Page 83 of Atticus
Suddenly I’m back in New Carnegie, opening the door of my family home, being harassed by investigative journalists.
It’s said you drove your fiancé to infidelity. How do you respond to those rumors?
People are blaming you for Jason Lancaster’s election loss. Did you vote for Jacqueline Rivera?
It’s all little more than noise. A blur, a mixture of past and present. My first instinct is to flee, to put distance between myself and these strangers snapping photographs of me, holding microphones up to my face.
Atticus. Just thinking of him is enough to ground me. I have to find Atticus.
I collect myself, square my shoulders, lift my head, and say a phrase I’ve had to repeat oh-so-many times in the past.
“No comment.”
“Miss Warren!”
“Excuse me.” I push them and make my way to the school entrance, where a pair of police officers make certain they don’t trespass beyond a certain point, before the doors open to the public for the event.
I don’t know how they know. I don’t have my phone to do a search and see what the damage is. The stupid damn thing is probably dead somewhere.
“Miss Warren,” Carlisle calls me in the moment she spots me from the office. “Come here, please.”
So much for my brilliant talk-about-Atticus-with-Carlisle plan. I can say goodbye to being in control of the situation, and with sinking dread, I realize that I’ve most definitely lost my job.
I enter the main office alone, where Judith Carlisle, Philip Sullivan, and several other staff are gathered. Most of them are staring at me with pity, condescension, or pure disgust.
I refuse to let them sense any fear in me. My body’s already triggered into a fight-or-flight response.
I’ve been through this before. And this time, I’m fighting.
“Gather your things. You’re terminated, effective immediately.”
My body trembles, despite my resolution to remain calm. “Why?” I ask.
“Don’t play stupid.” Carlisle’s voice, gaze, and posture as she stands in front of me is righteous, like she’s prosecutor and judge. “You may be perfectly comfortable making a mockery out of yourself, but I will not allow you to use school property for your own deviant sexual gratification.”
“I haven’t been able to find my phone today,” I reply curtly. “So I’d like a little context as to why you’re choosing to try to humiliate me in front of the entire school staff with allegations like this.”
Sullivan is all too ready as he takes out his phone, pulling up an article with my naked body on display on the couch, pressed into Atticus. The only modesty I’m given are blurred pixels over my bare skin. “Look familiar?”
My mouth drops open, humiliation gripping my stomach, making me ill.
Someone took photos of me.
In my home.
I knew I should’ve checked the curtains. I’d forgotten my windows weren’t crafted with privacy in mind. That was my mistake.
But this goes far beyond any absent-mindedness on my part. My life has been invaded.
For the briefest moment, I wish I could be invisible. I’m acutely aware of just how many people are staring at me. This is all so surreal. I search the sea of faces, my coworkers either uncomfortable or unforgiving.
But then, slow rage takes the place of my embarrassment.
“Your little happy fun time last night is all over the internet, Lucy.” Sullivan almost sounds gleeful in his derision, as though this is my comeuppance for turning him down all those months ago. “Taking a tin can for a ride on your couch for everyone to see. Not very smart.”
In the gathering of teachers, I hear someone softly mutter, “Whore.”
No one moves except Denise, who turns to glare at whoever said that.
