“Okay,” everyone agreed.
“I have the opening. Sort of. Do you want to hear it?”
Nods went around the group.
Millie shuffled back and forth, from foot to foot. She flexed her fingers. She murmured something to herself and took some big breaths. Theater people had similar rituals—vocal exercises, stretches, visualizations to get into character. Maybe the courtroom wasn’t so far off from the stage. I didn’t know what that said about the criminal justice system but probably nothing good.
“Good afternoon, Your Honor,” Millie began. “And ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary members of the jury. I stand before you today representing Chris Banks, a woman wrongly accused of killing not just an acquaintance, but one who could have been viewed as a friend and colleague. The prosecution will try to sway you, but we intend to prove that any evidence they present is at best circumstantial, and at worst a partial picture devoid of essential context. The defense’s case, presented as a whole, will leave far more than a reasonable doubt in your minds about the prosecution’s claims against our client.”
Millie paused, and someone sneezed.
“Bless you,” said Izzy to me.
“I didn’t sneeze,” I said. Though the sneeze sounded oddly familiar.
Izzy had turned her chair around to face Millie but craned her neck to look at me. “Sorry. Bless you, Nikita.”
“I didn’t sneeze, either.”
Another familiar sneeze echoed from the aisle of books next to us. Millie looked annoyed.
“As I was saying. Our case…”
“Wait a second. I know that nose. I know that nose very well,” I said. I jumped up and nearly knocked Millie over taking the turn next to the World Book encyclopedias.
“Goddamn it, Brandon,” I said.
“Oh, hey, I was just looking for something. Reference material. Yeah, here it is,” he said.
He pulled an ancient dust-covered book off the shelf. Most of the books worth reading were either part of the digital collection or up front. The only thing back here were the sets I think Ms. McClain kept out of some sort of nostalgia.
“You were not. You were spying.”
Brandon tried his hurt face. Then his surprised face. Then his puppy-dog eyes. All in rapid succession with absolutely no thought to preparation or transition or motivation. He was always a terrible actor, with no real appreciation of the craft.
To think I had, until very recently, thought his cluelessness was cute.
“What is going on?” said Millie from behind me.
“We have a spy,” I said.
“Honestly, Brandon. Are you serious?” she said.
“Who is this dude?” said Grace.
“The ex,” said Millie.
“You went out with this guy?” said Grace.
“Not my ex. Raina’s,” she said.
“Ohhh.” Grace looked Brandon up and down. “If there is any argument that supports the fact that you can’t choose your sexuality, it’s straight girls.” Grace shook her head and went back to our table.
“Hey,” Brandon said. “Listen, I don’t know what you are talking about. The library is public space. I was just here researching an assignment. It’s not my fault yinz all happen to be meeting here.”
“You’re doing homework during activities period? Since when was that a thing?” I said.
“I got permission,” said Brandon.
He looked at his feet when he lied. Damned if this guy wasn’t the worst actor in the world.
“You didn’t. You’re here to try to gather intel or whatever. I get you are intimidated, but I don’t know why your team would send you.”
“Come on now, Rain.” Puppy-dog eyes. And his pet name for me. “Your hair shines even in this weird light. I remember every day how beautiful you are.”
This had worked on me?
I held up my hands, lest my heart tried to drag me toward him, ridiculous as it was. “No. You. Leave. Now.”
“Is there a problem here?” said Veronica. She rolled around behind Brandon.
“Oh look, a boy wasting my time. Typical,” said Nikita beside her.
“They could have at least sent someone who knew what they were doing,” said Izzy.
“I know, right?” said Grace.
The all-girl Steelton High Mock Trial team gathered at each end of the reference aisle. Books on either side of him, girls blocking any means of escape, he turned slowly in a circle, realizing he was trapped.
“Brandon! There you are,” said another dude voice behind me.
“How shocking, it’s the president of the other team,” said Millie. “Come to collect your inept minion, Jeff?”
“Brandon needed to do research or something. I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Jeff.
“Astonishing,” said Nikita.
“Just leave,” I said. “Both of you. We’ll see you at the scrimmage.”
A slow smile crept from one edge of Jeff’s face to the other.
“Yup. That you will. Come on, Bran. Nothing we need here.”
Brandon kept looking at his feet as Nikita and Millie parted to let him through.
The bell rang, ending the period.
I sighed. “That was the last thing we needed.”
“We still have a few days,” said Millie.
“Yeah,” I said.
There is an often-repeated myth in the theater that everything comes together at the last minute. That a show will somehow magically become great, even if people are still missing lines and sets are half-painted and four of the lights are out. But I’ve been in more than one show where it didn’t come together. Where that dress rehearsal was a hot mess and opening night was a flaming pile of shit. Maybe that was the boys’ game. Limit how much time we had to practice. Psych us all out before the scrimmage so we just gave up.
But that just meant they were underestimating their opponent.
There was a show in two days. Or trial. Whatever. I hoped Brandon would be the one to cross-examine me, that he’d be the guy to try to trip me up. Again.
Just let him try.
10
EMILIA GOODWIN,
:
SUPREME(LY PISSED
:
OFF) COURT OF
Plaintiff,
:
CAMBRIA COUNTY
:
v.
:
:
THE STEELTON HIGH MOCK
:
Case No. WiNNR4NW
TRIAL TEAM,
:
:
Defendant
:
FEBRUARY 12: SUMMARY OF THE ACTION
I am one with the universe.
I breathed in.
“Millie, where are my loafers?” Dad called.
There are only good things surrounding me. The energy I put out, I receive threefold.
I breathed out.
“Millie, have you seen a green folder? Maybe it’s blue. One of each, green and blue.”
“My potential is limitless,” I said to my reflection. It stared back skeptically, though it looked great in a black turtleneck, if I did say so myself. Mom really wanted me to go to college in Ohio and darned if she didn’t want me to be fashionable while doing it.
“Hey,” said Dad from my doorway. “Did you hear me?”
“I was affirming myself. Big day. Scrimmage. I’ll be home late. It’s after school,” I said.
“What?” he said.
“Mock Trial, Dad,” I said.
“Oh. Right. Have you seen any of my stuff?”
“Your loafers are by the door. Probably under your scarf and hat if they fell off the hook.”
They didn’t fall. He just never bothered to hang them up.
“Your folders are probably on your desk under stuff, too.”
“Thanks, babes,” he said.
“I hate when you call me that,” I said. But he was already downstairs.
“Found the shoes,” he
said.
I knew he’d find the folders. They were always on his desk, whatever it was that he was looking for. Mom used to say, “It’s wherever you left it.” Eventually it didn’t matter what Dad said. Even if it was an “I love you; you’re so amazing for doing everything,” Mom would say, “It’s wherever you left it.”
Mom was always angry, in the end. Sick of taking care of a grown man.
Maybe that was just me.
I gathered my stuff and grabbed Dad’s keys to warm up the car. He kept saying he would teach me to drive, but I wasn’t really in a hurry to learn in the winter. It gave me an excuse to ask Grace for rides.
I wondered if she’d pick me up for school.
Or, say, prom.
I shook the thought out of my head.
“Focus.” I breathed. “The universe is with me.”
At least Dad didn’t think of anything to ask from me on the drive to school. He just rambled on about Sheila, the woman he was dating. And after lunch, my trial girls were focused, at least. Brandon’s little stunt had galvanized them. Raina and Izzy knew their parts, and even if we’d only had a chance to go over a few questions, I knew I could count on them. Nikita on the other hand … I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell if she cared. Veronica was smart and could think on her feet. Or foot. Grace … she loved Ruth Bader Ginsburg. That meant something. She was probably incredibly competent, but I kept getting distracted thinking about cuddling by some fireplace in a ski chalet my brain invented.
Bet she’d look darn good in a fuzzy sweater. That she knit.
“Darn it, focus, Emilia!” I hit my clipboard.
“What?” said Izzy.
I hadn’t noticed she hadn’t left the library after our practice yet.
“Uh. Nothing. Nothing.”
“You nervous about this afternoon?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“You seem like you are hard on yourself,” she said.
I snorted. “I am easily distracted.”
“Not a vibe I’m picking up from you,” said Izzy.
I didn’t say anything. Actresses were annoying with their accurate observations and exploration of human emotion.
On my way out, I nodded to Ms. McClain, who was busy updating her Black History Month display. In honor of Mock Trial, she had a full bulletin board devoted to Charlotte E. Ray, the first Black female lawyer in the United States.
“Ready for this afternoon?” she said.
“Totally.” I breathed in optimism and breathed out confidence.
Ms. McClain had offered to host the scrimmage in the library, but Mr. Darr felt it would be “more realistic” to hold it in his classroom. Neither one was much like a courtroom. Whereas the library was open and airy and smelled of dust jackets and paper and ink, Mr. Darr’s room smelled like the recycling bin across the hall. It also was one floor above the gym, so you could hear the faint din of some team warming up downstairs.
“Probably lacrosse,” said Nikita, without anyone even having asked.
So, all of us—my huge, twelve-person, ex-team and my new small team and Mr. Darr and Ms. McClain—sat in his dank, gray classroom. Even the maps of the world scattered over boards and walls did little to cheer up the place. Why had I ever loved it in here?
Ms. McClain and Mr. Darr arranged chairs as per Mr. Darr’s instructions. I shuffled my notes, glancing over at Grace and Veronica. Grace smiled at me, and I could feel peace and serenity and confidence burst into flames and turn themselves into scarlet heat shooting across my neck and face. Veronica, for her part, sat looking flawless in matching black pants and blazer.
“Hey,” I said to her, “you look great.”
Veronica grinned. “It was a pain getting into skinny pants with the boot and all. But I feel half of the battle in any event is to look the part. I talked my mother into buying me opposition-eating clothes.”
“You look very formidable,” said Raina.
“All right, everyone,” said Mr. Darr. “We flipped a coin. I’m going to be the bailiff. And Ms. McClain will be the judge. We start when I start. Got it?”
Everyone snapped to attention. My stomach fluttered.
“All rise,” he said.
We all rose.
“The Court of Westmoreland County is now in session, the Honorable Judge Connie McClain presiding.”
Ms. McClain swept up to Mr. Darr’s desk. Even without a robe or gavel, she appeared dignified.
“Thank you, bailiff. I want to welcome you young people here today. This is a great thing you are learning to do. Are there any questions before we begin?”
No one said anything.
“Very well. Let’s get right into it with opening arguments, then, shall we?”
The boys had won the coin toss, so Jeffrey rose to their podium. It used to be the defense would always go first, or they’d leave it up to the teams to decide. But ever since the Parent Observer Incident of 2017, a coin toss now determined who started.
Grace and Veronica took notes. I tried to mentally go over my statement once more as Jeffrey laid out their case. When he finished, I stood and grabbed the podium to steady myself.
“Good morning, Your Honor.” I looked up at Ms. McClain and gave her my best winning smile. “Fellow humans of the court.”
I looked around the room. The guys had gone the “ladies and gentlemen” route, but Izzy pointed out that we should be more inclusive.
“Advisers, parents, and students. We are here today because our client, Chris Banks, stands accused of a serious crime that she did not commit. You will hear many things about her, and her possible involvement in a tragic, heinous crime. But what you hear must convince you beyond a reasonable doubt of her guilt, and we are confident that the circumstantial evidence the prosecution will bring forward will not move you to this end. The burden of proof lies with them, and we will demonstrate that there simply is not enough to determine Dr. Banks guilty.”
I took a deep breath. Courage, wisdom, justice—into the lungs. Sneaking suspicions that Jeffrey was more prepared (not that that mattered)—out.
“On November 4, 2019, our client, Dr. Banks, attended a happy hour sponsored by Warren Tower Technology. WTT was celebrating its recent transition to becoming a publicly traded company. Dr. Banks, a former employee and current WTT contract consultant, attended the party to network with new contacts and catch up with old friends. While at the party, she ran into current WTT staff Dr. Jane Marsh and Jess King. Through the course of their conversation, Dr. Banks learned that Marsh and King had continued to work on a pet project named Scrub-Bot that my client had helped conceive and begun developing during her time at WTT. The project did not belong to the company, as it falls outside their niche concern with information systems. Marsh and King had taken our client’s work without her knowledge, continued development, and submitted two patents on proprietary systems. Also unbeknownst to my client, Marsh and King recently received a seven-figure offer for this technology, as it seemed poised to revolutionize robotic cleaning systems.”
I could feel the boys and Mr. Darr staring intently at me. I could hear the boys then scribble as I spoke. I tried to breathe in as much calm as humanly possible.
“My client grew angry in front of several people, and words she has come to regret left her mouth. They were not threatening, as the prosecution might lead you to believe, but hurt and angry. Two people she thought were friends had betrayed her for … what? Money? Acclaim? Would it have been so hard to alert our client—who still was affiliated with WTT—and cut her into her rightful share? Anyone would have been upset about that—it is only human in the face of such duplicity. That is the subject of other pending litigation outside the scope of this trial. What is at stake here is what happened next. The week following this event and unfortunate exchange, Jess King was killed in an accident involving their car. The circumstances around that accident were indeed suspicious and unfortunate—but my client had nothing to do with them. As righteous as her ang
er may have been over the Scrub-Bot situation, my client still cared about both King and Marsh and would never have hurt either of them. She would never hurt anyone. She is known as a gentle pacifist and nature-lover. My client knew that she would eventually get her rightful claim of the money from Scrub-Bot. She had nothing to gain and everything to lose in circumventing the law. Finally, on the night in question, my client was otherwise engaged across town from the scene of the crime and could not have been involved. We will present evidence that demonstrates not only reasonable doubt that our client could have committed this crime, but also a compelling argument that there was no way she could have done it at all. Thank you, Your Honor.”
I grabbed my notes and turned back to my seat. Veronica nudged into my side and Grace into the other. I noticed Grace’s light gray blazer and low-cut white tank underneath and art-appreciation adrenaline mixed with the opening-arguments rush.
We’d either win this case, or I’d pass out trying.
At least the boys appeared rattled, and Mr. Darr kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat. I knew from experience that was a tell that he didn’t think things were going well for his team.
Good.
Because his team should have been my team.
Veronica’s cross-examination of Randy from the Scrub-Bot development team made my team fist bump triumphantly and Jeff scowl. Then Izzy gave a tearjerker of a testimony, and Raina threw herself so righteously into a dramatic portrayal of Chris, the accused. Then Grace’s cross-examination (and blazer) … all great.
But then it seemed like Nikita had not studied her part or she went off script on purpose. She kept saying things during my questioning of her that the boys wrote down and then made her backtrack during cross-examination. And then I could tell the boys’ closings impressed Ms. McClain. And the new kid (Chad? Mike? I never did sort them out) gave a performance equal to Raina’s.
Six Angry Girls Page 13
