All of This Is True
Page 12
Are you still up? Did you see my email?
FATIMA
I just finished reading.
Heinous.
I can’t believe those guys only got 9-12 months. That means they’re already out by now?!!
Unfuckingbelievable.
They’re probably laughing their asses off at this very moment.
Fuckers.
And it was a juvenile facility. It probably wasn’t even that bad. They get school and recreation in there. Education and ping pong! I looked it up. It was probably nicer than some people’s homes.
Fucking paradise.
That asshole Judge Larsing didn’t want to “cause more harm than good.”
Fuck him.
How can I have normal conversations with Jonah tomorrow after reading this stuff?
You’ll figure it out. Not to criticize, but you never had normal conversations with him. Seriously, what has he ever talked about? Why change now?
Haha. You’re right. It’s always me babbling about stupid stuff and him agreeing with me.
Actually sounds like the ideal relationship.
There would probably be zero divorces if
marriages were like that. Look, knowing his precious truth and reading these articles about him should bring you closer not further apart.
You’re right. It should.
Get some sleep.
I’ll try.
Penny
How did you feel about Soleil and Jonah?
Like, as a couple?
Yes.
I liked them together, plus I wanted Soleil to be happy. Back then I thought it was what Soleil wanted, but I don’t know anymore. I think Fatima pushed her into being with him.
Is that what she’s been telling you?
No, she doesn’t really like talking about it. It’s hard for her; she’s really upset. [sighs] Soleil asked Fatima for advice. I remember it clear as anything. The Monday after the Undertow meeting, I was standing with Soleil at her locker before first period. She kept fixing her hair, and she redid her lip gloss three times. I’d never seen her that nervous before. It wasn’t an excited type of nervous. It was more like she was second-guessing about being with him. I asked her if she was happy, and she said, “I don’t know yet.” She texted Fatima for advice. I saw Fatima’s answer.
What did she say?
“Get him, girl! Keep calm and girlfriend on.” [shakes head] Fatima pressured Soleil into going out with him.
You don’t think Soleil would have been in that relationship if Fatima wasn’t involved?
No. And now she’s a mess. Fatima just wanted to see what would happen. She played with them as characters for her novel because she wasn’t talented enough to think of her own story.
Whoa. That’s a pointed statement.
I’m getting angrier about it every day.
I can see that.
I heard it on Extra. Mario Lopez said Fatima was like the chess player Bobby Fischer and that she set us all up like pawns for a fall.
Penny, I thought you were staying away from television and the internet.
I was. I mean, I am. But I can’t help it if it’s on at Soleil’s house. She watches everything.
Soleil saw that?
Yes.
What’d she say about it?
She didn’t say anything. She cried.
The Absolution of Brady Stevenson
BY FATIMA RO
(excerpt)
Sunny looked so pretty that morning, even prettier than her profile picture. She looked up from her phone as Brady walked toward her.
She’d been texting with Thora all morning, asking, “Is this the worst idea or not? Am I ready for this? Is he? Should we kiss or not? Should I bring up South Carlisle or avoid it?” Thora told her to do whatever felt right and to “Keep calm and girlfriend on.” So that’s what Sunny intended to do.
Brady quickened his pace. He looked better than ever; his eyes were clearer, brighter. It must’ve done him good to unload his past and let Sunny in. He smiled for her, at her, about her. That could only be a positive thing.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
For all their pent-up emotion, “hey” was the only syllable they could manage. There had been too many words exchanged at Thora Temple’s house; they were fresh out of words at the moment. Paloma, who was standing beside her best friend, cleared her throat. “Hi, Brady. How was the rest of your weekend?”
“Fine. How was yours?” Brady asked, to be polite.
“Okay.” Paloma checked the time. “Well, uh, I should go to class early. Maybe it’ll show initiative.” She slipped away just as Brady leaned forward to kiss Sunny on the cheek.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
This relationship was going to take time. That was okay. Brady had lots of time to spend with Sunny and make himself recognized as her boyfriend, which was a pure, hopeful person to be.
Brady had spent his first two months at Morley trying to blend into the crowd. This morning he draped his arm over Sunny’s shoulders and walked with a slight sway as if to say, Check me out. I’m Sunny Vaughn’s boyfriend. She chose me. I must be a regular guy with nothing but regular-guy problems. Here’s my regular-guy swagger.
“Hey, someone scored a little bit of sunshine,” Brady heard someone say in the crowded hallway.
Sunny and her new boyfriend turned into the art room and took their usual seats. It felt different and exciting, sitting together as a couple, rather than as just friends. “So, do you want to hang out after school?”
“I do. I can’t today, though.” Brady ran a hand down Sunny’s arm. “I have, uh . . . a thing.” He wasn’t prepared with an excuse. Sunny knew he didn’t have sports or clubs.
“A thing?” Sunny searched his face.
Brady didn’t want her to think he was having second thoughts about dating her. “I see a psychologist on Mondays,” he confessed. At least she’d know the reason was important.
“Oh.” Sunny pulled the wire of her spiral notebook. One thought clouded over her: My boyfriend was the South Carlisle sophomore. She hadn’t slept much the night before—too many articles about the hazing scandal. Details of wrestling camp cluttered Sunny’s mind, reminding her of how emotionally fragile Brady must be.
Brady hung his head. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“All right.” She was afraid the topic would come up. She was also afraid that it wouldn’t. Sunny didn’t want him to think she didn’t care. She looked around. Their classmates were settling into the classroom. “But we can, if you want to,” she said softly. “We should be inside/out. It’s healthy for us.”
“I know. I know that we can talk about anything, but . . .” Brady wanted to put an end to this. He could be one of those perfect Morley website guys with a pressed shirt and a science experiment with just the right amount of bubbles in the beaker. “I don’t want to. I’ve been working really hard to move on with my life. And I want us to be a normal couple.”
“Okay.” Sunny was so relieved, she actually sighed aloud. She didn’t want to dwell on South Carlisle any more than he did. She wanted them to be a normal couple, too. Anyway, Brady had a psychologist. Thora was right. Brady didn’t need his girlfriend to counsel him. “So then, we won’t talk about it. Unless you change your mind, and that’ll be fine, too.”
“I won’t,” Brady said, louder, his final words on the matter. He was so courageous moving forward this way.
“I do have one question for you, though.” Brady wrinkled his brow. “Is your real name Sunshine Vaughn?”
Sunny laughed. “Yes.”
“How did I not know this?” Brady touched Sunny’s hair in a very comforting, normal-boyfriend-like gesture.
“I don’t know.” She pulled on his lapel. Just do what feels right,
Sunny thought. “You never asked.”
“It’s perfect.” He squeezed Sunny’s leg under the table. “Perfect.”
Miri
Penny absolutely reamed me out about taking Quinn and Emma to the Witches Brew. [laughs]
Why is that funny?
Because that’s when I got the idea for my Instagram series for Undertow Society. I called it #FatimaWasHere, which was pictures of places around town that Fatima had been. I literally went back to the Witches Brew and posted a photo of her favorite table with the caption “#FatimaWasHere. Where? Your guess is as good as their hot cup of Yemen Mocca Sanani.” If you think that Penny was angry enough already, you should’ve heard her then. “It’s a violation of her privacy!” These were photographs of public places, and Fatima gave me permission to post the series, so there was no reason for Penny to get bent out of shape over it.
First of all, Fatima said that if she’d had the theory of human connections years ago, things would’ve been different for her and her mother. It was important to spread her message. That was the purpose of the movement! We were already helping people. Even Penny made a friend out of it. She and Natalie Singh made an authentic connection. And secondly, let’s get real about privacy. Penny spent god knows how many hours alone in Fatima’s house. We can’t pretend that she didn’t snoop around and poke her nose in every last drawer and cabinet and closet. I’m not judging, mind you. Anyone would’ve done the same. Curiosity is human nature. Hell, Soleil listed everything in Fatima’s medicine cabinet.
I read about that.
Penny used to take Fatima’s magazines and read them in school.
Really?
Us Weekly and Cosmo, Teen Vogue, the occasional Allure. She would leave these god-awful paint samples and sad little fabric swatches all over the house for Fatima, too. No one had the heart to tell Penny they were hideous. As if Fatima Ro, the most effortlessly stylish woman I’ve ever met, would have Penny decorate her house. What fantasy was Penny seriously living in?
Did Fatima say the samples were hideous?
She didn’t have to. It was plain to see. Fatima humored her, but she was only being kind. She didn’t want to crush the girl. [laughs] Do you want to hear the funniest thing?
Always.
You know the street photos of people’s houses on Google Maps?
Yes.
Soleil and I typed in Fatima’s address once because she wanted another image of Fatima’s door for her art project. So we zoomed into the picture, and guess whose car was in the driveway of Fatima’s Google Maps photo.
Penny’s.
Penny’s! How hysterical is that? It just shows that she practically spent more time in that house than Fatima herself.
That’s pretty funny.
I’m convinced that Penny wanted to be Fatima. She no doubt fantasized about living in her house and hanging some tacky curtains. Fatima gave me permission for the Instagram series. She was all for me expressing myself. She accepted that her book took on a life of its own, meaning whatever happened after Undertow was published was out of her control. That goes back to the original issue at hand, doesn’t it?
Which is?
Whatever happened after The Absolution of Brady Stevenson was published is also out of her control.
NEW YORK CITY MAGAZINE
FOUR-PART SERIES
* * *
Stranger Than Fiction
The True Story Behind the Controversial Novel
The Absolution of Brady Stevenson
SOLEIL JOHNSTON’S STORY, PART 3 (continued)
* * *
SOLEIL
WTF am I reading right now in my psychology class?????
FATIMA
What?!!!
Strategies for overcoming trauma. Denial: acting as if an event never happened. Compartmentalization: keeping different parts of your life separate. Traumatic dissociation: zoning out, going through the motions of life on autopilot.
My boyfriend is a textbook case study for my 4th period AP Psych class.
Penny
Is it fair to say that you spent more time at Fatima’s house without her than with her?
Uh, yeah, I guess so.
Did you ever go over there without her knowing?
I was welcome to. Any of us could go. She was transparent with us. Her house was inside/out. I went there, but I respected her space, I swear. All I did was play with the cat and read her magazines. I never did anything that I wouldn’t want her to do at my house. [pauses] Except . . .
What?
I looked through her DVR list once.
Why?
To see what shows she liked; I just wanted to have something to talk to her about.
Well, I don’t think that’s so bad.
But then I tried to watch one of her shows, and I accidentally deleted it!
Oh no.
Her DVR didn’t have the same drop-down menu as mine. The Erase bar was in the same place as my Play bar, so I hit the wrong thing, and her remote was overly sensitive. I barely even pressed it!
That’s the worst.
I freaked out.
Did you tell her?
No. I was scared for weeks that Fatima would know I watched her DVR and that she was missing an episode of Chicago Med.
Did she ever mention it?
I don’t think she ever noticed. Oh, god, what if she did notice but she just didn’t say anything?
Would that still matter to you at this point?
Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know. [phone buzzes] Excuse me.
No problem.
[reads text] No change in Jonah’s condition.
I’m sorry to hear that.
Me too. [texts back] [sets phone aside] Soleil’s mom, Dr. Cora Johnston, is a doctor at the hospital where Jonah is. Did you know that?
No, I was wondering how you were keeping such close tabs on him.
That’s how. She checks in on him when she can.
That’s nice.
[pauses] How long can someone stay in a coma before they start to . . . not do so well anymore?
I don’t know too much about it. That’d be a good question for Soleil’s mom. But I have heard that the younger and healthier a person is going into it, the better they do. And you can’t get much younger or healthier than Jonah.
[silence]
What’s on your mind?
That girl, uh, Bobbi Kristina Brown.
Whitney Houston’s daughter?
Yeah. There was something on TV about her last night. She was young, but she didn’t do well in a coma.
That wasn’t the same situation. Her coma was drug related, so I’m sure she wasn’t in prime condition. Jonah was an athlete.
[silence]
What is it, Penny?
I didn’t know he was an athlete at first.
No, I suppose you didn’t.
I wish I never found out.
The Absolution of Brady Stevenson
BY FATIMA RO
(excerpt)
Out of the Legos, Spirograph, Rubik’s Cube, My Little Pony, SpongeBob figures, and origami paper on Dr. Nihati’s table, Brady picked up pieces of K’NEX that had been formed into a crane contraption with a pulley and bucket at one end.
“Who made this?” Brady asked. “I mean, not his name or anything, but, did a kid make it or did an adult?”
“A kid made it. A little girl.”
“Oh.” Brady tilted the crane forward, scooping up an imaginary mound of earth with the bucket. “Sweet.” He put the toy down and settled into the firm leather chair.
“Something about you is different today.” Dr. Nihati pursed her lips into a suspicious smile.
Brady felt transparent. Thora would be proud of him for being authentic. “Like what?”
“Your mood has changed. Something happened, and you want to tell me about it. Am I right?” Dr. Nihati’s sort-of-British-sort-of-Indian accent was soothing. Her voice had a way of unfolding Brady. She must’ve known this. She was too smart not to. It was as if she’d worked on her inflections and her intonations in school along with the theories of Freud and Carl Jung and those other dead textbook guys.
“That’s great.”
“Dr. Nihati, do you believe in signs?” Brady asked.
“Signs?”
“Yeah, like, signs from God or the universe or some higher power giving us messages that can change the trajectory of our lives?”
Dr. Nihati crossed her legs. Her tights made a faint zip sound beneath her skirt. Brady stopped himself from glancing at her legs. Hopefully Dr. Nihati knew that he had a lot of respect for her and for women in general, for that matter. “I believe that if we are looking for signs, we often find them. If we are not looking for them, we do not.”
“Oh.” Brady could accept a little bit of that explanation. Coach used to say that if you believe you’re a winner, then it’s more likely to happen. That doesn’t replace training or conditioning or the circumstances of a particular match, though. All of those things factor in, too, so mind over matter can’t possibly account for everything.
“Is there a particular sign you believe you have received that you would like to tell me about?”
Brady remembered Sunny in his car that night. I’m sorry you had to go through that . . . You don’t have to tell me anything.
“Brady?”
“Well, I thought . . . I thought that maybe I had to tell someone—Sunny, the girl I told you about—I felt like I needed to tell her details about what happened last year. But then I got a sign that I shouldn’t.”
“Then you weren’t ready to tell Sunny at that moment. Perhaps you will be ready another time. It is up to you. Friendships take time. That is understandable. But they do also take honesty.”
This is where Brady had to disagree with Dr. Nihati completely. Sunny didn’t want to hear more, so that was a sign. It wasn’t up to him to tell her. It was up to Sunny and God. Sunny was responsible for stopping him from speaking, just like she was responsible for squeezing the back of his head the way she did. That was another sign—one of affection and desire. Dr. Nihati was wrong.