“I can’t lie.”
“Of course you can’t,” he says, confused, looking at me as if he doesn’t recognize me. “To lie would be to prove that you are Flawed. I would never ask you to lie,” he says, as though insulted. “It is the only way you will go free, prevent being branded for life, prevent being Ousted. It is the only way. What we discussed here now is what happened, and you will confirm that in court, you will say loud and clear for all to hear that society must seek out and oust the Flawed scum in our society. It is the Guild’s work, and you, in full support of the Guild and its values, were working under its rules. You didn’t aid a Flawed. What you did was aid the Guild and, in turn, aid society. That’s what you will tell them. Are we agreed?”
I’m the poster girl. One side wants to use me to prove the Guild is biased; the Guild wants to use me to prove that it isn’t. The perfect girl to prove its power. It wants me to feed the fear.
“Agreed,” I say shakily.
SIXTEEN
MY HEARING IS this afternoon. The boy in the room beside me, whom I have nicknamed Soldier, has continued to ignore me. I’m sure that seeing me embrace Bosco didn’t do much to sway his initial feelings about me. The word that Pia Wang has been pushing on behalf of Crevan is that I was trying to get rid of the Flawed man from the bus, not help him. If Soldier has seen these reports, which I’m sure he has because Flawed Court TV is the only station we can get on the tiny television in our cells, then that is why he isn’t looking at me. I can only gather from this that he is not anti-Flawed, that he feels my actions were unfair. If only he knew the truth, then he would know he had an ally in the cells. I know this untruth will save my life, but I can’t help but feel embarrassed that this is the perception out there of me. I feel Soldier’s disgust through the wall, and I don’t blame him, but I wonder, if he had the same chance to get out of this, would he take it?
Dad goes back to work and Mom stays with me. She has brought with her a suitcase of my clothes for the trial, and it looks like she went into a clothes store and grabbed every item from the racks. Soldier watches with a sarcastic look as Mom lays out the clothes on my bed, hangs them from every point of the cell she can. He shakes his head and starts pacing. I feel self-conscious about all the fuss in my cell when he has been alone all morning, but I try to put his presence out of my mind and concentrate on saving my own life.
“That’s a lot of pink,” I state as I run my eyes over the selection.
“We’ve got pale pink, baby pink, orchid pink, champagne pink, pink lace, cherry blossom pink, lavender pink, cotton candy, hot pink.…” Mom lists the shades as she moves along the line, already eliminating the ones she doesn’t like and tossing them back into the suitcase. The hot pinks, candy pinks, and lace are removed. The suggestive tops with the low fronts are taken away. We settle on baby pink: skinny cropped trousers and a blouse so light pink it is almost white, buttoned up the center with ruffles, and a pair of ballet flats. A walk across the cobblestoned courtyard in heels is too much of a stage set for a tripping/heel-getting-caught disaster. Not a good look for the cameras and the hysterical public, which will be there to watch me. The flats are pink-and-tan leopard print.
“They’re sweet, but they say ‘don’t mess with me,’ too,” Mom says. “Remember, in this world, image is everything.”
Tina arrives with a male mannequin, then leaves.
“Sweetheart, this is Mr. Berry,” Mom says. “He will be representing your case. Judge Crevan recommended him, says he’s the best. He represented Jimmy Child.”
The mannequin suddenly moves. He offers me a big smile, a smile I don’t believe, a smile that is as fake as the smooth skin on his face. From the neck down he looks sixty; from the chin up he looks thirty. He wears a dapper suit—like he’s just walked out of the airbrushed pages of a magazine—shiny shoes, a handkerchief perfectly positioned in his pocket, and gold cuff links to match his gold tie. His face shimmers where his cheekbones have been accentuated, and I definitely see powder on his skin. He’s perfect, and yet I don’t trust him. I look over at Soldier, who is glaring at my newly appointed representative with suspicion. I must say I agree, once again, with his instincts. Our eyes meet, and he shakes his head as though I am nothing and then walks to the far corner of his cell, as far away from me as he can physically get.
“Celestine,” Mom says. She jerks her head in Mr. Berry’s direction, and I realize I haven’t acknowledged him yet.