Font Size:  

“Where are you?” my dad asks.

“At West’s.”

“Again?”

“Again.” I scoot on the mattress until my back hits the wall, and then I stick my legs underneath the hideous comforter. I’ve slept here so many times now that it’s beginning to feel like my hideous comforter. My room. Cozy and familiar.

“Caroline.” My father packs a million admonitions into the three syllables of my name.

“Let’s not start this, okay?”

Some days, I wish I’d never told him I was back together with West, because he will not let it go. West has always been and apparently will always be “that boy” to my dad. As in, That boy is all wrong for you, That boy is trouble, That boy is going to break your heart, and, lately, That boy is a distraction you don’t need.

“The sister is there?” he asks.

“Her name is Frankie, Dad. She lives here.”

“I’m not comfortable with it.”

“You don’t actually have to be.”

“I was talking to Janelle, and—”

“Stop right there,” I tell him. “Return to the reason you called. Or I will hang up.”

That earns me another sigh, but it works.

Dad tells me there’s gossip on the judge grapevine that Senator Carlisle is looking at introducing a law to criminalize revenge porn. Someone told someone who told my dad that I might be contacted as an expert witness.

Expert witness. The phrase gives me goose bumps.

I want to be an expert witness.

“I know your instinct is going to be to help with this,” he says. “Normally, I’d support that, but we’re in a delicate position with the case, and any testimony you share even informally might come back to bite us in the ass. If they find out that the Jane Doe in the suit is you—”

“I get it.”

“Anything you say right now, Caroline—anything that might become public—” he warns.

“No, right, I get it. If they call, I’ll be careful.”

This is how lawsuits work: they limit your options, choke off your freedom to speak and act and be who you want, because you always have to be thinking about the jury in your future and how they might see your behavior.

“I’m not sure who gave them your name, even,” he says. “We have to be cautious about your profile. This issue’s starting to get a lot of attention, and if you become a spokesperson, get known as an activist, that affects our options down the road. We want to—”

“Dad, I get it. Thanks for the warning. You can stop now.”

I can see him in my mind’s eye. He’s in his study at home, I’m sure, feet propped up on his desk, fingertips pressing into one temple, forehead creased in a frown.

Sighing.

“Okay,” he says. “How’s everything going with your classes?”

“Classes are fine.”

“You have everything you need?”

“Yep.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like