41
THERE’S NO LIGHT.
There’s no hope.
It’s over. I’d ruined my life and Royce’s. And I don’t know how to fix things.
After three tumultuous days of refusing to go to school, of refusing to leave my room and only eating whatever was left outside my door on a tray, of not telling them what was going on beyond pleading that I was sick, I finally open the door and knock on my parents’ door, even if it is Thursday night, aka date night. When they open the door, their faces are wan but hopeful.
“I need to speak to the Taslims,” I say.
My mother makes a sound. Stanley makes me sit down and run them through the entire chain of events. I do so in a monotone. When I’m done, both of them are stunned silent.
“Oh, Agnes,” my mother says. “How did it come to this?”
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I say. I hear my voice as though it’s filtering through some kind of dense fog. “I didn’t mean for it to blow up like this. But I have to take responsibility for it. I have to save Royce.”
“You can’t take the fall for this,” Stanley says urgently. “It’s not your fault. It’s this Vern’s fault!”
“He’ll never come forth with this. He’s too smart. He’s already taken care of whatever trail he left.”
Stanley puts a hand on my shoulder. “Agnes, if you do this, it could affect your future.”
“And what about Royce’s future?” I respond quietly, pulling out of his grasp.
Then I start to sob. Now I’ve done it. I’ve tried all my life, all my life, to be the best version of myself so that I could have the best future I could have. To deserve my mother’s love, her sacrifices. In the end, I’m just a good-for-nothing, throwaway mistake.
No wonder my father left.
No wonder Zee left.
No wonder the only kind of friends I make are bottom-feeding scum like Vern.
I am worthless.
“You don’t deserve a child like me,” I say through sobs.
My mother throws her arms around me and crushes me with the force of her hug. “Don’t you say that,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “I don’t ever want to hear you say something like that. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” She turns to Stanley and offers a weak grin. “Sorry, Stanley. No offense.”
“None taken,” he says, kissing the top of her head tenderly.
“Gross,” I mutter, swiping my eyes, which cracks a smile from my parents, even though nothing has changed and I believe every word I said just now. In that moment, I realize that I have been using comedy as a shield for my real emotions. And I still didn’t believe my mother: She had to say these things. Wait till she has Yina. Wait till she has her do-over.
The idea of saying all that I had said in front of the Taslims made me sick. I can’t believe that Royce hadn’t said anything to anyone thus far. He might not want anything to do with me, but he’s still protecting me. What did that say about me?
“Let’s just go to the Taslims,” I croak. Not that I could lose Royce any more than I’d already lost him, anyway.
~
At the Taslims, both Peter and Ming Taslim sit before me and Stanley (Mom had to stay behind for Rosie), a tray of warm water and tea on the table, as I explain everything. Royce doesn’t make an appearance, which I guess is a small kindness. Ming’s face telegraphs such alarming feelings for me that I shrink behind Stanley, who places his arm around me. “I’m truly sorry for my part in this,” I say in a small voice. “I didn’t know Vern would…would run with things the way he did, and then the internet mob…just twisted everything, amplified it, and made things so much worse. Please tell Royce I’m sorry for the damage I’ve done to his reputation, and I’ll do everything, everything, I can to resolve this, explain to TentPole, go public with my involvement, whatever. I just want to make things okay for him again. I am also sorry your family got caught up in this.”
Peter’s face softens. “Thank you for coming forward with this, Agnes, even though you aren’t the true culprit. I can’t speak on behalf of my son, but for my part I forgive you. You are very brave.” Ming’s face twists, but she does not contradict him.
“So, how should we resolve this?” Stanley says.
“Of course we’ll need to discuss this with TentPole and give them any evidence Agnes might have to support that Vern started these baseless rumors. This will help exonerate Royce, above all, and me, though I was never really worried about the outcome of the investigation, since I’m not invested in Frisson at all, plus I have a friendly”—he slides a look at me—“but utterly professional relationship with the CEO and his team. Also, Ulrich—the CEO—tells me that his team already has the emails in which they had discussed the raising of the sponsorship amount to back up the independence of this decision—in fact, the genesis of the whole discussion came from a suggestion of their marketing intern, who saw the potential of bigging up this competition in light of the interest from social media, early on, so that’s helpful.”
He takes a sip of water and continues. “And just yesterday, Ulrich also mentioned that they managed to secure a third-party sponsor that is interested in taking over their commitment, and everyone is coming out of this without too much reputational damage. In fact, Frisson is probably going to get a lot of good PR out of this once it’s made clear that they did nothing wrong.” His eyes are kind. “Look, just give us another day to sort things out without you needing to make any kind of public statement, okay? We will regroup in a day or two.”
I swallow. My eyes well with tears. “Thank you.”
“Do you have something that can prove this Vern guy masterminded this?” Ming snaps.
I open my mouth, then shut it before shaking my head.
“Well then, you are dismissed,” Ming says.
Suddenly, her phone vibrates and she takes it out, making a face as she does. I start when I recognize the phone case—it’s a sleek brushed metal case with the initials RT embossed on the bottom left and the Dunia crest.
It’s Royce’s phone.
Ming taps in a passcode and taps quickly on the screen. A moue of distaste twists her perfect features. “Another DM with a girl offering to flash her tits at my barely legal son. Wonderful, just wonderful. Thank God for Nina’s quick thinking and that sensible suggestion to screen his messages and social media accounts! God knows what other PR mistakes he was going to make in the name of—”
She breaks off and gazes at me curiously. “What’s your social media handle?”
“Why?” I ask.
“Just tell me”—a sickly sweet smile spreads across her face—“please.”
“It’s…it’s ReallyAgnes.”
“Do you have any other handles on other apps?” she says softly.
“Er…n-no?” I have one handle across all the apps.
“What’s this about?” Stanley interrupts, his patience fraying.
“I’m just trying to figure out the identity of the person who messaged Royce on the day the news broke. All I saw were the messages that popped up in the notifications, since he’s been chatting with this person on a locked chat app and I can’t seem to compel him to show the entire history to me”—she waves her arm around, like what she’s confessing to is normal and not a total breach of trust—“but I think that person and my son was in some kind of age-inappropriate relationship, because she kept asking how he was doing and begging him to call her. Only, of course, Royce saved this person under some kind of code name.”
“Oh?” I say casually, my palm sweating. As she was speaking, I’d slipped my hand into my bag to turn my phone off, just in case she decided to call it. “What was it?”
“It’s LilHotFlashes.”
Stanley makes a little noise next to me again, composes himself, and says jokily, “Are you sure you know your son as well as your spying suggests?”
Ming’s glare could slice steel. “I’m going to assume you were joking, Mr. Morissette.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, poker-faced. “Anyway, it’s late and we don’t want to take up any more of your time, so I suggest you let me liaise with the school to get this cleared up as much as we can?”
After we have bid farewell to the Taslims, Stanley waits till we’re in the car before he turns to me and says, “This does not mean you’re off the hook at all, LilHotFlashes.”
Then he sort of shudders a little and a wave of belly laughs roll over him. I’ve never actually thought a human being could hoot in laughter but there he is, educating me. I guess when you come this close to a catastrophe as a parent, you kind of have to see the funny side of things or you might genuinely—forgive my French—lose your shit and run screaming into the proverbial dessert, never to return again.