Heartless People |Book 2|

Chapter 1| Prologue

"If only these walls could talk...the world would know just how hard it is to tell the truth in a story in which everyone's a liar."

—Gregg Olsen

JENNIE

"You will all be queued in the moment we come back from commercial break. All you have to do is yell, 'Good Morning, Chicago!' You all look prefect," the producer for Good Morning Chicago said to all of us, as she and the rest of the camera crew moved to their places.

"Whose bloody idea was this again?" Lisa muttered right beside me, placing her hand on my back and working downward.

"Lisa."

She sighed, her hand stopping on my ass, as we all stood, waiting like one big happy family in the middle of the newly renovated park we had spent millions on for the "community."

To mark the grand opening, we were having a large neighborhood picnic. I found myself eyeing the crowd, as more and more people gathered with their stupid fanny packs and grubby hands all reaching for something free to stick in their mouths. The worst were the clowns who were walking around us handing out balloon hats.

"Don't you dare," I muttered to myself, as I watched the freak march its fat feet towards me. He pulled out a white balloon, twisting it until it was some sort of hat. Bowing comically, he handed it to me.

"A crown fit for a queen," he said.

Lisa snickered beside me, and I fought the urge to snap at them both. Taking it, I smiled and placed it on my head.

"Thank you." You stupid fuck.

"And we're on in ten..." The producer pointed to us, pulling us back into focus.

We squashed up beside each other, as if we all loved each other so much that we were glued together. Normally Lisa and I would be in the center of the family for these things, but not today. Instead, Mina and her family stood in the center, while we were pushed off to the side.

It was Senator Myoi who was running for President after all, and since today was the day of the primary elections, good press couldn't hurt. Elections are just popularity contests. How much do you give? How much do you take? How put together is your family? Can you throw a football? Do you like The Beatles? That's all that mattered to them—no matter how much they pretended to care about the "issues." And all of that could be faked. We were all fakers; lying to people who were lying to themselves.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Good morning, Chicago!"