Page 10 of Lovefool

Lake can’t hide the frisson of giddiness dancing in her eyes, nor can she snuff out the tiny dimple that shows itself at my expense. “In that case, then, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

4

HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN

LAKE

Here I am again.

Jail isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. I mean, jail isn’t an experience people really encourage, but it’s definitely heavily glamorized in television.

They stuck me—an innocent girl in her early twenties—in here with a crack addict who stabbed her own dealer with a needle because the “shadow man” told her to, a beefy woman with a face that resembles bloody pulp—courtesy of a bar brawl—and a teenager with heavy eyeliner who thought that vandalizing a billboard would be a great use of their time.

My crime was way tamer! You can hardly even call it a crime! I was peacefully protesting at a NO MORE ANIMAL EXPERIMENTATION rally and simply refused to disperse when law enforcement shut everything down. Sure, I may have cussed them out and accused them of being complicit in killing our furry little compadres, but that was a conscious decision on my end.

I’m passionate about protesting, and I hate how the government views it as opposition rather than taking the time to really hear the public’s concerns. It’s not hurting anyone. In fact, I’d argue that it’s a great way to bring the community together. Protesting stimulates cooperation, creativity, and communication. If people like me aren’t making our voices heard, then we aren’t using our privilege for the right reasons.

I’m a rule breaker. Have been ever since I started to think for myself. I speak my mind and challenge the authorities when there’s a gaping, immoral hole in the fabric of ethics. I want to make a difference. I want to mean something. Fighting for what’s right has been threaded into my DNA since I was five and saw Dusty McShepard stealing Penny Loper’s Barbie on the playground.

Dusty was one of those…difficult…kids. Communicated in grunts, had an aversion to teachers and being told “no,” and would use his extra muscle mass to instill fear across the greater population of Ms. Elizabeth’s class. He was strongheaded, and he didn’t care about the consequences of his actions when building that alarmingly stark moral repertoire of his. So, when I was the only one who had the balls to stand up to him, I made sure he never thought about touching another kid’s toy ever again.

Pretty sure I gave the dude some childhood trauma.

I sigh histrionically, making a show of dragging my finger back and forth across the bars like an inmate rattling a tin cup against heavy-duty steel. I didn’t do anything wrong in my eyes, but arguing about the legality of it all would be fruitless. Plus, the officer babysitting my ragtag team of misfits has a perpetual deadpan look and jowls that hang lower than an easily miffed bulldog’s.

I haven’t been in here very long—probably three hours—but I’ve been holding my pee, my stomach is eating itself from hunger, and I have a raging headache.

My mom should just be glad it’s not that serious of a charge. I could’ve chosen the violent route, but I refrained. That’s a lot of character development for little ol’ me.

Suddenly, a lean officer pops into my periphery and jiggles his stacked key ring into the lock, sighing in exasperation at the frequency of my visits. “Capitano, your bail has been paid. You’re free to go.”

“Finally,” I mutter beneath my breath, waving goodbye to the goth teenager who flips me off in response, the bar brute with half her face hanging off, and the old woman speaking in tongues.

Chest puffed out in pride, I strut to the front of the building like I own the place, only to have my satisfaction stamped out by my overbearing mother. Who, unfortunately, is accompanied by my younger brother, Max.

Shit. This is surely going to send some mixed messages. Max and I get along like two peas in a pod, so seeing his sister as the brunt of a protest gone wrong will a hundred percent alter his little brain chemistry.

I wipe the arrogant grin right off my face.

My mother leaves me in the dust and starts her trek toward the door. “How many times am I going to have to bail you out, Lake?” she growls, disappointment brimming on her tongue.

“Third time’s the charm?”

I use humor and sarcasm as a defense mechanism because it’s easier than dealing with all the barely repressed feelings of inadequacy that infect my body like rot beneath otherwise pristine floorboards.

Her condescension doesn’t just bank—it swells. It swells until it pours over, and I’m the clear target of the impending tsunami that’s about to burst through her poorly constructed seawalls. “This is why I asked you to stop doing protests. Not only are you being reckless with your future, but you’re setting a terrible example for your brother.”

As we step over the threshold of the police department, Max looks back at me with tears glossing over his large eyes. It feels like a hydraulic press is squeezing all the blood out of my heart, and nausea begins to curdle the empty contents of my belly.

Can’t my mom see that I’m actually trying to set a good example? I’m trying to show Max that he has the power to stand up for what he believes in, and he shouldn’t have to place his faith in the government if said government is doing something shady.

The walk to my mom’s humble SUV is never-ending, and it certainly doesn’t help that the sun is hell-bent on scorching my retinas. I create a makeshift visor with my hand, grimacing at the spotlight exposing all my unspoken, degenerate truths.

“It’s not my fault the world is fucked up and I’m trying to do the right thing,” I retort, realizing three seconds too late that my prohibited swearing is the last straw that fully lets my mother off her leash. Her fang-bitten, mangled leash.

She towers over me, her red face screwed into a countenance of sheer rage. Poor Max ducks behind her leg to evade the foreseeable fallout.

“You’ve been arrested three times, Lake. Three. Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you think this doesn’t stay on your permanent record just because I come and bail you out every time? The decisions you make have consequences, and you haven’t bothered to take them seriously. You’re lucky that nothing worse has happened to you. You get that, don’t you?”