I Was Told It Would Get Easier(68)
There was a long pause, then I said, “Yeah, what she said, I guess.”
Then the door opened and two guys in suits came in. Everyone swiveled to look at them. Cassidy stood up.
“This is a private group,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Cassidy Potter?”
“Your last name is Potter?” said Casper, unable to stop himself.
“Yes,” she said, “and you are?”
“I’m Agent Feld, and this is my colleague Agent Larsson. We’re from the FBI.” He showed his badge; all of us were riveted.
Cassidy went red; this was clearly her worst nightmare. “Is this about the cheating?”
“Yes.” Feld nodded. “We’re looking for . . .”
“She’s not here,” said Cassidy. “I guess she’s still in her room.”
“Emily Burnstein.”
Now everyone turned and stared at me.
“Oh,” said Cassidy, running out of steam. “Well, she’s right over there.”
22
JESSICA
This whole thing would be a lot easier if I weren’t hungover, I’ll be honest.
When Agent What’s-His-Nuts said Emily’s name, I had a cup of fresh, hot tea in my hand and had to fight the ill-advised impulse to throw it in his face, grab my kid, and head for Mexico.
Then I realized a mistake must have been made somewhere.
“I’m Jessica Burnstein,” I said. “I’m Emily’s mother. What’s going on?” I kept my tone polite, I’m a professional. I glanced at Emily and wasn’t reassured by her expression. I’ll be honest, she looked guilty. I wasn’t sure what of, though, so I smiled at the nice FBI people.
“I’m afraid we need to talk to Emily alone, Mrs. Burnstein.”
“She’s a minor,” I said, “you can’t talk to her alone.”
“Actually, we can,” he replied. “Unless she requests you be present, which she has the right to do.”
“Is she being charged with anything?”
The agent was surprised. “No, ma’am, only questions.”
Emily spoke, and her voice was pretty firm. “I have the right to an attorney, correct?”
“Yes, of course, but we’re not charging you with anything. I said that.”
Emily stood up. “Well, even so, I’ll happily answer your questions in the presence of my attorney.” She walked towards the door.
The FBI agent said, “Who’s your attorney, Ms. Burnstein?”
“She is,” my daughter replied. “Come on, Mom. Let’s do this.”
EMILY
In a way it was almost a relief when the agents said my name. I mean, not really, but the whole thing had kind of been hanging over me. I wasn’t sure why the FBI was involved, but maybe it was because I was in a different state? I don’t know, I’m not a lawyer. That’s what Mom’s for.
Which is another thing. Until that moment I had never considered the benefits of having a mother who was a lawyer. I hadn’t planned on ever needing a lawyer, frankly. We left the breakfast room and walked into the lobby. To my surprise, the agents headed to a coffee place outside, and Mom paused, too.
“Wait, where are we going?”
Agent Feld looked surprised. “To Starbucks.”
“You don’t want to take her somewhere private?” Mom was getting irritated because she was confused, a state she really doesn’t have a lot of experience with.
He shook his head. “Honestly, Mrs. Burnstein, for the third time, she isn’t being charged with anything, we just have a few questions.”
“It’s Ms. Burnstein, and these questions couldn’t wait till we got back to Los Angeles?”
He was mildly embarrassed. “Well, we wanted to talk to her in person, as the agents in Los Angeles had handled it up to now.”
It was a little awkward at the checkout, because they asked me if I wanted anything to eat and they had those birthday cake pops, which I freaking love, but being questioned by law enforcement while holding a pink cake pop with sprinkles seemed wrong. Such a bummer.
We sat down. I looked at Mom. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
She suddenly got it. “Wait, is this about the cheating thing at school?”
I nodded.
She was silent for a moment, which I knew wasn’t a good sign. Her eyelid was twitching; she was about to go nuclear.
“Mom . . .” I tried to say.
But it was too late. She blew. “Emily Elizabeth Burnstein, why on earth would you cheat? You know I don’t care about your grades. I just want you to do your best.”
“I know, Mom . . .”
She interrupted me. “Cheating is never the answer! I thought I raised you better than that! I could have gotten you tutors! My god, what is your father going to say? Or my father? You were a Girl Scout, for crying out loud! Why would you risk your future for a stupid test? You’ll never get into college now! I mean”—her voice was loud, and the whole coffee shop was listening to her freak out; I was having zero luck getting a word in—“your record will be sealed once you’re eighteen, so I guess we could try . . .”