She tried to control her breathing. The fear kept rising and then receding in her stomach, like bouts of nausea on an amusement park ride.
“She wouldn’t really, like, execute anyone of course,” said Zoe, smiling fiercely, as if determined to show she was making a joke.
“Of course not,” said Jessica, but how did she know what this woman could do? She’d given them drugs without their consent, and who knew what she’d done to Yao and Delilah. “It’s an exercise, that’s all, to make us think. It’s just a really stupid exercise.”
“I’m worried my mother might antagonize Masha. She’s not taking it seriously enough.” Zoe shot a look at Heather.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do a really good job defending her,” said Jessica. “Your mother is a midwife. She helps bring new life into the world. Also, I was on the debating team. First speaker.” Jessica is a conscientious student. That was the comment she used to see most often on her report cards.
“And I’ll do a good job defending you!” Zoe sat up straighter, with the air of a fellow conscientious student. “So, okay, I thought, first of all, I should obviously mention your pregnancy, right? You can’t execute a pregnant woman. That would be against some convention or something, right?”
“That’s true,” said Jessica doubtfully, although she wasn’t sure why she felt doubtful. Was it because the pregnancy wasn’t confirmed? Because it seemed like that was exploiting a loophole? She only deserved to live because her innocent child deserved to live?
And if she wasn’t pregnant, why should she live? Just because she really wanted to live? Because her parents loved her? Because she knew her sister loved her too, even if they were currently estranged? Because her Instagram followers often said she “made their day”? Because last financial year her charitable donations were higher than what had once been her annual income?
“When we won the money, we really tried to, you know, not be selfish,” she told Zoe. “To share it, to give to charity.” She ran her fingers through her hair like a comb and lowered her voice. “But we didn’t give it all away.”
“No one would expect that,” said Zoe. “It was your prize.”
“That’s one thing I miss about our old life,” admitted Jessica. “Before we got rich we didn’t ever have to think about whether we were ‘good’ people, because we didn’t have time to be good. We were just paying the bills, getting by, living our lives. It was kind of easier.” She winced. “That makes it sound like I’m complaining and I promise you I’m not.”
“I’ve read about lottery winners who go on crazy spending sprees and their relationships end and they lose the lot and end up on benefits,” said Zoe.
“I know!” said Jessica. “When we won, I did a lot of research about lottery winners. So I, like, knew the pitfalls.”
“I reckon you’ve done a good job of it,” said Zoe.
“Thank you,” said Jessica gratefully, because sometimes she had longed for someone to give her a good mark for how well she’d handled the prize money.
She’d tried so hard to be a well-behaved lottery winner. To invest properly, to share appropriately, to get tax advice, to go to posh fundraiser balls where terrifyingly elegant people sipped French champagne while they bid obscene amounts of money on obscure items at charity auctions: “All for a good cause, ladies and gentlemen!” She thought of Ben tugging at his bow tie, muttering, “Who the fuck are these people?”
Should she have spent more at those charity balls? Less? Not gone at all? Sent a check? What would have made her a better person, more deserving of life right now?
If this had happened before the win, what would Zoe have said? Jessica deserves to live because she works really hard at her boring-as-batshit job and she’s never even flown business class in her life, let alone first class, so what sort of life is that?
The money defined her now. She didn’t even know who she was before the money.
“Ben didn’t want to make any decisions except for which car to buy,” she told Zoe. “He didn’t want anything to change … and that’s just not possible.”
She touched her lips and looked down at her boobs, which were objectively awesome.
Would her defense case be better if she didn’t look like this? If she hadn’t spent so much money on her body?
“Why would you want to look like one of those dreadful Kardashians?” her mother had once asked her.
Because Jessica thought