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“I see. ”
Then my dad is silent, and I have to endure the ticking of the grandfather clock and await his judgment.
“I’m going to have to speak with Dick,” he says. “He might have some insight into the best course of action on matters like this. ”
Dick Shaffer is my dad’s friend, a prosecutor.
“I’ve looked into that,” I say. “And I have a meeting with the Student Affairs office this afternoon, where I’m going to ask about possible approaches. It’s not illegal to share sex pictures online, provided they’re pictures of an adult and they’re the posses
sion of the person who shares them—that they’re not stolen and they weren’t coerced. Which means, I think, there isn’t much of anything the police can do. But if we go after Nate for violating the technology policy—”
My dad’s gaze sharpens. “Go after him?”
“Yes, because the post he made last night, if he was using the campus network, that was a violation of the campus tech policy, and I think if it goes to a hearing—”
My dad stands up abruptly and carries his laptop over to his desk, where he leaves it, silver and shining. He tucks his hands behind his back and begins to pace, deep in his own thoughts.
I’ve lost the thread of my argument. I don’t think he was listening, anyway.
I don’t know what to say to get him to listen.
“Do you remember,” he asks, “what I told you when you turned fifteen and I allowed you to have your own Facebook account?”
“Yes. ”
He twirls a finger at me. Repeat it.
“You told me to be careful, because the Internet is a public forum and nothing I do or say online will ever go away. ”
“And I told you it was especially important for you to be careful, didn’t I? More than your sisters. Because you want to be a lawyer. You want to be a leader of men. ”
I did.
I do.
“Is this the behavior of a leader of men, Caroline?”
That question—it makes me dizzy for a second. It sends a wash of fire through me, a hot rush of some feeling that I can’t immediately identify.
Before my sophomore year at Putnam, I’d never understood that your whole world can pivot on a few words.
A text message that says OMG.
One question from my father: Is this the behavior of a leader of men?
The answer comes up from deep inside me. From that place beneath my lungs, that ripped-open wound that’s been cut and kicked and battered. The part of me that has refused, still refuses, to give up.
Yes is what it tells me. Yes, it fucking is.
If there’s anything I learned from a childhood spent poring over the biographies of world leaders, it’s that people who make a difference in the world succeed not despite what’s happened to them but because of it. Being a leader—it’s not about only doing things your father will approve of. It’s not about being good and smart and pretty and lucky. You can’t lead from inside a bubble.
You have to live to lead, and the past few months I’ve been alive. I’ve been falling in love with a boy my father forbade me to talk to. Hell, not a boy, a man. A smart man who works hard and never skips class except when he has to because I’m in the middle of a crisis.
A drug dealer. A brawler. West is both of those things.
But he’s also a son, an older brother, a generous lover, and a kind, amazing guy.
This year I’ve been figuring out who I am. I’ve been learning what I want, and it’s the same as what I’ve always wanted, only I’m different.
