re going to be just fine.”
I smile, relieved.
“I have my notes, but I want you to tell me what happened this morning.”
I wonder what Art has said, but then I settle for the truth, hoping I’m not getting him into trouble. After all, there were thirty other people on the bus who will testify to seeing exactly the same thing. All I have to say is that I know I was wrong. That should be easy.
“There were two ladies sitting in the Flawed seats. One had broken her leg and sat there because there was room to extend her leg, and the other was her friend. An old Flawed man got on the bus. He had nowhere to sit. He started coughing. He could barely stand. He was getting worse and worse. I asked the lady who didn’t have the broken leg—”
“Margaret,” Bosco interrupts me, staring at me intently, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips, narrowed in suspicion, analyzing my every word, every facial expression, every little movement. I concentrate on the story.
“Right. Margaret. I asked her if she would move so he could sit down.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
“Because he was disturbing the passengers on the bus, that’s why,” he interrupts. “Because his Flawed, disgusting, infectious cough was infecting the good people in our society, and you were concerned about them and yourself.”
I pause, mouth open, unsure of what to say. I look at Mom and Dad. Mom is nodding coolly, and Dad’s bloodshot eyes are focused on the table, not giving anything away. I don’t know what to say. This is not what I expected.
“Continue,” Bosco says.
“So she wouldn’t move, and eventually I called out for a doctor—”
“To stop his disgusting condition from spreading,” he says. “You were thinking of the people on the bus. Protecting them from the dangers of the Flawed.”
I pause.
“Continue.”
“So then I called for the driver to stop the bus.”
“Why?”
“To help—”
“To get him off the bus,” he snaps. “To get rid of him. So that the air of your fellow passengers would be cleaner, wouldn’t be polluted. You are, in fact, a hero. This is what the people outside believe now. This is the story that Pia has been telling for the past two hours. People are gathering outside to see you, the hero who stood up to the Flawed.”
My mouth drops and I look across at Dad, now understanding why he looks so shattered. Has he spent the whole morning spinning this story?
“But there’s a problem,” Bosco says. “You helped him into a seat. A seat for the flawless. And that is where my colleagues and I cannot agree, and I have spent the past hour discussing it with them. We have failed to mention this part to Pia, but, of course, there are at least a dozen people on that bus who will come forward with the story. They probably even have video.”
He looks at my dad again and my dad nods. He has received video already, something recorded on someone’s phone on the bus and sent directly into the news station. He’s probably spent the morning fighting for it not to be shown. He knows what will happen if it is.
“Rest assured, your dad will do everything in his power to make sure that video doesn’t hit the airwaves.” It sounds like a threat.
“I told you I’m doing everything that I can,” Dad says, looking him firmly in the eye.
Bosco holds his stare; they look at each other coldly.
Mom clears her throat to snap them out of their stare.
“So,” Bosco says, “after hearing that testimony, I would say this accusation is a grave injustice, as someone who was, in fact, aiding the Guild cannot be condemned to a life as Flawed. However, my fellow judges disagree. With me and with one another. Currently, Judge Jackson, who is normally a sound man, regards your act as a moral misjudgment and would like a Flawed verdict. Judge Sanchez sees your act as aiding and assisting a Flawed, which carries a punishment of imprisonment.”