Feed: The Newsflesh Trilogy - By Mira Grant Page 0,22
answer. The only person who?s ever hugged me without thinking about the shooting angles and light saturation is my brother, and he?s the only one whose hugs I?ve ever given a damn about.
My glasses filtered camera flashes, although it wasn?t long before I had to close my eyes anyway. Some of the newer cameras have lights on them strong enough to take photographs in total darkness that seem to have been taken at noon, and there?s not an intelligence check associated with buying that sort of equipment. One of those suckers goes off in your face, you know you?ve been photographed. I was going to have a migraine for days thanks to Mom?s forced photo opportunity. There was no way I could have avoided it; it was give in before dinner or spend the entire meal being harangued about my duties as a good daughter, leading to a much longer photo session afterward. I?d rather kiss a zombie raccoon.
Buffy came to my rescue, slinking through the crowd with the sort of grace that only comes from the kind of practice most of our generation has avoided. Reaching out, she caught hold of my other arm and chirped, all dizzy good cheer, ?Ms. Mason, Georgia, Mr. Mason says our table?s ready! Only if you don?t come now, they may release it, and then we?ll have to wait at least a half an hour for another table.? She paused before delivering the coup de grace. ?An inside table.?
That was the perfect thing to say. Sitting outside added to the family?s mystique, making us look brave and adventurous. Parental opinion, not mine. I think eating outside when you don?t have to makes you look like a suicidal idiot dying to get munched by a zombie deer. Shaun sides with everybody on this one?he?d rather eat outside when we have to eat with the parents in public, since that way there?s the chance a zombie deer will come along and rescue him. He just agrees that it?s a stupid thing to do. Mom doesn?t see the stupidity. If it was a choice between an outdoor table where the photographers could get some decent shots and an indoor table where people might gossip about the fearless Stacy Mason losing her nerve, well her answer was obvious.
Flashing her award-winning?literally?smile at the crowd, Mom pulled me into an ?impulsive? hug and announced, ?Well, folks, our table?s ready.? Noises of displeasure greeted her statement. Her smile widened. ?But we?ll be back after food, so if you guys want to grab a burger, we might be able to coax a few wise statements out of my girl.? She gave me a squeeze and let go, to the sound of general applause.
I sometimes wonder why none of these news site cluster bombs ever catch the way her smile dies when she?s not facing the cameras. They run solemn pictures of her once in a while, but they?re as posed as the rest; they show her looking mournfully at abandoned playgrounds or locked cemetery gates, and once?when her ratings dipped to an all-time low during the summer Shaun and I turned thirteen and locked ourselves in our rooms?at the school Phillip had attended. That?s our Mom, selling the death of her only biological child for a few points in the ratings game.
Shaun says I shouldn?t judge her so harshly, since we make our living doing the same thing. I say it?s different when we do it. We don?t have kids. The only things we?re selling are ourselves, and I guess we have a right to that.
Dad and Shaun were standing outside the restaurant doors, turned just far enough that none of the microphones capable of withstanding the crowd noise without shorting out would be able to make out what they were saying. As I drew closer, I heard Shaun saying, in an entirely pleasant tone, ? I really don?t care what you consider ?reasonable.? You?re not part of our team; you?re not getting any exclusives.?
?Now, Shaun??
?Dinnertime,? I said, snagging Shaun?s arm as I walked past. He came with me as gratefully as I?d gone with Buffy a few moments before. Shaun, Buffy, and I walked into the restaurant practically arm-in-arm, with our parents trailing behind us, both struggling to conceal their irritation. Tough. If they didn?t want us embarrassing them in public, they shouldn?t have made us go out.
Our table proved to be nice enough to suit Mom?s idea of propriety; it was located in the far corner of the yard,