The Broken Lake by Shelena Shorts

explanation.
    “You’re not high-strung like she is, so you’re not that bad.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry for what? I can handle my mother.”
    “No, I don’t want to make you feel like that. Like you’re being interrogated.” He put his hand to the side of my face and I leaned into it. “I’ll still worry about you all the time, but I’ll try not to make you feel like you’re in trouble.”
    I smiled. “If that’s what I was in when I got here, then please, by all means.” He let go. “What?” I asked innocently.
    He smiled and leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “I’m going to change.”
    “But—”
    Oh, well. I suppose dry clothes were good. I went upstairs to change as well, and by then, it was lunchtime. With two plates of sandwiches and chips, we sat on the couch. We rarely watched TV. Our conversation usually filled up the space around us and also seemed to make our time together more valuable.
    I took a bite of my sandwich and watched him pop some chips into his mouth. “So when is the press conference scheduled?”
    Unfazed, he answered, “Tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    Still eating and not looking my way, he nodded casually.
    “Where? When?”
    “At the California Blood Research Lab.” I waited for the rest. “Ten a.m.,” he continued.
    “That soon?” I put my plate to the side. “So let me get this straight. Tomorrow morning, you are going on television to talk about the very same stuff Dr. Thomas kept hidden, and you’re enjoying a sandwich right now?”
    Finally making eye contact, he put his plate aside and turned my way. “Yes, but I’ll starve if you want me to.”
    “Wes! I’m not playing around.”
    “Me either. I will.”
    “You’re impossible.”
    “Only to you.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    “Come on. Stop worrying.” He moved closer. “I’m not concerned. It’ll be fine.”
    That was easy for him to say. I was a wreck all that day and through the night, worrying and wondering what he was going to say. And the morning was worse. He wouldn’t let me go with him and I didn’t blame him. But that meant I was stuck in my house with my mom and Tom, who were both hovering around the only decent-size TV we had in the house. Not good for settling my nerves.
    “Sophie, sit down. Stop pacing, will you?”
    No, I couldn’t. An escape was needed. “Mom, I’m going upstairs. Call me when it’s over.”
    “Are you kidding? Sit down. Wes is going to be on
TV
. You can’t miss that. He’s going to have his fifteen minutes of fame. That only comes around once in a lifetime.”
    She was clueless. I looked at Tom, whose expression was much more intense.
    “Gayle, he’s just a kid. He’s not winning an award. He’s talking about important stuff here. Even I don’t know what goes on in those labs. It’s very interesting.”
    “Hmm. If you say so,” she said. “Sophie, sit down now. You’re making me dizzy.”
    I plopped onto the couch with my arms crossed, biting my lip, waiting for the inevitable.
    Just then, the Channel 7 live news flash graphic grew on the screen, spun around, and twisted one time before disappearing to reveal Topper Harris, a morning newscaster I’d seen many times throughout my mother’s morning coffee sessions. Now he was going to be talking about my Wes. I flinched at the thought.
    “Good morning, this is Topper Harris coming to you live from the lobby of the California Blood Research Lab, a facility rumored to be on the fast track to possible cures for cancer, HIV, and other diseases. As some of you may already know, last week, Andrew Walters, a security guard at the UC Berkeley campus, was found dead after allegedly kidnapping a young woman and holding her in exchange for experimental serums believed to be from this lab.
    “Reports indicate that he had previously stolen rare samples belonging to the lab in a desperate attempt to cure his inoperable cancer. He later died from an apparent overdose of those stolen samples.
    “All