“I think I do,” I said. It was true enough, and I knew it would be better for Dad to hear.
“Well, he’d have been tickled pink to know you might be taking up where he left off.”
“Thanks, Dad. I should go to school.”
“Yes, study hard,” he said to me. He turned back to Mom. “Are you off to work?” he asked.
“Not till three,” she answered. “We have some time to get reacquainted.”
My feet could not carry me out of there fast enough. I didn’t even want to imagine them “getting reacquainted” over FaceTime, lest I never be able to close my eyes again.
* * *
I switched books at my locker and made for my homeroom. I slammed the door shut and nearly screamed to see Claire standing inches from my face.
I jumped back three inches, knocking into the dude at the next locker.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“Wanted to know if you had auditioned yet,” she said.
“For what?”
“Carnegie Mellon,” she said.
“No. I signed up for the last date.” Normally I wouldn’t give her this kind of information, but she’d nearly scared the ever-living shit out of me, so I was more forthcoming. Maybe that was her plan all along. I made a mental note to ask Millie if this would be a useful strategy in court.
“Yeah, me too. Are you driving there?” said Claire.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I’m allowed to drive that far by myself.”
“Me either. My mom has to watch my cousins because my uncle got hit by a car riding his bike.”
“Oh my God, is he okay?”
“He broke his sacrum. He’s alive, but he isn’t taking it well and will go to rehab and stuff. His partner is a known horrible narcissist. We have his five- and seven-year-old in the house, and Mom almost started crying when she thought of driving them to the city and hanging around all day. They aren’t taking this well, either. She said it’s fine if I take my dad’s car, since he’ll be out of town on a business trip. But she doesn’t want me to go alone. So, I wondered if you wanted to.”
“Wanted to what?” I said.
“Wanted to ride down with me?”
Was Claire offering me the ride I now so desperately needed? She really was. I’d been thinking about taking the train, but I hadn’t bothered to look at the schedules since I had a mental block against all things future and theater related and just found out Mom couldn’t take me. I probably owed Claire a little bit for bringing this to my attention, though she certainly didn’t need to know that.
“Maybe? Let me talk to my mom and get back to you? I need to check on her plan.” I didn’t. But I couldn’t bring myself to be grateful to Claire just yet.
“Okay. Uh. Then text me? Right. Great. Right. See you,” she said.
I could knit the entire reproductive and digestive system with the strands of awkward weaving themselves around the hallway after that.
Team Millie had the witnesses partner with lawyers during Mock Trial practice. Veronica grilled me over my knowledge of electronics and then she grilled me over why I could ever think peaceful protestor Chris could do such a thing to Jane’s partner. It was a little odd, playing opposite sides all within an hour. On the other hand, it was different. Exhilarating, even. And apparently the law ran in my veins.
Or at least dramatic arguing did. What’s the difference, really?
As I waited for the bus after school, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey,” said Brandon.
I stared at him.
“Here,” he said, reaching out his hand. He handed me a silver chain with a delicate letter R dangling from it. “You left this at my house a while ago. I thought you might want it.”
I took it from him almost by instinct. A tiny diamond sparkled at the top of my initial. Brandon had bought this for me just this past summer. I’d worn it every day. I think it had gotten snagged once when I was trying to get his shirt off. I’d asked him for it back a half a dozen times.
I searched his face for sadness. For remorse. For anything. He looked a little like he wanted to throw up.
“Why are you giving this back to me now?” I said.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I found it. It’s yours.”
I considered chucking it into a pile of snow. Instead I grasped it tightly for a second and then held it out to him.
“Here,” I said.
He didn’t move.
“Here,” I said again.
He held out his hand.
“I loved you, asshole.” I planted my feet. Drew my breath from the diaphragm. “And you didn’t care. Give this to Ruby. She won’t even know it was mine.”
The bus pulled up then. I turned and walked up the steps without looking back to see what he had done.
My fingers burned where I’d held his stupid gift. Maybe it was just from the cold.
Once the bus dropped me off, I didn’t want to be home alone with my thoughts, so I texted Grace and suggested we head over to The Dropped Stitch early.
Parents making kale smoothies for dinner. I’m already on my way to get you, she texted back.
She pulled up in front of my house less than five minutes later. She rolled down the window.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“I’m kicking this pile of snow,” I said. I imagined Brandon’s head in the block of ice sitting there, dirty and frozen.
“Uh, okay?” she said.
“You shouldn’t text and drive, you know. It’s dangerous,” I said. I tapped the remains of ice-Brandon off my heel before getting into her SUV.
“I wasn’t texting. I can talk to my phone through the car, and it types it for me. Besides, I was at a red light. I have to be careful, because if you are listening to music it will insert the lyrics in your message. You want to have an awkward conversation, try explaining Drake to your dad.”
“Wow.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” she said as we pulled into the parking lot.
I sniffed a little.
“You okay?” said Grace.
“Stupid … boys. Stupid … Brandon. Do you know what he did?” I wanted to scream into the wind after his stunt today, but I’d already spent enough energy on imagining his face exploding. I took a breath in and held it for a couple of seconds before letting it out. “You know what, he’s not even worth talking about.” I was surprised to realize that I might have been beginning to mean that. “I’m feeling good about vaginas and fallopian tubes,” I said. “It’s good they aren’t that big. There is something to be said for crocheting, with its one hook and no stabby points. Did you get Carla’s email?”
“I did. I knit the squares in the pattern she sent. They look clitoral. Is that a word?” said Grace.
“Uh. What?” I said.
“The squares we were supposed to knit in the ‘assignment’ she sent. They look like reproductive bits only—you know—flatter?”
“I didn’t get patterns. She just told me to knit brown and beige squares. Or crochet or whatever. Which is what I did. But I am still not great with the patterns without a lot of practice, so maybe we had separate assignments. Do you know what this is for? Are we going to make a blanket and mail it to the Pennsylvania legislature or something?”
“Beats me,” she said. The parking lot looked too narrow with freshly plowed snow blocking half of the entryway, so Grace parked next to the curb.
The bells over the door jingled as we pushed out of the cold night.
“Keep your coats on, girls; we are going on a field trip,” said Carla. “Bring your knitting bag. I trust you did your practice assignment.”
We nodded.
“There’s no artichoke dip?” I said.
Carla chuckled at the obvious horror in my voice. “It’s in the mini fridge upstairs. This will be an hour, tops.”
Several of the regular under-seventy crew joined us after a few minutes.
“Gretta w
anted to come, but the hip is acting up,” said someone.
“That’s for the best. It’s icy out. Don’t tell her I said that, or she’ll kill me.”
We followed Carla back outside. We walked down the block toward the main part of downtown.
“Where are we going?”
“Secret mission. It’s on a need-to-know basis,” said Alex.
“It seems like we’d need to know,” I said. My feet felt seconds from sliding out from under me. I kept grabbing on to Grace to keep from falling.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right. I have traction cleats. I anticipated the ice.”
“You can drive in those?” I said. I managed to grab her coat before I wiped out on at the end of a slick driveway.
“You can. Arguably my dad said I maybe shouldn’t. I brought shoes to change at the store. But I’m saving lives here.”
Grace stopped Alex from sliding into a mailbox shaped like a dachshund.
“Haven’t all of you lived here for a long time? Why no cleats?”
“I never tend to be out in the elements,” I said. “And the one time I wore them, they just fell off.”
“We’re here!” said Carla.
We’d stopped in front of the city courthouse, looming gray and morally imposing in the moonlight. Icicles reflected flickering streetlights, casting an eerie glow on the other knitters’ faces.
“Okay, here’s the plan, everyone. We are yarn bombing the joint.”
“We’re what now?” I said.
“Yarn bombing. Peaceful. Warm. Cozy. But still makes a statement. Get out your squares.”
All of us shuffled through our bags. I’d gotten eight or nine done, as I’d really gotten the hang of the uterus gig. I’d been diligently mailing them to the list of addresses Carla had provided. But this was next-level spy-knit shit.
“Okay, first the flesh tones. Alex will stitch them together onto the railings. Grace, dear, maybe you can help. I have the squares from Gretta and the others,” said Carla.
My nose already had begun to tingle. I rewrapped my scarf and unearthed my gloves from the bottom of my deep coat pockets. I stomped around a little to thaw my toes. I still wasn’t sure what was going on.
“Raina, do something useful over there. Keep watch,” said Carla.
“For what?” I said.
“The fuzz.”
“What?”
“That was a yarning civil-disobedience joke. I meant the police. Or security or anyone wandering by. We need to keep this stealth for the time being, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure, Carla.” I doubted that the Steelton Police Department would be on the lookout for rogue knitters on a random freezing Tuesday, but I did as I was told.
Grace and company diligently stitched together everyone’s separate work over the wide stone railings in front of the courthouse entrance. The pieces curved around and under each part perfectly.
I stomped back and forth, alternating between gazing down the empty street to watching the knitters at work.
“It’s amazing how it just seems to fit,” I said. “All the pieces together.”
Carla directed the group to move to the railing on the other side.
“Oh, I cased the place weeks ago. The key to a good yarn bomb is to sketch and measure and plan. I tried doing it in the day, but there were too many witnesses. Literally—there was a huge trial, and they must have called half of Cambria County to testify. I found that not long after everyone left work in the downtown, the places get awfully quiet. Sad in a way. It used to be busy with restaurants and shops.”
The crew finished the other side more quickly than the first. Diverse yarn textures and weights made the patches uneven. The cool marble beneath peeked out from the looser woven patches. Was it a multi-skin-toned flower? There weren’t petals, exactly. It looked more like a Georgia O’Keeffe painting.
Oh.
Oh my God.
“You made the courthouse banister into a vagina?” I said. A good six-foot vagina.
“Shhhh, you are the lookout!” said Carla.
“Why all the vaginas? Vaginas everywhere! What kind of social movement are you running here?” I tried to whisper. I kind of understood the whole “mailing body parts to people who make the laws.” But was this illegal?
“The other side are breasts,” said Grace matter-of-factly.
“They are meant to appear lactating, but you probably can’t see it in the dark,” said someone.
I could just make out one of the nipples from my vantage point, pink and red against what I thought was probably peach and umber and sand. Each yarn bomb looked regal in its way.
Honestly, a dick on a banister would have just looked stupid.
Just then something moved out of the corner of my eye.
“There’s a car headed this way,” I said. I squinted into the night.
No sirens blared as the car crawled down the poorly plowed street, seemingly in no real hurry.
“I think we’re good,” I said.
No sooner had the words left my mouth that the front door of the courthouse opened. Silhouetted by dim backlighting stood a man I recognized from the news. The Honorable Herman T. Wise stared at us.
“What the…” he said.
“Run!” Carla yelled in a half whisper-half shout.
No one could run, with the ice and snow.
“Come back here. Don’t think I don’t know who you are,” yelled Judge Wise.
We marginally hustled one street over and hung on to Grace in a knitter choo-choo back up the hill to The Dropped Stitch. No one pursued us, but you’d have thought there was a (slow but) deadly force hot on our heels. A few minutes later, we all got back inside and shook off our hats and coats and boots into a heap next to the door.
“That was close!” said another fellow Justice Yarner.
It wasn’t. Close. The judge had barely breached the doorjamb by the time we were well on our way to safety.
“The courthouse doesn’t have cameras, do they?” asked someone.
“They do. But they haven’t worked for years. We’re good.”
“Did we break the law?” I said. “He seemed to indicate he knew who we were.”
“Well…” Carla said. “That’s always been a little hazy. I mean, it’s vandalism, though most people probably wouldn’t call it that. It’s going onto other people’s property and putting something there they didn’t ask for. We didn’t get permission. We wouldn’t get permission. But then again, I’m a taxpayer. I own a piece of that place. I would knit blind justice a sweater if I wouldn’t dislocate my shoulder trying to get on top of the building.”
“So that’s a maybe, then?” Grace said.
Carla ignored us and opened the mini fridge. “Anyone want dip?”
FEBRUARY 10: RELIEF IN THE FORM OF MANDAMUS
When I got up for school in the morning, I found Mom asleep on the couch. I poked her.
She opened her eyes right away.
“Hey there,” she said.
“I was checking to make sure you were alive,” I said.
“Mighty thoughtful of you,” she said. “I don’t suppose you made coffee?”
“You know I don’t drink coffee. But I know how to push the button on the machine,” I said.
“Glad to see I might be raising you right,” she said. She got up and went upstairs.
I changed the filter and started coffee. I helped myself to some cereal.
“Can you for sure not take me to Pittsburgh? I had an offer of a ride from … uh…”
What? A friend? A complete rival who could be left in the dust at home and not be my competition?
“… A classmate who also needed a companion,” I finished.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I really am. But the car isn’t that reliable even if I could. It’d be great if you could get a ride with someone.”
“Yeah, I figured.” My heart sank at the thought of taking Claire up on her generous
offer, even if she kind of needed me to go. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“Thanks, hon,” she said. Even after the coffee, she still looked exhausted.
At school, I sought out Claire on purpose for perhaps the first time in our lives. She was standing next to Millie at her locker, whispering something to her.
“Oh hey,” I said.
“Hi,” Millie said. “Looking for me?”
“Actually, I’m here to see Claire,” I said. I cleared my throat. “I would like to ride with you. To Pittsburgh. In a few weeks. Together.”
I wanted to communicate that maybe I’d be riding in the trunk to avoid interacting with her, but that might have been implied.
“Yes. Great. That’s amazing. A ride. To Pittsburgh,” she said.
Millie stared at us. “The two of you are going to auditions together?” she said.
“It is a matter of necessity,” I said. “Carnegie Mellon has a prelaw program in addition to theater. Maybe we can walk by some of those buildings while we are there.”
“Yes. Sure,” said Claire.
“It’s a two-hour ride to Pittsburgh,” said Millie. “With the two of you. Together.” She didn’t even bother to hide her grin.
“Well, I have to go. See you. Later. In two weeks or so, at least. Millie. I will see you at Mock Trial.” I walked away. The less time we had to talk, the better we got along.
Millie snickered when she saw me in the library after lunch but wisely didn’t bring up the universe throwing me and Claire together as the team assembled in our usual spot.
“Okay, team, we have a few days before the scrimmage. We are going to practice,” said Millie.
“How, exactly?” I asked.
“We can have our opening and closing statements. Both of which are a work in progress.” She glanced at the lawyers. “And maybe try to question the witnesses. We only have an hour at the moment, but let’s see what we can do.”
Six Angry Girls Page 12
