by Ward, Susan
I shake my head. He tries. He really tries. I’ll give him that even though I don’t want to. I keep my expression carefully neutral. “Is that all? Can I go?”
Those black eyes lock on me.
“No, the other concern is Khloe. You’ve been posting a lot of pictures of her and that stops now. Both Chrissie and I would prefer you not do that either.”
My stomach does a painful shimmy. “You mean all this is about Khloe? Your big concern all of a sudden with my photographs and social media is paranoid overreaction over your daughter. We live in the ’Sades not Mexico City. Get a grip.”
Alan visibly flinches.
OK, that was mean, harsh and totally illogical since Alan is probably right about everything but, fuck, hello, no one ever gives a shit about me and you aren’t today.
“It’s about all of us,” Alan says succinctly.
Right.
“Fine. No posting. At least until after I move out next month. After that I’m doing what I want.”
Alan stares at me, alarmed. “Moving out? What are you talking about?”
His reaction surprises me.
It almost sounds like he doesn’t want me to.
I shrug. “I’m done with high school at the end of May and I’m getting the hell out of here. Bobby and I are going to get a place together.”
Inwardly I cringe, feeling the bite even though it was only a little lie, since Bobby and I haven’t really talked about that, but I’m pretty sure it’s what he wants us to do.
I change directions. “Are we done? Is this why Mom wanted me to come straight home? For this? Or do I still have to check in with Mom?”
He studies me for a long moment. “We’re done. And you don’t have to check in with Chrissie, but you should.”
I stand up. “Tell Mom I went to Zoe’s.”
Alan lifts a brow. “Why don’t you not go to Zoe’s tonight? Eventually your mom is going to figure out what going to Zoe’s means, Kaley. It’s going to hurt her when she does, the lying to her and realizing she missed it. Maybe you should stay in and finally talk to Chrissie honestly. There seems to be quite a bit going on in your life she knows nothing about.”
My entire face reddens. “Thanks for the suggestion, but I already have plans.”
Alan focuses on gathering up his things. “I want you to tell me the truth. You never being home, is it about me, Kaley? Or the nonsense in the press? Or something else your mother and I don’t know?”
I gape.
Really?
Do you actually want me to believe you don’t know why I can’t stand being here with you?
“It has nothing to do with you,” I say dismissively. “I do have a life, Alan.”
“We used to have a good relationship. I don’t know why you’re so hostile now.”
“I’m not eight anymore. I’m not hostile. I don’t avoid you. I don’t think of you at all.”
Those words unexpectedly cut at my insides.
That was mean, Kaley, mean. Far from the truth, not what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Crap, I need to get the fuck out of here right now before this all blows up into something even more unpleasant.
I start to turn away, but Alan’s gaze halts me, flooding me with an array of unsettling, warring sensations.
“If you are always gone and eager to move out because of me, then I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice potent with tightly leashed emotion. “That is not what I wanted. If it’s something else I wish you’d confide in your mother. If you’re angry over the garbage being spewed in the press, then I want you to know this directly from me. The only true things you’ve read are that I’ve loved your mother most of my life and Khloe is my daughter. The rest, sweetheart, is lies.”
I stare at him, my insides growing colder and colder with each second. A non-denial denial that I’m his daughter since that is part of the ‘lies’ in the rag sheets these day. I can’t get air into my lungs. I hold back the tears until I’m in my bedroom.
* * *
When I get to Bobby’s, his car is already gone and he’s left for the desert. Damn. I pull out of the Rowans’ driveway and head for the Kennedys’.
I’m let into the house by the housekeeper, and quickly make my way to Zoe’s room. She’s sitting on her bed wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top—crap, I was right. Depression city—staring at something on her iPad with a wounded dimness in her eyes.
I feel kind of wounded myself after that hideous talk with Alan on the patio. Zoe being a mess gives me something to focus on other than the sorry state of my own life.
I toss down my bag and flop onto my stomach on her bed. “What’s wrong? More crap from Natasha?”
She shakes her head, and clicks off the tablet before I can see the screen. “Nothing. I just really wish we were going to Palm Springs.”
“Me, too.” I shake my head and groan. “I wish you’d been at school today. It was hideous from first bell. The worst freaking day ever. Bizarreness from beginning to end. Everyone in my business about everything. Natasha and her posse. Mr. Jamison actually sent me to OCD this afternoon. Mrs. Trent wanted to have that ‘I’m not just your teacher, I’m your friend’ girl chat. All worried and shit about me over something. And the cherry on the cake of my day was quality time with my current male parental figure. I’ve been ordered not to post any of my work online and then, to add insult to injury, he in not-so-many words denied he was my father.”
Zoe’s eyes go wide. “He didn’t?”
I nod.
“Are you OK?”
“Sure. Great,” I whisper, trying to speak through the lump in my throat.
She studies me, gnawing at her lower lip. “Maybe you should cool it with your websites and blogs for a while. Some of the Kaley’s Word stuff. It’s not funny anymore. Especially the stuff about Alan. It’s sort of—”
I give her the stare. “Sort of what?”
She lifts her chin. “Wrong.”
“Well, I think those videos are just fine.” I let out a frustrated breath. “And it’s not like anyone knows I’m doing them or that they’re about Alan or anyone else I post about. No one knows I’m Kaley’s World. And the only reason you know who they’re about is because you know me. It’s not wrong. It’s satire. And no one knows for sure who the videos are about.”
“What if someone hacked you? Found out? You’ve been saying some really unkind things, Kaley. Even about Khloe.”
I roll my eyes. “They won’t. It’s all cool, Zoe.”
“No, Kaley, there is nothing cool about any of the things you’ve been posting online on your secret accounts lately.”
We square off with our eyes and Zoe looks away first.
Thank God.
I don’t want to talk about my social media accounts, I don’t want to talk about my dad, and I definitely don’t want to have another Kaley, you should tell Bobby about this discussion. Nope, not doing it. Bobby would blow if he saw any of it.
“So what do you want to do this weekend?” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.
She crinkles her nose. “Anything. I’m bored out of my skull. My folks took off for Morea this morning and the house is so quiet I can’t stand it.”
“Your folks are gone? There is no one home.”
Zoe nods. “For a month.”
“Damn it, Zoe. We could have gone to Palm Springs. Ian and Yotti wouldn’t even have known if we’d taken off.”
Her pretty face grows anxious and serious. “Nope. Not lying to them. This time I’m staying home like they told me to. I’ve been sitting here all day thinking about all the things I haven’t been busted for yet and how pissed off they’re going to be if they ever discover them. Ian totally flipped out when he found out—and thank you, Kaley, for posting it on your Facebook—that I went to Mexico with Jake without tell them. I’ve never seen Ian so angry. But my dad really scared me with all that ‘this is what could happen to you’ shit. I’m going to lay low fo
r a while, Kaley, and I think maybe you should, too.”
I blink at her.
Shit.
We’re finally over eighteen.
Now is when she decides we should do what we’re told to?
* * *
“Don’t post it, Kaley. Enough already. She’s not going to back down. Let it go.”
I ignore Zoe and hit post anyway.
“You want me to stop the cyberwar, give me Natasha’s phone number or tell me where she lives so I can have it out with her face-to-face. This shit needs to stop. Now, Zoe. I don’t want her bullying you anymore and the photo she’s spreading of Jake with another girl is bullshit. Fake. Photoshopped or something. He wouldn’t do that to you.”
Zoe gives me an intense look. “I know that. I got over it after I called Jake when she texted me the first one on Friday. Yep, I got butt-hurt when I saw it. Yep, I went off on my boyfriend. But it ended three days ago for me. I don’t know why you keep hitting her back online every time she hits me.”
“Because she’s a bitch and she deserves it and I’m not going to put up with her treating you this way.”
Zoe’s eyes fly wide. “But I don’t care. And I just want the fighting to stop. It’s gotten out of hand. It’s going to be ten times worse now when I go back to school. Can’t you see that, Kaley?”
I slap closed my laptop and flop back on the bed. “Fine. I’ll stop.”
She nods in relief. “Good. It needs to stop. It’s too much for me. I don’t want to fight with anyone.”
I pout. “I’m sorry. But you’re my best friend. I love you. And I can’t stand when those girls hurt you.”
She smiles. “Boy, when you say you’re going to have someone’s back you mean it.”
She makes a silly face and I laugh.
Then I groan.
“Maybe I did take it too far. Bobby is going to be so pissed if he sees any of it. Definitely not among my most stellar moments.”
“Some of it was kind of funny,” Zoe offers carefully.
I shake my head. “No. You’re right. I took it too far.”
Ding.
Oh fuck, that was fast. Fucking Natasha. Zoe’s right. She’s never backing down.
Zoe grabs her phone off the bed and holds it away from me. “Don’t look at it. It’s my text. I don’t want to see it. We’ve decided it stops.”
She stares at me, unblinking, and I nod. “Fine. It stops. Can we go out and grab some breakfast now? I’m starving.”
“Let me take a fast shower then we’re out of here.”
I watch her disappear into her bathroom. I lie back and shoot off a text to Bobby.
Me: What time are you going to be back in the ’Sades?
Bobby: On the way home now, babe. We should be there in maybe two hours if we don’t hit more traffic.
Me: Can’t wait.
Bobby: Me either. Be ready to hit the road for Santa Cruz the second I get there.
Me: The second, huh? Wouldn’t you like a 30 minute layover before you start driving again?
Bobby: 30 minutes? Layover’s definitely longer than that.
Me: Says who?
Bobby: Says you. Love you.
Ding.
I check to make sure Zoe won’t catch me—bathroom door closed and water running—then I go to her laptop on the desk and click on her Facebook page. I check the messenger. Yep, new incoming from Natasha.
I open the chat box and my body grows cold even though my heart is pumping so quickly I almost can’t breathe.
Two pictures in a collage side by side.
Where the fuck did Natasha get them?
One of Alan and Khloe.
One of Alan and me.
Headline: Which one does Daddy love?
Khloe captioned: Billion dollar baby.
I’m captioned: Zero dollar baby.
Closing caption: We all know what you are, Kaley.
That’s it. I’m not putting up with this shit one second longer. How the fuck did Natasha get that picture of Khloe? Nope, I don’t care what Zoe says. I’m having it out with her today.
I grab Zoe’s tote. Please, Zoe, I hope you put your phone back in here. I rummage through her stuff, then anxiously toss everything out onto the bed.
An envelope floats to the floor, I pick it up and then my eyes go wide.
She got the kinship lab results and didn’t give them to me. How could Zoe do that? Ripping it open, I sink onto the bed. I pull it from the envelope and then stare at it, stunned.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
This can’t be right.
It’s not possible.
Krystal’s voice rises in my memory. I didn’t just open them. I used them for their intended purpose. One of those is Eric’s. One of those is Ethan’s. One of those is mine.
We’re not half siblings.
None of us.
We all have the same mother and father.
What have my parents done?
How is this possible?
Alan looked me in the eyes.
He said it wasn’t true.
My heart shatters.
For a moment, I believed him.
CHAPTER 23
I race through the Malibu house, setting up my cameras on tripods to make sure I catch every inch of footage of what I plan to have go down here, and repeatedly run through my mental checklist.
Load tweets into my Hootsuite so they auto-release.
Schedule Facebook post every thirty minutes.
Make sure the streaming live video feed works.
Record YouTube message for Kaley’s World.
Don’t think of anything else.
You’ll fall apart if you do—but, fuck, how could my parents do this?
No, don’t think about that.
This has to be undeniable.
If it isn’t, Alan will finesse his way out of the truth.
How could he do this to my brothers and sisters? Deny them like he’s always denied me?
Me I could forgive—never hurting them.
No, Kaley, focus on the tasks in your head.
I want the aluminum bat Aarsi had.
Position spray-paint cans from Zoe’s house so they’re in every room.
How long until Alan’s security busts in to stop this?
Denial is a terminal addiction—make it a tab on my website.
It’s Tuesday.
Is Alan back in California?
I wonder if he’ll see this.
His security sure as fuck will since they’re spying on me.
Oh, he’ll eventually see this.
I go back to my laptop, trying to ignore Zoe’s fretting as she wanders in circles, and rapidly click away the necessary posts to make what I want to have happen here.
Zoe grabs my arm. “Kaley, just talk to me. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the lab results when they came. I didn’t know what to do. I was waiting until Bobby was back.”
I ignore her and whirl to face the great room, trying to figure out the best location to shoot the short video to launch this.
I turn the camera toward the far wall near the table with the weird family photo array atop it. Yep, know why those pictures are there now.
“You’re scaring me,” Zoe wails. “What are you doing? What is this?”
I look at her. “Stand here in the foyer. I don’t want you in the video.”
“What video? Nope, I’m not moving until you explain what this is.”
Oh fuck, Zoe, don’t get in my way now.
I shake my head, trying to figure out how to explain this in Zoe terms. “Have you ever seen that movie 8 Mile?”
She nods, sniffling and nervously gnawing her lower lip. “Eminem, right?”
I close my hands on her arms—crap, she’s shaking like an earthquake—and fix my eyes on her. “Remember the last scene. Focus, Zoe. Listen. I’m explaining. When Eminem battles and gets up there and tells everyone everything about him and then he tosses the microphone and says, ‘I’m outy. Tell
these people something they don’t know about me’?”
The panic on her face rapidly increases but she nods.
I brush the hair back from her face, hoping to calm her. “That’s all I’m doing. I’m outing myself. I’m tired of the lies and the secrets. The tabloids. Natashas of this world. Alan. My mom. I’m just putting it all out there and maybe someone will hear me and it will get better and go away. I’m going live with the truth about everything. I’m outing myself. And if you’re really my friend, Zoe, you won’t stop me.”
She anxiously studies my face. “I don’t think you should do this. We can still get out of here. You’ve only wrecked one wall. It’s paint. It can be fixed, right? Isn’t that enough? It’s there. The truth. Alan will see it. Let’s stop this now. Let’s go.”
I go back to the camera and check the positioning through the viewfinder. “I can’t leave, Zoe. Not until I’m done.”
I hit record and hurry into the shot, kneeling down facing the camera, unable to hear the words in my head as I speak them.
Then I see the shot widen by the auto-programming, so the first tag on the wall I did with the spray-paints from Zoe’s garage will show in the film.
I stare into the camera. “This is the last episode of Kaley’s World. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be silenced after this. Shut down after today’s live feed. But I’d like to send one last message to my dad, Alan Manzone. I’d like to call the remainder of this feed ‘Denial is a Terminal Addiction.’ So here is our live family therapy.”
I hurry to the computer, stop the recording, and quickly edit the video. I add the frame with the link for the live feed. I load it on YouTube, Facebook and my Kaley’s World website. I see the Hootsuite notification that the auto-tweets have started. I check my phone to make sure the live feed is up and streaming. Yep, Alan’s house.
I grab the bat and the spray-paint. Showtime. Try denying this, Daddy. And then there is nothing—not in my head, not in my heart, and not in the room—except a blinding, raging need to swing the bat and cover the walls in spray-paint with the thoughts I don’t even recognize as my own as I destroy everything in my father’s house.