How Many Tabloids?
Michael
Michael rested his head in his hands, Annabelle rubbing his back as she leaned against him. "I can't believe I did that." He sighed.
"Which part?" she asked. She was still upset.
"All of it. I doubted them." When the judge had readily admitted that he'd knocked a candle over, catching fire to the heavy drapes… He could feel the heavy glance from four specific people. They hadn't spoken to him in the days since they were declared innocent. Instead, everyone had slowly looked down on him for being so cruel to them. Annabelle also.
"I know it's hard. But they have a right to be upset. You didn't let them explain at all." Her sweet voice grated on his nerves. It took all of his self control not to lash out and snap at her. He had enough enemies as it was.
He entered the science hall a few minutes late to class. His professor didn't acknowledge him. His deskmate had moved to sit at a table of four. Leaving him to sit alone. He tried to ask the teacher after class about the paper he missed in the morning, but she responded in a clipped tone, "If you'd been here on time we wouldn't have this problem, would we now Prince?" She strode off without looking back at him, or giving him the paper.
Shaking his head, he followed after Lawrence. "Lawrence, could you send me a picture of the sheet we got at the beginning of class?"
He stopped and turned around. "She didn't give it to you, did she?" A humorless chuckle when Michael shook his head. "Why would I?" Michael shot him a confused glance. "Not cool what you did to those kids. We may not like them, but treating them like that? How does it feel to be not wanted?" Lawrence started to walk away but he turned back to Michael for a minute. "Also, rumor has it, you're the one who broke Jamison's nose."
He left Michael standing still in the green in front of the science hall. His stomach dropped. He felt like he would throw up. Did everyone think that?
His suspicions were confirmed as he went from class to class, his friends and classmates ignoring him at every turn. His English teacher left him to do a group assignment by himself. "Sorry Prince, looks like you're the odd man out today." His glance was not at all sympathetic.
By lunch time, he was afraid to enter the lunch market. Sean had given him the cold shoulder, as had most of his teammates. As he walked in, someone started laughing, another jeered at him. Most people ignored him completely. He spied Gisa sitting alone at a bench under a cherry tree, food untouched, a leather book in her hands.
"Gisa can I—" He began.
She slammed the book shut, and sat up stiffly, "Can you what? Humiliate me more?" She stared straight ahead across the lawn towards one of the giant dorms.
"No, I want to apologize." Michael said, sitting on the opposite side of the bench.
"What, now that you finally understand what it's like to be hated?" she laughed mirthlessly. "Come on, even I don't buy that."
"Gisa I didn't mean what I—"
She turned to face him, shaking her head, an irritated chuckle escaping her lips, "You want me to forgive you for accusing me of wanting to kill my sister. For trying to burn down a building full of innocent people? For being just like my mother?" He could tell she was biting her tongue from saying something worse.
"Gisa,"
"No Michael. I don't forgive you." Her voice almost broke. "You can't say something like that and expect it to be alright." And with two middle fingers, and a completely sarcastic grin she walked away, book and sandwich tucked under her arm.
He ran a hand through his hair. And leaned back into the bench. Jamison appeared up behind him. "That went well."
"Jamison, look man I'm so sorry about—"
"Dude, I get it. I get angry sometimes, we all say things we don't mean. Be patient with Gisa. Her sister is a sensitive topic. She's going through a lot. We all are. More than you understand. You may have been a total blockhead, but we know what it's like." Jamison clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I didn't start the rumor about you breaking my nose. See you at practice captain."
Michael watched him jog off. At least one of them didn't totally hate him. But… Right. Practice. Who was going to listen to a captain who— And sister. Why did they keep emphasizing that she was her sister? They knew clearly who her mother was. It didn't matter. He checked his watch, a whole half hour to figure out what to do with his time. And to ignore the whispers and taunts.
His phone lit up with his father's profile picture. It was only a matter of time before his dad called him anyway. "Father?"
"Son." And he was not happy either, "Care to explain why the tabloids are saying that you punched someone in the nose after insulting the kids from the island and accusing them of arson for no apparent reason?"
"How many tabloids?" Michael winced.
"Seven. And damage control is working their tails off right now. And I hope to goodness you have an explanation, and some statements. After school I scheduled a press conference. You can forget about practice. I notified your coach already."
Michael sighed, "Dad I messed up, alright? They took Emma to court and the other three couldn't stand it. They were afraid for her. I kept trying to discourage them, but nothing worked. Then Gisa took out Damien—"
"It appears I will have words with him then too. And a bigger security detail for you too."
Michael sighed. The three security guards monitoring him from not so hidden locations were already too many. "Dad it was my fault—"
"That Damien didn't do his job? Not a chance." His father said furiously. "So I suppose I could see why you thought they set a fire, but even that is a monstrous stretch. Would you like to tell me why everyone thinks you punched Jamison?"
"Cameron did. I was walking down the drive and started yelling at him. Someone must have snapped a picture at the wrong time. Him with the bloody nose, me waving my arms." Michael pinched his nose. "Dad I'm sorry I just—"
"There's no time for sorry. We have to figure out how to clear your name with a story that the press wants. You better not be late." without a goodbye, his father hung up on him. Great.
The press conference had gone as well as expected, them asking irrelevant questions, trying to spin Michael as an aggressor despite the King's answers.
"Does your son really have the country's best in mind if he invites four kids in and then accuses them of arson? If this is what he does as a prince, what will he do as a king?"
The question still rattled him. Annabelle was not easing his nerves. "Baby it will blow over. Besides, you don't need Gisa's forgiveness. She is the kind of person who I'd suspect of arson too. She's just plain mean. She doesn't care about you at all." a sigh. "I still haven't forgiven her for calling me fat, or a demon, or whatever else. Who does she think she is? Babe she's a charity case, her opinion shouldn't matter to you."
She rambled on as Michael laid his head on his crossed arms, facing away from Anabelle. Silent tears rolled down his face. Nobody really cared what he felt like. They only cared about his mistakes. His parents, his friends, classmates, teammates… even his girlfriend. His heart felt heavy. Maybe he wasn't right for the throne.