Page 90 of More Than Chemical
I didn’t want to leave him.
He slept on, and I stared down at him, my chest swelling with a scary amount of adoration. I kissed him, and then almost said it out loud. I almost told him that I loved him. But I stopped myself. He might actually be awake, and my declaration would be too soon, too much.
I exited his room and shut the door softly behind me. I felt lightheaded, and I inhaled a sharp breath.
That was unexpected. Love was not on the agenda. My heart had turned as fragile as one of the glass figurines in my mom’s curio cabinet.
Calm down,I told myself.Calm down.People have fallen in love before.
Just not me.
Thirty-Three
Opening Statements
Idressed myself in the dark. In a pencil skirt and cowl-neck sweater. I wanted to look respectable for the trial and, at the same time blend into the background. Be invisible. If only I had a cloaking device to activate. Like the spaceships inStar Wars.
Outside, my mom was waiting for me. When we arrived downtown, we parked in the courthouse’s underground parking garage.
We took an elevator and stepped out. A glass-ceilinged atrium spanned the distance between two building towers. In the center, a water fountain surrounded by spaced-apart trees burbled steadily. An indoor oasis in contrast to the Minnesota tundra outside.
Mom headed toward the tower to our right, where a line of people waited to get through security.
My stomach rolled.
“How long do you think the trial is going to last?” I asked Mom.
“I’m not sure. The lawyer said it will take the rest of the week, maybe more.”
We took the elevator up, and as we stepped out, there was Dad. He was dressed in one of his game-day suits, his hair neatly arranged, debonair and stately.
There were other people too. Some with bound notepads.
Dad took a sip of his coffee and noticed me. “Ade.” His deep voice sounded bright, cheerful, and he walked straight over to give me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I gave him a stiff hug.
“So sorry about the other day,” he whispered into my hair. “So sorry about everything I’ve made you live through this past year.”
My heart leaped, and I squeezed him. So was I.
Gray Holton appeared next. Taller than my dad, he looked regal in a gray suit that matched his hair and, of course, matched his name. He patted my dad on the back. “Are you ready, Coach?”
Gray took my dad aside and started talking to him in a low tone. Mom went in search of a bathroom, so I was stuck all by myself.
The people with the notepads kept staring at my dad, so I drew back into the corner. I didn’t like them.
My mom came back from the bathroom.
“Who are those people who keep looking at Dad?” I asked her.
“Reporters. They’ve been lurking all week.”
A slight chill crawled up my arms. “They don’t have cameras, do they?”
“No. Cameras aren’t allowed.”
That was right. Gray had told me before. Thank God. The last thing I needed was to be plastered all over television or in a newspaper.
