Free Flawed by Cecelia Ahern Page A

selection.
    â€œWe’ve got pale pink, baby pink, orchid pink, champagne pink, pink lace, cherry blossom pink, lavender pink, cotton candy, hot pink.…” Mom lists the shades as she moves along the line, already eliminating the ones she doesn’t like and tossing them back into the suitcase. The hot pinks, candy pinks, and lace are removed. The suggestive tops with the low fronts are taken away. We settle on baby pink: skinny cropped trousers and a blouse so light pink it is almost white, buttoned up the center with ruffles, and a pair of ballet flats. A walk across the cobblestoned courtyard in heels is too much of a stage set for a tripping/heel-getting-caught disaster. Not a good look for the cameras and the hysterical public, which will be there to watch me. The flats are pink-and-tan leopard print.
    â€œThey’re sweet, but they say ‘don’t mess with me,’ too,” Mom says. “Remember, in this world, image is everything.”
    Tina arrives with a male mannequin, then leaves.
    â€œSweetheart, this is Mr. Berry,” Mom says. “He will be representing your case. Judge Crevan recommended him, says he’s the best. He represented Jimmy Child.”
    The mannequin suddenly moves. He offers me a big smile, a smile I don’t believe, a smile that is as fake as the smooth skin on his face. From the neck down he looks sixty; from the chin up he looks thirty. He wears a dapper suit—like he’s just walked out of the airbrushed pages of a magazine—shiny shoes, a handkerchief perfectly positioned in his pocket, and gold cuff links to match his gold tie. His face shimmers where his cheekbones have been accentuated, and I definitely see powder on his skin. He’s perfect, and yet I don’t trust him. I look over at Soldier, who is glaring at my newly appointed representative with suspicion. I must say I agree, once again, with his instincts. Our eyes meet, and he shakes his head as though I am nothing and then walks to the far corner of his cell, as far away from me as he can physically get.
    â€œCelestine,” Mom says. She jerks her head in Mr. Berry’s direction, and I realize I haven’t acknowledged him yet.
    â€œI’m sorry.” I move forward hastily, as if I’ve been pushed.
    â€œI understand,” he says, devoid of all understanding and affection, through his big white teeth. “So let’s get to it.” He takes his seat and bangs his briefcase down on the table before him. Gold clasps spring open. “Today is just procedure. You won’t be required to say or do anything at all apart from deny the Flawed claim. Then they’ll set a time for your trial tomorrow and send you home.”
    I breathe a sigh of relief.
    â€œCelestine,” he says, noticing my nerves, “you just stick with me, kiddo, do as I say, and we’ll both be fine. I’ve done this a million times.”
    The both is not lost on me.
    â€œOf course, your situation is unique. I don’t usually have every member of the press and MTV outside my door. Not even for Jimmy Child, but then young women in the media are always more interesting. We found that helped us in Jimmy’s case. They were more interested in his wife and her sister than him.”
    â€œMTV?”
    â€œYou’re a pretty seventeen-year-old girl from a good part of town, no serious problems, girlfriend of the son of Judge Crevan. What’s not to love about this case? Plus they’re looking for a new reality show, and it looks like you’re their newest target. You represent a generation that will be obsessed with every detail of every aspect of this case, a generation that is pliable, moldable, and just so happens to have more disposable income than any other demographic. Whatever shoes you wear today, they’ll want tomorrow. Whatever earrings you’re wearing, they will sell out by the end of this week. Whatever perfume you wear, there