Six Angry Girls

by Adrienne Kisner

  “Probably not,” said Millie. “The boys’ team just has this guy from the city, too. He’s never lost a case. He bills at a stupid amount of money per hour. He is absolutely brilliant. But he’s also super busy and only gives them a couple of hours. He never once went to one of our trials. Even states. If we have someone who could be available, bar or no bar, that could give us an edge.”

  “If she burned out, will she want to do it?” said Veronica.

  “Mom seemed to think she kind of missed it. Not enough to go back to being a partner someplace, but maybe just enough to help a group of girls triumph,” said Grace. “I emailed her about it.”

  “Nice,” said Veronica.

  “My mom came up with the pitch,” said Grace. “Millie, I have her card for you to call. I figured you could sell the cause best.”

  The blood rushed back into every capillary in Millie’s upper body. “Me? But you are her flesh and blood.”

  “Yeah, but she’s super competitive with my mom,” said Grace. “It will go over better if you are also involved. Besides, she said that Aunt Kay was interested. That’s her name. Kay Elliot. Esquire. Although that’s not on her card anymore.” Grace held the card out to Millie. “My mom said that she won’t be able to say no to you. I told her you were charming.”

  “I’m not very flexible,” said Millie. “I mean. Yoga. I mean…”

  “I doubt she’ll make you sign up for a class. You got this. We can role play,” I said. “But what about the issue of the final person? We have a few days, but…”

  “About that,” said Millie, again snapping back into herself. “We need someone yesterday. We’ve been challenged to a scrimmage next week before the first real trial.”

  “What’s that?” I said. “They have those in Mock Trial?”

  “Yes,” said Millie. “And since we are a school with two teams, Mr. Darr decided it would be a good idea. I think he just wants to prove to the principal that they shouldn’t split the funding, so he thinks this will end our team before it starts.”

  “Oh, the hell it will,” I said.

  “We have to find a witness, learn our parts, write arguments, persuade a lawyer to work with us, and fully prepare. Fantastic. Not a problem,” said Veronica.

  I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or was just that driven. It was hard to tell with lit-mag people.

  “We also need a faculty adviser.”

  “What?” we all said together.

  “Isn’t Grace’s aunt enough? How many adults do we really need?” I threw my hands in the air. In theater, Mr. Cooper just left us mostly to our own devices. Claire and I wouldn’t even let him direct. And the stage-crew people were practically a cult. No one messed with them.

  “A teacher is needed for us to travel places from the school. We can’t just go on our own,” said Millie.

  “Can’t we have a parent do it?” I said. Not that I knew a parent who could, but they seemed as likely as finding a teacher who wanted to do still more stuff on the weekends.

  “Not unless the parent is employed by Steelton High.”

  All of us sat there silently. Izzy chewed her lip; Veronica looked at the ceiling tiles, lost in thought; Grace and Millie tried to pretend they weren’t both stealing glances at each other.

  “Why does this have to be hard,” I said. “It’s more injustice,” I said at the bookshelves, more loudly than I had intended. “Millie should be leading the stupid varsity law squad. WE NEED AN ADVISER TO JUST DROP OUT OF THE SKY!”

  “But then we wouldn’t have a team,” Izzy pointed out.

  “We’re almost there,” said Veronica.

  Wheels squeaked behind us. A red cart filled with books turned from the aisle.

  “What on earth is going on back here?” said Ms. McClain. “Are you causing a riot?”

  “Something like that,” I mumbled.

  “We are trying to form a Mock Trial team to compete with the other Steelton faction,” said Veronica. “But we need all these advisers and another witness, and what seemed like a good idea is now crumbling.”

  Miss McClain rubbed her chin. “You need a lawyer?”

  “We probably have one of those,” I said.

  “You need a teacher?” said Ms. McClain.

  “Yes,” said Grace.

  “For Mock Trial?”

  “Yes,” said Grace again.

  Ms. McClain looked thoughtful. “The team almost took states last year. Everyone knows that, Ms. Goodwin. Mr. Darr talks about your research skills all the time. I heard your senior project wowed.”

  Millie gave a tiny smile. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You know,” said Ms. McClain slowly. “I almost went to law school. Law school or library school. I’m glad I got my Master of Library Science, don’t get me wrong. This is the best job in the world.” She glanced around at her neatly kept nonfiction sections. “But I’m still a bit of a legal wonk. I watch a lot of old lawyer shows. I just love that stuff. And I gave up Ski Club because of my back. I have some free time…” She trailed off.

  “Wait, are you saying you might be interested in advising us?” I said.

  “That is what I’m saying, Ms. Petree.”

  “They want to have a scrimmage next week. They want an excuse not to give us any money to get to competitions,” said Millie.

  “Who? Mr. Darr? The principal? Please. If there’s one thing a librarian knows how to do, it’s make something out of nothing. And to find funding where there is none. Plus, Darr isn’t going to take me on. Or if he decides to get plucky, I can out pluck him. Don’t you worry about it, girls. I’ll go get the paperwork and fill it in after the final bell.”

  “Wow, so you’ll really do it?” asked Veronica.

  “I really will,” said Ms. McClain. “But only if you quiet down back here. This is a library, thank you very much. We have standards.”

  The squeaky red cart retreated into the depths of the current periodicals section.

  “That was oddly serendipitous,” said Izzy. “So much so it could be an SAT question. ‘Is this word used correctly: It was oddly serendipitous that the librarian appeared at the exact moment the Mock Trial team needed an adviser.’”

  “I’ll take it,” sighed Millie.

  The bell rang and we all gathered our stuff. I thought about anyone I’d ever met who would consider helping us out. In the hallway I had an idea. “WE NEED ANOTHER TEAM MEMBER TO JUST DROP OUT OF THE SKY,” I called into the hallway.

  No one even looked over at me, the din drowning out my plea.

  Nobody appeared interested in both the judiciary and theater.

  Grace raised an eyebrow.

  I shrugged. “It worked a few minutes ago,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “But that was the power of the library. You can summon librarians in there. Out here, it’s just these people.” Grace pointed to a dude sticking his tongue down a girl’s throat over by the sophomore bank of lockers.

  “True,” I said. “If I tried it again in there, Ms. McClain would probably kick me out.” I waved to Grace and the others as we parted ways to get to class.

  It was probably for the best. A person didn’t want to use all the library magic too quickly. It might melt the books or something.

  FEBRUARY 5: COMPLAINT COUNSEL’S OPPOSITION TO RESPONDENT’S MOTION

  I was having the strangest morning. I had become pregnant with Brandon’s baby, but I didn’t know how that was possible because I was pretty diligent about taking birth control. Also, as far as I could tell, I hadn’t been with Brandon because … we’d broken up? I guess we hadn’t. I wondered why I was standing in the middle of Steelton High. Oh. Didn’t I have to get to biology class? The rest of my eighth-grade class rushed around me. Then the baby was born somehow, and it was made of socks. I could hear my cell ringing because the sock baby wanted to talk, but I couldn’t find the phone. My body felt stuck in quicksand, and I must have lost the sock baby, but my ringtone just kept belting lyrics from W
icked. What the …

  I opened my eyes and squinted against the early morning sun. Wicked played next to my face, over and over. I breathed in, taking in for a second that I had never been pregnant and that there was no sock baby.

  I picked up my phone. “Hello?” I said. I still wasn’t 100 percent sure I was awake.

  “Raina!” Megan’s voice burst from the other end. “Raina, are you awake?”

  “I don’t have a sock baby,” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  “I … never mind. Are you okay? What’s going on?” Waking reality stumbled clumsily into my brain.

  “Yes, I’m great, oh my God. I had to tell you,” she said.

  I sat up and yawned. “Tell me what?” I said.

  “I got into Syracuse University! I think I’m going to get to go to France for their Discovery Program for my first semester. Decisions aren’t usually until March, but Coach went there—the cross-country coach not the swim one—and I am going to run and probably swim, let’s be honest, and I. Am. So. Happy.”

  “Wait, you got into your first-choice school?” I said.

  “Yes!”

  “That’s fantastic,” I said. I realized that it was, in fact, over-the-world fantastic as my fog completely cleared. “I’m so proud of you!”

  “Thank you! I wanted to tell you first.”

  “Of course you were going to get in everywhere. You are a swim and running goddess,” I said. “I will miss you!”

  “Well, you didn’t hear yet. You never know. I know you didn’t apply to Syracuse, but there’s still NYU! Same state, at least!”

  “You bet,” I said. The strange sock-baby mood returned. When I thought about college—studying theater in particular—I wondered if it could be real. Did I want that life? Competition and constant practice and auditions and who knew what. But if I got into someplace, I doubted I could say no. I didn’t know how Mom intended to pay for a school, even with aid, but she always made things work.

  Since Megan had woken me up so early, I had time to kill. I sat down at my computer and logged into my CMU admissions portal. I clicked on a message in my inbox, a small, secret part of me hoping that I’d somehow been accepted early as well.

  Audition dates, the subject line read.

  “Oh. Shit,” I said. I scrolled through the list. After all the drama in my own life, it’d slipped my mind that this was something I had to do. NYU and most schools allowed digital acting portfolios, and since Mom couldn’t miss work to go to New York, I’d done that in December for their early decision II process. There were two Pittsburgh weekends in February, one of which didn’t overlap with a trial. I clicked through the registration process and prayed Mom would be able to take me. I logged on to my NYU account just for good measure, and then the others. No decisions were out. I knew that, but sometimes I just logged on in case of a glitch. Or because my best friend achieved superstar athlete status and got treated as such.

  I showered and got dressed and ate breakfast alone. Mom had just gotten home from her double but was already asleep on the couch. My knitting bag sat on the couch across from Mom, so I sat down to get in a few rows before I left for school. I pulled my vagina out and surveyed the clit and vulva. The lips were pretty even, and I didn’t think switching colors for the uterus would be too complicated. Carla had suggested I try to crochet the lady bits, saying that one dull hook might suit me better than two sharp ones for this particular endeavor. The round opening actually looked realistic, insofar as any yarned body orifice could. Grace and the circle would be so proud.

  It felt good to do something with my hands. To make something tangible that I could hold, even if most everything didn’t turn out the way I had expected. Sometimes it still looked good enough. A little thrill of accomplishment zipped through me each time I finished even a small project.

  I got the rest of the vagina sorted out. I wanted a red for the uterus. It needed its own color, different from the tube’s long pink. The fallopian tubes could be something fun, like indigo or lilac. The rate I was going, I could finish two or three of these before Carla wanted them in the mail. Satisfied with all that I’d accomplished before school, I gathered up my yarn on the couch. I found my coat and boots and gave Mom a peck on the check.

  “What are you doing, baby?” Mom said.

  I surveyed my project one last time. “Just checking out my reproductive organs, Mom,” I said.

  “Okay. Have a good day at school,” she said.

  You couldn’t shock a nurse. It just wasn’t a thing.

  I set off toward the bus stop with more hope than I’d had in a while. Megan had gotten into her dream school. I hadn’t blown my chances at CMU even though I’d had my head up my ass. And maybe I could be a crochet prodigy while I got up to speed with knitting. I could start making hats or little fidget octopi for preemie babies. Or sweaters for creatures in wild fires or oil spills or victims of climate change. There was no end to how fiber could heal the world.

  My boots crunched through the ash-colored snow, flecks of road debris making it appear like old newsprint. The chilly air dug into my eyes and nose, the only parts exposed. The bus pulled up before too long, and I shivered inside. Once I was seated on the sticky plastic seat, I pulled out my phone to play on the ride to school. I noticed I’d missed a text from Millie last night.

  We have the final witness was all it said.

  Maybe I still dreamed of Brandon, so at least part of my brain wondered and cared about him. I wanted to be over him faster. But other things were starting to grow slowly where my love for him had been uprooted. I smiled under my scarf. Today the slate strands of the world knit together with silver and shadow, instead of bland winter gray.

  8

  EMILIA GOODWIN,

  :

  SUPREME(LY PISSED

  :

  OFF) COURT OF

  Plaintiff,

  :

  CAMBRIA COUNTY

  :

  v.

  :

  :

  KAY ELLIOT, ESQUIRE,

  :

  Case No. YESUCN1313

  :

  :

  Defendant

  :

  FEBRUARY 7: PLANTIFF’S FIRST SET OF REQUESTS FOR PROTECTION

  I willed myself not to look in the mirror.

  I wanted to look again. The last time I had, my pale skin seemed paler, my hair limper, even though I’d exfoliated and primed and conditioned and blow dried.

  “Beauty is within. I see that beauty without.” I breathed in a deep breath and held it for four seconds. I exhaled. “I see everything I need within myself.”

  Maybe I should put on a different shade of eyeliner.

  Or change my outfit.

  “For goodness sake, Emilia, get it together,” I said to myself.

  My brain almost never listened to my affirmations’ advice. I should stop paying three dollars a month for the app.

  Even if Grace was like me and knew she wasn’t interested in … things, I wondered if she still also sometimes got butterflies around certain people and wanted to get closer to them.

  Like, say, me.

  My phone buzzed. Outside! the text read.

  A feeling that almost resembled relief flooded through me. I’d have to go with the blue eyeliner and the green corduroy pants with a silky white tunic. The hair would stay in the ponytail.

  I grabbed my coat and bag and yelled to Dad in his office. “Off for a school-related project. Back by dinner!”

  “Okay,” he called back.

  At least he acknowledged me.

  A nervous lump settled in my throat in the ten feet from my door to the driveway.

  “Focus, Millie.” I breathed in. “Your destiny awaits at the crossroads of desire and dedication.”

  “Hey,” I managed to speak out loud, slipping into the idling SUV. The winter chill immediately melted from my body. “This seat is really warm. Is that on purpose?”

  “We are a full-se
rvice operation here.” Grace grinned. “My dad insisted on the butt warmers.”

  “Nice,” I said. I remembered to be nervous again. I tried to breathe in cosmic strength from the butt warmers.

  “Aunt Kay might have breakfast for us. She’s taken up baking in retirement.”

  “Yoga and baking. Great combo.”

  “Yes. And fishing. Her hero Rachel Maddow fishes.”

  “The news anchor?”

  “Yes. Totally loves fishing, I’m told. Maybe that’s where the baking comes from, too. Who knows?”

  We pulled onto the main road from my driveway.

  “If we get the lawyer, we only need the last teammate,” said Grace.

  “Oh!” I said. “I forgot I only told Raina. We have our final teammate.”

  “Seriously?” said Grace. “Way to bury the lede there.”

  “Ms. McClain kind of found her.”

  Found her was a smidge inaccurate. Ms. McClain forced Nikita Varman to join as a punishment in lieu of payment for too many late books was much more precise.

  But sometimes details like that got in the way.

  “Well, don’t keep me hanging. Who is it?”

  “Do you know Nikita? Former gymnast? Current dancer and cheerleader?”

  “No. But I’m new.”

  “Oh. Well. She’s got spirit, yes she does.”

  “What?” said Grace.

  “You know, like at pep rallies? The cheerleaders shout, ‘We’ve got spirit, yes we do, we’ve got spirit, how ’bout you?’ Then you answer them, presumably, with enthusiasm.”

  “I see. We didn’t have cheerleaders at my old school. They were hippies who wove baskets and stuff. Competition was discouraged.”

  “That’s horrifying,” I said.

  Competition was life. What did you possibly do for fun if you didn’t compete? Knit, I guessed.

  Grace laughed. “So, do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Have spirit?”