Secret Lucidity(75)

“Someone at school apparently started a nasty rumor that I doubt is even true.”

“What kind of rumor?”

Heartache returns, and my voice comes out uneven as I try to temper its flaring. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me.”

“They? Who?”

“The principal and an officer,” I tell her as she looks at me with an expression of concern I’ve been void of for so long.

“I need you to tell me exactly what is going on before we go down to the station.”

But I can’t. I made a promise to David, so I tell her what I can. “Mom, I don’t know anything. Just that on Monday, I was called to the office. The cop told me something about an allegation being made. I asked what it was about and who it was that said something, but he wouldn’t tell me. That’s honestly all I know.”

“Okay. Well, go get cleaned up so we can head down there.”

Apparently, the fear of having the cops show up on our doorstep has her acting more like a mom than she has for this whole past year. And thank God for that, because I don’t think I can go through this on my own.

I take a quick shower and throw myself together as anxiety builds with every step I take. When we hop into the car and start driving, I mentally prepare myself for what’s about to come. But how can I possibly prepare for this when I have no idea what I’m walking in to? David told me not to admit to anything, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. I will lie until my last breath if I have to, just to protect him.

When we arrive, we are led to a small room with nothing but a table and three chairs in it and are offered something to drink. We both decline.

“Detective Banks will be in shortly,” we’re told before being left alone.

My mother and I don’t say a word as nerves shock my system into overdrive, ramping up my heart rate. I look around the room, spot a small video camera mounted in the corner that overlooks where we’re sitting, and my palms begin to sweat.

After a couple more minutes of silent torture, the door opens and a woman walks in wearing a badge clipped to the waistband of her pants.

“Good morning,” she greets before taking the seat adjacent to me. “I’m Detective Banks, and I’m just going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“What is this all about?” My mother stops Detective Banks’s first question before it’s even asked.

“First and foremost, I just want you to know that this is a voluntary interview. I understand that this can be a very stressful situation, but I assure you that your daughter has done nothing wrong. There was an allegation made, and we just need to ask Camellia a few questions,” she tells my mom before turning her attention back to me. “Just so you are aware, we will be recording this visit by audio and video,” she tells me before informing us of a few more details about my rights and so on.

Feigning calmness as best as I can, I tell her that I understand, and she begins questioning me, “So, Camellia—”

“Cam,” I correct.

“I’m sorry. Cam, can you tell me how this school year has been going for you?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Senior year,” she notes, “you must be getting excited to graduate.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re a swimmer? Can you tell me about that?”

I’ve watched enough television and read enough books to know exactly what she’s doing. Getting on to my level so I’ll trust her enough to tell her whatever she needs to know isn’t going to work with me. If she thinks she can manipulate me, she’s wrong.

I answer her trivial questions, telling her about my swimming and about my plans for college, plans David and I made together, plans I’ve never shared with my mother. She stays quiet, but I’m sure she will bring it up later.

“And who is your swim coach?” she finally asks, forcing me to say the name that still tastes so sweet on my lips.

“Coach Andrews.”

“Is that David Andrews?”

I nod, and she continues to scribble notes on her notepad, which she’s been doing all along.

“Were you in any of his classes?”

“English Lit.”

“Now, with you being his student and one of his athletes, would there be any contact about school or swim-related information that he would send through email?”

“Yes.”

“What about text messages?”

“No.”

“Phone calls?”

“No,” I continue as my pulse races, and I fight to keep myself from fidgeting.

“Have you ever received an email, a phone call, or a text from David Andrews about anything other than school or swim related information?”

“No.”

“Never?”

I shake my head as a thousand memories of staying up late and talking to him on the phone and texting him all throughout my days swirl through my mind. For the first time, I’m thankful I deleted every single one of them. If she asks to see my phone, she wouldn’t find a single trace of him.

“I want to remind you, Cam, that no matter what you tell me, you are not in trouble. But it’s important that you tell the truth here.”