We've all heard and devoured the classic trope involving the shenanigans of a jock, a princess, a nerd, and a criminal. Although who knows of the trouble capable of ensuing when The Breakfast Club isn't PG-13 anymore?
That's the 2007 freshman batch...
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His eyes are bloodshot and his knees are shaking— the metal legs of the chair banging against his own, in the interrogation room. He is totally clueless.
I gulp at the thought of Harry eventually finding about this, or maybe tonight itself, in case our witness is released without any chagrin. But I don't have a choice. I had to rat out Brandon to keep Sarah off the hook for a while.
"Ms. Williams, you can now come inside," the cop calls Sarah, and yet I am the one to flinch. It's difficult to being on the other side of the glass, when I know that I should be the one panicking in the little room instead.
Although, if I knew I was going to be confronted, I would have done a lot better than he is doing. If you are going to be scared, then at least take it to the extremes. The person in front of you needs to sympathise with you, not pick on the guilt brimming in your eyes.
"Can Emma accompany me? She is a good friend of Kylie's, I am sure that she can be of great help to us." Sarah gives me a short smile and pleadingly looks at the Officer.
She has been living at our house since the day I walked in on her and my father. Apparently, they had a few coincidental meetings in Washington during my father's business conference and her book launch. That was around mid June, so it really hasn't been a long time; yet it makes me want to puke every time I try to grasp it like a mature adult.
Nonetheless, it has also made me insomniac and washed my pocket money away in my quest to stock on cheap liquor. The little time I did spend with my father earlier, is now close to nil because there's not a second when Sarah isn't by his side. They cook dinner together, take long walks by the park, and try to therapize me if I mistakenly cross their path at any given point.
It's almost ironic how, Sarah Williams, a world renowned child psychologist, never bothered to delve into the troubled mind of her own daughter. Mr. Meyers tried to compensate for her, but he could only do so much with the court restraints implied upon him after their divorce. His second marriage didn't help very much either. Apparently, Kylie downed too much champagne and made out with the bride's Spanish cousin at the wedding.
I knew Kylie was someone who had always been on her own, but I guess it wasn't a voluntary choice.
"Ms. Callaway," the cop, now turning impatient, pulls me out of my thoughts. I find that Sarah is already seated across Brandon, and is holding a rather fierce look to her eyes. Her long, manicured nails are digging into the exquisite leather of her Chanel handbag, which is about to be ripped into shreds any time soon.
"Uh oh," I mutter under my breath, squirming in the limited space to reach across Sarah, and all the while avoiding Brandon's scrutinising gaze. The heat of the tension between the three of us, easily beats the iciness in our throats.
And before I know, the missiles are fired. "You were at a party with my daughter before she went missing, and you have something to do with it." Sarah shoots daggers at him.
