“You asked me what I did to become Flawed when we first met. I didn’t tell you. When I was fifteen, I ran away with my English teacher. He was twenty-nine. And married. It was my idea. I thought it would be okay. But it wasn’t. It was all over the news. As if I was missing. We got caught. He was sent to jail. I was under eighteen, so I got branded.”
“I couldn’t give up smoking when I was pregnant,” Cordelia says suddenly, loudly so that others listen in, too. “The suburban moms of Madison Meadows were disgusted. They held their own little Flawed court, after which they gave me a warning. But I couldn’t stop. I was caught, eight months pregnant, with my head out the bathroom window of the charity bake sale, and they all decided to report me. I pleaded with them to wait until after my baby was born to report me so that she wouldn’t be born F.A.B. and taken away from me. A single Flawed mother can’t keep her child. They all agreed, bar one woman.”
“I used to wear my grandmother’s clothes,” Lennox says, serious, then starts laughing. “Just kidding. I set up and managed a dating website that assisted people in cheating on their wives.”
We all look at him, disgusted.
“That was you?” Mona asks, her face scrunched up. “You jerk.”
“One million customers. Perfectly legal. I had a Ferrari and everything.”
“The Guild took it?” Fergus asks, more moved by the loss of a Ferrari than anything else.
“Nope. Wife got it in the divorce.”
We all laugh.
“Well, you deserve your brand,” Mona says, but we know she doesn’t mean it.
Fergus speaks up, serious for once. “I was a police officer. I swapped ‘intimate images’ with my girlfriend on my work phone. I was suspended on full pay for fifteen months. It wasn’t anything illegal and I was cleared of gross misconduct, but the force reported me, found me Flawed.”
I look at them all in surprise. As each person confesses, it’s like it gives the next person the confidence to tell their story, too, their secrets all coming out as we walk together.
Carrick’s mother speaks up. “I got a brand on my tongue for speaking out against society. Adam and I weren’t always bakers at plants,” she says almost sarcastically. “We were doctors. We had our own general practice. We wrote anti-vaccination papers, speaking out about the dangers of vaccinations. The medical profession and the government didn’t like our professional opinions.”
“I didn’t do anything,” an older man I don’t know joins in. “I was set up. The Guild told me I was lying and branded me.”
We all fall silent after that.
FIFTY-NINE
AS WE WALK over the bridge that connects the city to the castle, I start thinking about capacities and then I can’t stop. There is a space that people hold for you, within themselves. Every person has a space for every person they meet—sometimes the capacity is deep, sometimes it is shallow. The streets are lined with people and Whistleblowers, all this for us. The capacity these people hold for us is enormous, in each of them.
People who are loved can eventually be hated in equal amounts. How Art loved me before I was caught versus his anger with me now, the rage that led him to join the Whistleblowers. How guilty Juniper felt for not telling me about helping to hide Art, which led her to take my place in the hospital, risking her own freedom to make it up to me. Switching one with another.
If the space is there for us, all we have to do is alter the feelings. As I look at the faces of those who watch us parade through the streets, with our flaws on display, our weaknesses, our imperfections, I feel hopeful, I sense that the tide could change. If they hate us this much, they could love us equally.
We turn the corner and start to walk up the steep cobblestoned road to Highland Castle, and as if the people lining the streets could read my thoughts I suddenly hear cheering. Great, big, loud, happy cheering. It jars with the sounds that have led us here. I look around and up ahead on the right-hand side, my side, I see my mom, Juniper, and Ewan jumping up and down on the edge of the road, cheering everyone on, thumping their fists in the air.
“Whoooo!” Mom screams happily, tears in her eyes. “That’s my daughter; that’s my girl!”
“Mom!” I yell. “Mom!” I can’t believe it, I start jumping up and down. “That’s my mom!” I tell the others who start to wave at her as we near.
As they gather as much attention as they can, Juniper, Mom, and even little Ewan open their shirts, lift their sweaters over their heads, and reveal T-shirts that read ABOLISH THE GUILD in red print.
The Flawed who see grin and cheer, applaud my family’s bravery in showing their support, and I’m so proud of them. Everybody who passes them smiles and wipes their tears as my family, and the surrounding people Mom has managed to muster together, applaud us. I realize it’s not just the family and friends of the Flawed who have gathered at the gates of Highland Castle but also the students from Tobias’s school who have carried out their plans to protest. I see Tobias among the crowd, too, protesting his own mother’s organization. As we pass, Mom reaches out her hand and I grab it. A Whistleblower immediately tries to pull us apart, but we hold on, looking deep into each other’s eyes, tears flowing.
“I love you, baby. I’m so proud of you,” she says, barely able to keep it together. “Chin up, Celestine.” She raises her voice. “Chins up, all of you. We’re here to support you.”
I lift my chin and I intend to keep it up. Then we let go.
And there are the very special people in our lives who have the endless capacity to love us for all of our flaws.
SIXTY
THE SINGLE FILES of men and women merge together as we enter the courtyard of Highland Castle, familiar territory for all who took steps from our normal lives to Flawed lives. We are wedged together, thousands of us; it’s hard to breathe. A temporary stage has been set up beneath the Clock Tower, the headquarters of the Guild.
Crevan’s red robe blows in the light breeze as he makes his way from the offices to the stage. Art stands beside the stage, guarding, eyes running over the crowd. Seeing him like this doesn’t have the same punch-in-the-stomach effect it had before. I’ve had time to relive the sight of him, think about it and picture it often. Now I study him curiously, trying to analyze what’s going through his mind. As Crevan passes Art he places an affectionate hand on his shoulder and grins broadly, proud to have his son by his side. Someone tuts beside me. Art is embarrassed by this public display of affection and lowers his head, cheeks rosy.
Crevan takes to the podium and looks around. Eyes searching. At first I think he’s taking it all in and then I realize he’s looking for someone. For me. He knows that I’m here.
I’m too far away from the stage.
“Celestine,” Mona hisses. “What are you doing?”
“I need to get closer.”
I push my way through people who are happy to let me pass; nobody is vying for the front row. Nobody here is present out of choice.