Page 57 of The Wrong Side of Kai
24
I open my eyes the next morning to Dad’s hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. Seeing him hovering over me first thing on a Sunday is enough to scare the absolute living daylights out of me, and I stare at him in terror for a few moments until the grogginess wears off a little. I prop myself up on my elbows and rub at my eyes, squinting at him. It feels too early for this. Plus, Dadnevergoes out of his way to wake me.
“I need you downstairs,” Dad says, his expression solemn. An uneasy feeling instantly settles in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like the serious tone of his voice, or the concern in his eyes, or the frown on his face. He has also shaved for the first time in months, so I barely recognize him without a straggly beard covering his jawline.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting bolt upright.
“We need to talk,” he says, then leaves my room, expecting me to follow. His vagueness does little to appease the tightness in my chest.
I push back my comforter and climb out of bed. I’m only wearing gym shorts and a tank top, so I grab a hoodie from my closet and pull it on to keep me warm. I check my phone for the time – 9:16.Definitelytoo early for serious talks with Dad. I stick my head into Kennedy’s room as I head downstairs and find that she’s still fast asleep, snoring perfectly in time with Theo who opens one feline eye at me. It’s not a family discussion. Dad only wants to talk tome.
My steps are quick as I make my way down the stairs and search for Dad. He’s over in the kitchen, pouring two cups of instant coffee. If he’d paid attention to me over the years, he would know that I don’t even drink coffee.
“Sit down,” he tells me over his shoulder, having heard my footsteps approach. He turns around and slides a cup across the table, and I put my hand out to catch it.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” I ask, anxiously chewing the inside of my cheek as I stiffly sit down on the edge of one of the dining chairs. Just last night, I was sat at this table with Kai drinking hot chocolate. Now I’m here with Dad drinking gross coffee.
Dad rests one hand on the back of a chair, but doesn’t sit down. He studies me across the table, narrowing his eyes. “Harrison Boyd.”
My throat tightens. “What?”
“Kennedy told me the name of the boy who posted that. . .” He takes a deep breath, like he can’t even say it. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That video,” he finally finishes, but he can’t look me in the eye. “Was it Harrison Boyd?”
So now I can’t even rely on my own sister to keep my secrets. I’m going to kill her later for even discussing the matter with ourdad. I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie so that Dad can’t see the way I’m nervously twiddling my thumbs. I don’t want to talk about this with myfather. That video is humiliating enough as it is. “Yeah. . . Why does it matter? The video is already out there.”
Now Dad sits down. “Because we are going to press charges against that boy,” he says.
This was definitely not the kind of conversation I expected to wake up to. I have no idea where this has come from and now my head pounds as I try to absorb this new information. I stare at Dad, stunned and unable to reply.
“What he’s done to you is a criminal offence,” he continues, lifting his cup to his lips. He takes a slow sip, his sharp eyes still watching me over the rim. I realize then that this anger within him isn’t aimed at me, but rather it’s aimed at Harrison Boyd. This is Dad’s ex-cop persona talking now. “He’s been distributing explicit content of a minor, most especially without your consent. We’ll see that Boyd boy in court. That Richard Boyd has a name for himself around here, so I can’t say I’m surprised his son is a piece of work too.”
I imagine it now – Harrison and me standing in a court room while I fight for justice, only for my whole case to be turned against me by mention of the vandalism of Harrison’s truck, the theft of his property, the break-in to their house, the harassment. . . Not to mention the distribution of explicit images that I carried out too. Harrison has done wrong, but so have I.
“Dad. . .” I mumble, my words sticking in my throat. “We can’t press charges.”
“Why? Because you’re scared Harrison will react?”
“No. . . because. . .” I’m so ashamed I have to pull the hood of my hoodie up over my head to hide behind it. “Because then they could press charges againstme.”
Confusion fills Dad’s features and he stares at me in a silent, contemplative manner for a minute, trying to make sense of my statement, most likely wondering how on earth the Boyds could possibly press charges. “What are you talking about, Vanessa?”
I can’t deny it now. I need to own up to what I’ve done before Dad persists on dragging the Boyds to court. I take a deep breath, clear my head, then slowly exhale. I push my hood back down and rest my elbows on the table, holding my head in my hands. “When that video got out on Monday, I was so angry. . . I started to retaliate.”
“How, exactly?”
“I slashed the tires of Harrison’s truck. I stole his phone and hacked into it. And then I sent random strangers to meet him at Bob Evans. And I. . . I broke into his house,” I rattle off as the shame and the guilt only intensifies. I can’t even bring myself to mention the photograph I taped to Harrison’s locker, because that was such a lowlife move, even for me.
Dad’s eyes bulge. If he thought he didn’t really know his daughter before, then he definitely doesn’t know her now. “Goddamn, Vanessa. . . What were you thinking?”
“Just please don’t try and press charges against them, because I’ll get in serious trouble too.”
And so will Kai. . .But I keep his name out of my confessions. I don’t want to drag him down with me. I’ll take all the blame if I need to.
Dad presses a closed fist to his mouth as he stares at the refrigerator, thinking hard. I keep quiet, because I think I’ve said enough. “Have you and Harrison resolved this? Or are you still fighting with one another?”
“Still fighting,” I say.
“Then get dressed.”
