“I’m Emilia,” I said. “You can call me Millie.”
“Chad.”
“Mike.”
They went around the room. I only really remembered Chad because he was the first. Or maybe that was Mike. I’d gotten them confused already. I made a mental note to study their faces.
Mr. Darr distributed the Mock Trial handbook, charter, and case materials for the district competition case. The papers burned fiery in my hands. This was the case that would send us to states in Harrisburg, and then the state case could send us to Pittsburgh for nationals. I’d committed 90 percent of my brain to knowing every inch of these documents (saving 10 percent for college applications, the rest of school, and talking Claire out of dating weird girls) since November. But this was the first time we would discuss it as a team, since the boys mostly kept to themselves or did other forensics competitions during the fall.
No one could want Mock Trial victories as much as I did.
No one.
None of the guys spoke or even looked up from their papers. I decided to take the lead. I stood and straightened my skirt. “Mr. Darr, if I may,” I said.
He nodded.
“In any given trial, there are at least six people. There are three witnesses and three lawyers. Others can be on the team for research and consultation. Or we can rotate people for various competitions until we make it to states. And we will make it to states. Any questions so far?”
They shook their heads.
“Mm-hmm,” murmured Jeffrey.
“Our season starts in about six weeks. We have one meet in February and one in March. Then districts are the week after that. Those are the three that we will focus on because we know for sure we’ll be competing. We win our district, we go to states. After states—nationals.”
“Thanks, Millie. Great summary. Everyone got it?”
More nodding.
Then Mr. Darr divided us into teams. Jeffrey, Brandon, two sophomores, and one freshman and I formed the first. There were two other teams of six as well.
“Three lawyers and three witnesses,” I said to Brandon. “This is great for the future of the program! We can rotate the sophomores and freshmen. And that one junior over there could be groomed for lawyer. Or, if you want to have a research team, those can be the guys who want lawyer next year.”
“Yeah,” said Brandon. He didn’t look up from doodling in his notebook.
His flippant attitude annoyed me. They supposedly led this team. I was just the secretary of the group. (I didn’t think the graduating seniors should have voted on the executive board officers of the club, since they wouldn’t even be here this year. Why did they get a say in secretary and treasurer, let alone president or vice president? But I didn’t have to be in charge. I’d learned freshman year that I could more effectively lead the team from behind the scenes, and Emilia Goodwin was nothing if not a team player.)
“Maybe we should swap out lawyers as well,” I said. “One per competition. Two of us with experience could be at each trial, right? We’d only miss one each. I think it’s important to get as many people participating as possible, because having this much interest in Mock Trial only bodes well for the future of government, don’t you—”
“Millie,” Jeffrey interrupted, “I’ve been meaning to address this issue.”
I blinked at him. Oh, had he now? He could have mentioned this months ago, when I’d first asked about recruitment. Or last week. But this is how Jeffrey operated.
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Excuse me, everyone?” He stood up and clapped his hands. “I have an announcement.” Everyone turned to look at him. Mr. Darr glanced up from the papers he’d been grading.
“It’s amazing that there are so many of us on the team this year. But as you know, only six people can actually participate in a trial as a lawyer or a witness. So, we’ve decided to have a competition team, some understudies, and a research crew.”
“What?” I said. “Why can’t everyone get trial experience? We could make it work.”
“No, this is the way it should be. We are going to audition for spots on the trial team,” said Jeffrey.
“Audition?” Heat crept under my sweater and blouse to the buckles of the latest mom-guilt brand shoes. “How long did you know about this?” I looked up at Jeffrey, who was still standing over me.
He smiled. “We’ve been knocking around a few ideas.”
“And who is this ‘we,’ exactly? Last I knew, I was still the secretary and had a say in these kinds of things.”
“We didn’t want to stress you out,” said Brandon. “You have a lot going on.”
I did? All I had going on was Mock Trial. I barely even saw my best friend anymore, as she was busy trying to take over the Drama Club from the president.
A gross feeling clawed its way up from my stomach. I fought it down. This might not be the end of the world. It sucked for the freshmen who’d be saddled with research. I’d been in that position. But preparation never killed anyone.
“Fine,” I said. Best for a team player to keep the peace. “What are we having these guys do, exactly?”
“Oh. Well. We’ll all be auditioning. Each one of us. Only the best people should be on the team, don’t you agree?”
I frowned. Yes, I agreed. But I also knew that the chances of the Steelers winning the Super Bowl after an undefeated season were higher than Jeffrey’s definition of “best” matching mine.
“So, Mr. Darr has found a case for us to argue, with some witness statements to practice and such. We’ll audition Wednesday.”
“One day to prepare?” I said. “One. Day. What? Mr. Darr, you knew about this?”
“I’m sorry, Millie. I thought you had agreed to this,” he said. “I would say we could hold off a bit, but we really should have the team set. The first trial isn’t that far away.”
My mouth dropped open. Brandon didn’t look surprised. Most of the other guys in the room didn’t, either. Had they planned this? Why wouldn’t they include me? Especially Mr. Darr? I was the hardest worker on this team. I’d single-handedly brought down the toughest witness Fogton Creek had to offer last spring. Was this some sort of horrible joke?
“You can grab the audition materials on the way out,” said Brandon.
“Why don’t we just use the actual case?” I said.
“It’ll be fine,” said Jeffrey. “I’m sure everything will work out the way it is supposed to.”
The last time I’d heard that, Dad had been trying to talk us both into the fact that Mom didn’t really want the divorce, that she’d leave her new contractor boyfriend and come home within the month.
She married the contractor exactly seven months later.
After the bell rang, I gathered my stuff and ripped the stupid audition case file out of Brandon’s hand on my way out. I hoped I gave him a paper cut that would get infected and his arm would turn bright green or something. I glanced over the sheets.
“A death-penalty case? Are you serious? We would never see a death-penalty case in competition,” I said.
“Talking to yourself?” said a voice.
I realized I’d walked straight to Claire’s locker. “Get this. There was a boy coup d’état. I have to audition for the team.”
“Welcome to my world,” said Claire.
I glared at her.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that ridiculous Raina is a mess. She isn’t even trying at all.”
“It was probably Brandon’s fault. The Mock Trial VP. Apparently, he likes ruining things.”
“Yeah,” said Claire, unable to hide her disgust. “Clearly.”
“I can help you run lines?” I said. That usually made her feel better.
“I don’t know if I can bring myself to speak this shit out loud.” She shook her script at the sky.
“Well, then maybe you can help me. Do you happen to know anything about lethal injection?”
Claire threw me a blank look.
“Yeah. Me either.”
A stone sank from my brain to my throat and settled somewhere behind my appendix. Several more rolled out of my brain and wedged themselves around internal organs until I felt like they filled my body from head to toe. I barely managed to lift my feet to get in the car and go home.
“Good day, baby?” asked Dad.
“Yeah, Dad,” I said. “Great.”
“Mock Trial going well?” he said.
“It’s going,” I said.
I leaned against the cool glass as we bumped our way home. The silence filled the spaces between my stone insides, its heavy loneliness spilling out my ears and raining onto the floor until it filled up my room. I could drown in this, here at the bottom of a pool in my own head.
JANUARY 13: DISCOVERY CONTROL PLAN
“You’ve got this,” said Claire. “You live this.”
“Yeah.” I tried to say it confidently, but my voice cracked on even that one syllable word. Who could be ready in one freaking day? This was a set up for failure, and I didn’t understand. Claire’s face would have melted off if she’d had one day to rehearse a new play.
“These guys aren’t going to get to you. You studied. You looked stuff up online. I ran lines with you. This is a complete role reversal, and I still don’t know how I feel about it. But in my heart, I know you are going all the way to nationals. I believe in you.”
I looked over at her. The soft tendrils of hair that escaped her headband floated up in the cold wind.
“Thanks,” I said. “Wish me luck on the prosecution.”
“Break a leg,” she said, squeezing my arm.
All through morning classes, I kept going over anything I thought could help in my “audition.” This whole thing seemed off, like Brandon and Jeffrey had a plan I just wasn’t in on. I hadn’t even known that Pennsylvania had reinstated the death penalty in 1976 and that three people had been executed since then. I didn’t like what I’d learned. I always saw myself moving on to fight voter suppression or kids being taken away from their parents at the border or something.
Not this.
At tryouts, I watched two freshmen mumble their way through their arguments. Mr. Darr made notes. So did Jeffrey. Would he get to decide the team? How would that be fair? I didn’t have too much time to ruminate because I heard my name.
“Millie,” said Mr. Darr, “you’re next.” He smiled warmly, but he could have ended this whole fiasco before it started. I didn’t know whose side he was on, but it didn’t feel like mine.
“Um,” I started. Dang. That was like rule one of public speaking. “Ever since the Supreme Court, uh.” Double darn. I looked down at my notecards. Poop, card two was on top. I slid the back card onto the top. No, that was card nine. Where was card one? Did I leave it in my backpack? I should just wing it. I’ve been in more dire circumstances than these. Oh no. Had I been silent this whole time? Had it just been seconds? A minute? The freshmen dudes weren’t this bad.
“Can I start again?” I said.
“Sure,” said Mr. Darr.
Jeffrey and Brandon glanced at each other.
Focus on who you are. You are the best version of yourself right now, I thought.
“In 1995, punishment, um, arrived for a nearly fifteen-year-old murder in the form of lethal injection. I plan to argue … comment on the issues surrounding this form of execution.”
I stumbled my way through the rest of the cards. It had to be the worst presentation I’d ever done in my life, including the time I’d accidentally lost Claire’s pet rabbit at my fifth-grade talent show during my magician phase. (The bunny had been fine. We found him an hour later enjoying radishes in the sustainability garden.)
“What did you end up arguing, exactly?” asked Claire before our English class at the end of the day.
“I don’t even remember.” I put my hands against her locker and leaned my face into them. “I entered a fugue state.”
“Surely it didn’t go that badly.”
“It did. It did, it did, it did.”
“Would mozzarella sticks help?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“And even if this bullshit was the worst ever, they’ll make you a lawyer. They have to. You are a senior who has put in three years, and now it will be four. You’ve worked your ass off in everything I’ve ever seen you do. Especially this. They owe you.”
“Okay,” I said. “You mentioned fried cheese?” The thought of Pappy’s restaurant, a mere two blocks away, made life feel a little more bearable.
“Yes, I did. I’ll drive you home after.”
“Thanks,” I said. I texted Dad that he could stay at work as late as he wanted and that I’d bring him leftovers. I knew he’d love that.
I could get through the rest of this day. I could get through tomorrow if necessary. Eventually I’d find out that I was a lawyer, that Jeffrey, Brandon, and I could somehow work together to train the next generation of Steelton Mock Trial participants, and we could forget this messing around and get back on the path to winning.
Yes. I was sure of it.
Though I kind of dreaded whatever might be coming next.
3
RAINA PETREE,
:
IN THE COURT OF
:
REVENGE OF CAMBRIA
Plaintiff,
:
COUNTY
:
v.
:
:
BRANDON ROTH,
:
Case No. FUBRANDON444
:
:
Defendant
:
JANUARY 15: QUESTION PRESENTED
“‘Dear Shattered Heart,’” I read out loud to myself in my empty living room.
“‘Wow. I am so sorry. Not only was this your first love, the two of you were together for what amounts to about a third of your life. I can physically feel the sting through my computer screen. That’s saying something because our wireless signal isn’t that strong here at the Tribune Republican. If what you say is true, that your significant other dropped you for someone else with absolutely no warning … that just stinks. Plain and simple.
“‘In your letter, I hear your anguish and grief and disbelief. But what I do not hear is a desire to get back together with him. Not that you should want to, only that it is notable that that isn’t what you are asking. You only asked how you are supposed to keep going and believe in love again. This says to me that underneath all this crap, you have within you a strength and resilience that will serve you well. The question becomes—how do you access these resources? What will trigger them to kick in?
“I think you need something to distract you. You mentioned that you are some sort of artist, but that your art has suffered because of this break up. Your heart just isn’t into it. It’s okay to take a step back. One hobby or vocation (or relationship) does not define you. Can you start something new? Something physical, with your hands, that allows you to get into a new zone and make something? True story: Knitting saved my life after a particularly bad break up myself. What would you think about learning to knit? Readers—do you have stories of hobbies that helped you move on? (Or, possibly, sassy beginner patterns?) Comment below!’”
JANUARY 18: BRIEF ANSWER
I stood staring up at a wall of yarn half an hour before school.
“Can I help you?” said a lady with a silver mohawk and impressive tattoo sleeves.
“You have a tattoo of a skull and crossbones with knitting needles,” I said.
“Yes, I do.”
“You are really into this?” I gestured toward the wall.
“I mean. I own a yarn store,” she said.
“Gotcha,” I said. I sniffed back a stray memory of dick Brandon. “I would like to learn. To knit. To cope with heartbreak,” I said.
“You are the third one. A girl wrote a letter in the paper. Poor thing. I hope her ex drops dead. Good for business, though.”
“I’m the third?” I asked.
&
nbsp; “Yup. Here’s what I’m recommending—long flat scarf. Great project to start, easy to correct mistakes, useful in the Pennsylvania winter, thoughtful gift, and can be used to choke someone. Perfect both practically and metaphorically.”
“Yes, that does sound like what I need,” I said.
“I’m going to set you up with some number tens and a pretty worsted weight. What is your favorite color?” she said.
“Blue? Actually, no. Any other color than blue. Green, maybe?”
“Great. I have some with gradient coloring. It will keep it interesting, watching the colors change without having to switch skeins.”
Nothing she said made any sense to me.
“Awesome?” I said. “Is this the yarn I’m using?” I pointed to a section of wall with the most captivating rainbow of colors.
“Well … I would say to hold off on this stuff. It’s hand-dyed Peruvian alpaca. It will set you back a pretty penny, and that particular kind is so fine it would take you forever to finish. If you devote yourself to becoming a full-fledged yarnie, I’ll let you have your pick, twenty percent off. For now, use this.” The woman walked over to another rack and pushed a puffy cylinder of green into my hands.
“Okay,” I said.
“And take these.” She handed me a pair of purple needles.
“Okay,” I said.
She rang me up, and I surrendered the birthday money I’d been saving to buy Brandon a sixth-anniversary present.
“Take this, too,” she said, slipping a flyer into the bag. “There’s a beginner’s group that meets upstairs every Tuesday. It’s free but bringing snacks to share is recommended. Given my recent uptick in sales, it might also function as a ‘newly single’ support group.”
“Thanks.” I sighed.
“We’ve all been there, sweetheart. You’ll cast it off soon enough. Roll the skein into a ball before you come to a meetup here at your LYS.”
“LYS?” I said.
“Local yarn store. Actually, if you come early enough, you can use the yarn ball winder.”
Six Angry Girls Page 3
