“My boys are shy and reserved too!” shouted Gregory. “Maybe they had a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? Your son raped Hendrick by mistake, is that it?”
The mother’s face was purple and distorted by her tears. The father had put his arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged him sharply off.
“Mrs. Cruz, please disregard that last interjection,” said the principal. “Listen, let’s stay calm, this is a very difficult situation for everyone—”
“Are you making a formal complaint?” Gregory cut in. “Because if so, I’ll alert my lawyer and we can continue this conversation in an official context. But I’m starting to understand. You know that this will go nowhere with the police, because there’s no proof, isn’t that right?”
“We are here to establish what happened,” the principal continued, though his assurance was crumbling before Gregory’s determination.
“Without the involved parties present?” snapped Gregory sarcastically. “Without us having the chance to talk to our sons? You make us come here, with only one side of the story established, deliberately keeping us in the dark. I’m going to tell you what this is: it’s profiling. You’ve already decided that our sons are guilty, because they’re different. Because they don’t fit in like the others, and doesn’t that just make them the perfect suspects? Well, I won’t allow it. Is there a formal complaint? No. So nothing is keeping us here. Excuse me, but I have things to do. Emma, come on.”
I stood up without fully unfolding my body, and walked out stooped, without looking back. Gregory strode briskly down the hallway lined with metal lockers.
“Unbelievable. What do they think? We’re going to let them say whatever they want about the boys, just because they don’t fit the mould? They don’t know who they’re dealing with. I have to get on a plane to Dallas in less than an hour, and they’re going to make me miss my flight on top of it all. I don’t want you to mention this to the twins while I’m gone. I’ll deal with it when I get home.”
I stopped trying to follow in his footsteps; he was too fast. With my arms dangling at my sides, I weaved home.
I woke up drenched in sweat, breathless. I tried to inhale deeply, but something blocked it. I couldn’t seem to get any air. What was going on?
One hand on my chest, I started panting in shallow breaths, but it wasn’t enough. I looked around me to try and find help. The room was empty and the house silent.
I was alone. I was dying.
Around me, the walls started to swim, the slats of the blinds hypnotizing me. I was going to faint. I had to get hold of myself. Was I having a heart attack? I closed my eyes and tried to focus to calm down, but I couldn’t. I had to get help.
I got some breath and tried to call “Gregory,” but no sound came out. I couldn’t remember whether he was home or away. I didn’t know whether the boys were there either. My lips moved in the emptiness, trying to form the names of the twins, without success.
My clothes stuck to my stomach, suffocating me. I pulled my collar until a ripping sound released me. I took a long inhalation and felt air filling the depths of my throat. I drank several gulps of air until at last I came back to life. I was breathing. I hiccupped like a child after a sobbing fit, still shaken with panicked spasms. I fell back into the pillows, spent.
I stayed that way, stretched out, helpless. Of my ripped T-shirt, only the collar and a great, gaping hole remained on my damp chest. I closed my eyes and plunged back into sleep.
I woke up in the same position. When I lifted my eyes, I saw them. They were looking at me, side by side in the doorway. I couldn’t hold back a cry. I rolled myself up in the covers to hide my naked body.
“What are you doing there?”
“We heard you scream.”
I looked at one of them, then the other. I didn’t believe them, with the way they leered.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Go away.”
Vanya shrugged and they both turned in one gesture, disappearing from my sight. I didn’t understand what had happened. Was it an angina attack, a stroke? I should probably get myself to the doctor to check, but I felt better. There remained only an almost-imperceptible tremor inside me. I waited a bit before getting up, playing it safe.
I carefully set my feet on the floor, testing my strength. I seemed fine. A shower will put me right, I thought.
I washed my hair, exfoliated my face, and shaved my armpits and legs. I wiped the steam from the hand mirror and got out all my kits.
First, I applied a flawless base coat, mixing a little BB cream with my moisturizer. With the concealer brush, I hid the wrinkles around my eyes and a little redness around my nose. I devoted considerable time to applying the perfect smoky eye with a gold eyeshadow and a nice, thick mascara, and finished with a Bordeaux lipstick and matching blush. Then I put my hair in a twist and went to get dressed. I let my movements guide me, one leading to the other without my intervention. The spontaneity was intoxicating. I felt good. In the walk-in closet, I picked out a form-fitting cocktail dress. It had gotten too tight, but I still managed to close the zipper over my stomach.
The twins were in the kitchen. I know they watched me leave, but I paid them no attention. I just grabbed my
Vuitton and went.
I was leaving. I didn’t know where, but I was leaving.
I started the car, intending to go as far as I could. I drove down streets and turned corners with no goal or specific
