In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Twenty-Seven: State vs. Seaplast

"Does it cross your mind to be slightly sorry?
Do you even care that you might be wrong?
Was it fun?
Well I hope you had a blast while you dragged me along
And you say what you need to say, and you play who you need to play"

- Dear Evan Hansen Cast, "Good For You"

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Right. So, you had a minimal, unofficial role in a case, but you still say it's not yours. And that's why Mr. Cruz disagrees with you on ownership? Because of said role?"

"I guess he views it as my first case. It wasn't my first official case, but sure, I'll admit it was the first one I was allowed to look at. Still not technically mine."

I stuck to my guns. I wasn't in the wrong here.

"You said you had nothing to do with this case and now you're saying you did. What happened to twenty-year-olds not being allowed to do anything off the record?"

"No, I said I officially had nothing to do with the case. And who said anything about having a role? Who said I did anything that belonged on or off the record?"

His mouth flattened in frustration. Nothing I said was a lie, but that didn't mean it didn't come off as contradictory. It was a beautiful and dangerous thing to be able to manipulate your words, and it was a hard skill to master. You had to carefully craft every sentence and frame every point just so. You had to hover in the gray area.

When it was mastered, it made for some interesting discourse. Some dangerous debates.

"You did," he emphasized.

"No, I said I had minimal involvement. That doesn't mean I had a role or that I did anything off the record."

"Explain. Start at the beginning," he ordered, his eyes narrowing as he filed every scrap of new information in his mind. I could see my words being replayed in his head, finding the loopholes I had nestled into.

I sat silent, simmering. Wondering who he thought he was. Who he thought I was. Because I was most certainly not someone he could order around.

"Please," he added. I leaned back, weighing my options.

I was still angry, nauseous, and confused. Nothing had fully sunk in yet, and my defense mechanisms were on high alert.

Obviously. Look at how the conversation changed. Look at how I changed in the past couple minutes. I went into attack mode. I went into some default strike setting. A mindset found in press conferences. Defenses up, jabs ready, and no prisoners taken.

I fought against my tells. I fought my tells of chewing my cheeks and twisting my fingers, the tells that made it hard to win poker. I schooled my face and my body as I pondered where I would begin. If I would begin.

I was missing some answers, and I knew he had them. Answers I needed.

If we both shared what we knew, maybe we could get a little bit closer to figuring this out. Maybe if we compromised, we could figure out what the hell I was supposed to do.

And what happens next.

"I'll tell you what I know, but you have to explain too. You know who that man is. I need to know. I deserve to know," I demanded.

I took his unchanging expression as a yes. I gathered my thoughts, filing and shuffling them into order so I could begin.

No. I won't start until he gives me something.