“I mean. Like, kissing?” I said.
“We can go back to the popcorn if that is more comfortable.”
“I do like kissing.”
“Millie. Honest, it’s just a movie. We can watch it. That’s it. You can pick. There’s some documentary about the Constitution playing at the hipster place up on the hill on Thursday.”
The woman had done her homework.
“Okay. Yes. That would be useful.” Breathe, I willed myself. Neurons immolated themselves to escape the awkward.
“The documentary would be useful to you?” Grace grinned again and shook her head. “And I’m allowed to join the two of you?”
“I don’t have a lot of dating experience,” I said. “I’m sorry about this. Mock Trial is usually my boyfriend. Or girlfriend. My significant other.”
“How’s that working out for you?” she said.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
Now Grace really laughed.
Maybe she was into absurdity.
Fortunately for me, Raina returned. She easily accepted all the attention in a room if you offered it to her. She launched into a monologue about auditioning as a turkey.
When the bell rang, Grace handed Raina a ball of bright yellow yarn from her backpack.
“Knit something sunny,” she said.
“Okay,” Raina said.
To me, Grace leaned over and whispered, “See you Thursday.”
The chills down my spine counteracted my internal combustion enough so that I didn’t incinerate everyone right there in the hallway. That was partly a shame because Mock Trial president Jeffrey brushed past me.
“Pardon me,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I managed to say. The sensation of Grace’s lips close to my ear still tingled in my neck.
“Oh. That’s good. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt or anything, keeping you and your team out of competition.”
I turned to look him full in the face.
“I helped you for years,” I said.
“I—”
“I was never mean to you. I laughed at your jokes. I got you that girl’s number at the Mansfield meet. I spoke up on your behalf when that senior, Zack whatshisface, tried to kick you off closing arguments because you were a sophomore. You were better than him. You are better than most, Jeff. But then you decided I was beneath you, and now you are acting like this? Why?”
“Well … I mean … you are the competition now,” he stammered.
“And whose fault is that? I’d still be there, on the team, doing my part. Helping, again, to get us to the championship. I was never a weak link. And now you are trying to trash talk me in the hallway.”
“We did work, too, you know. You just never liked how we wanted to do things. You had your own plan, and if anyone wanted to go against you, you’d quit contributing.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “You barely listened to me as it was.”
“Like six generations of guys in my family are lawyers. Same with Brandon. Same with Mike this year. We know what we’re doing. I knew you wouldn’t listen to us, and you would have demanded to do your own thing.”
“That’s what this is about? I don’t have the right family? The right background?” I said.
“No. It’s about you being a know-it-all. You thinking you did everything and that you deserved all the credit when other people actually went up there and won the trial.” Jeffrey looked around, not liking the scene we were making in the middle of the hallway. “You never stopped talking about your ideas.”
“Like you are any different.”
“I let other people talk.”
“Whatever, Jeff. You know what? You did me a favor kicking me out. The boys were way more vocal than me and claimed too much of the credit for the work. You never had a problem with any of them. What do you have to say about that?”
He just stared at me.
The thing is, Jeffrey wasn’t a horrible person. I knew that. None of them were. But here he was, being kind of horrible. Because I talked too much? Because I shouldn’t have tried to take credit when it was due?
“Better work on that argument, counsel.”
I left him standing there, still seemingly unable to think of a comeback.
Toxic masculinity didn’t make you any cleverer, it seemed.
Though, this did give me a little hope for winning a place at states after districts.
MARCH 11: OPPOSITION TO THE STATE’S MOTION FOR A JOINT TRIAL
“Dad, I’m going out tonight,” I called to the office.
He might have made a sound.
“Dad?” I yelled.
Nothing.
I knocked on his door. “Dad?” I said, pushing it open.
He wasn’t in there.
There was money and a note on the table. Gone out to dinner with Sheila! Order pizza?
This was a new one, him leaving.
I sighed and shoved the twenty dollars he left into my purse. Also went out. Thanks for the cash, I wrote underneath his scrawl.
I counted this as an “uninvolved parent” tax. He owed it to me.
I went upstairs to survey my wardrobe choices. Mom had sent the cutest maroon turtleneck dress (with pockets!) and a pair of silver leggings last week, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to wear them yet. I might as well go big for this. Maybe if Grace got distracted looking at me, she wouldn’t hear the nonsense sure to come out of my mouth.
The thought of Grace looking at me made the dress feel clingier than I remember.
At exactly seven o’clock, I heard someone pull up in front of the house. I breathed for a minute with my smart watch, grabbed my bag, and headed out into the wild unknown.
“Hi,” she said. “You are wearing a dress.”
“Yes, it has pockets!” I said.
“Do you always wear dresses?”
“No. I often wear skirts,” I said. “Do you have something against dresses?”
“Not at all. I love them on you. I mean. Not to objectify you or anything. You are smart and powerful. In a dress. With pockets.”
Grace was a mess, too! That was amazing news to me.
I grinned. “When does the movie start?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Just enough time to get popcorn!” I said.
We had more than enough time, as it turned out. And the entire theater to ourselves.
“Why isn’t this more popular?” I said. I twisted around to make sure I hadn’t missed any freedom-and-justice-loving moviegoers in the back.
“The new Spider-Man is opening,” said Grace.
“There’s one of those every month,” I said.
“I think there’s that new one where stuff blows up. I forget the name, but that guy is in it. It made a lot of money already.”
“You are really selling me on that one. Maybe we should go to that instead,” I said. “But this empty theater has benefits.”
I meant that I could put my feet up on the seat in front of me and our coats on the chair next to us. But even in the darkish theater, I could see Grace’s face get pinker.
“Oh. Yeah,” she said.
I was pretty sure it was the dress pockets that were making me bold. They held limitless potential. And extra napkins.
I stuffed popcorn in my mouth before I proposed to Grace or something.
The lights grew darker and the screen moved from the preshow entertainment to the actual movie. That was the sad part about documentaries—you usually didn’t get the fun previews.
The movie traced the history of the Supreme Court to its current iteration. Grace’s presence was never out of my mind, even if they interviewed every living justice. I tried to commit every one of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s words to memory, for my own personal use and also because I knew Grace worshipped her like me.
As the credits started to roll, I turned to her. “That was amazing. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” she said. “They have another showing. We could stay.”
“We could also go find more food.”
“Even better idea,” Grace said.
We debated between several places but ended up at the big Sheetz with the tables.
“We are classy, classy people,” I said.
“Whatever. You know what this place has? Gas. I promised I’d fill up the tank. But I can also find made-to-order hot dogs. And Galliker’s chocolate milk. And Tastycakes, thank you very much. Can you get that somewhere else? No, you can’t.”
“I want a sub.”
We entered our order into the computer kiosk and took our stuff to a table by the window.
“This is romance,” I said.
Grace’s face got pinker again. “You want romance?” she said.
The dress pockets had room in them for wild chances as well, clearly.
“I mean. I wouldn’t say no to it. Only I probably should. Because I need to focus,” I said.
“Yeah, you mentioned that. Focus on winning?”
“Mostly. Life. Goals.”
“What other goals do you have?”
“Winning mostly,” I said.
We laughed. Being with her was easier than I imagined. I could feel the tension I generally carried like armor ease out of my shoulders.
“But we are just going to leave in a few months. To college and stuff.”
“True.” She looked out the window for a while. “But not for a few months. A lot can happen in that time. Like, you know, prom, for example.”
I dug my hands deep into the dress pockets.
“Are you…” Breathe, Millie, breathe. “Do you want … Um … Should we go to the prom together?” I said.
My mother would freak and send me fifteen dresses if she heard about this.
“Yes, that’s kind of what I was getting at,” she said.
“Shouldn’t this be bigger?” I said. “Signs and marching bands and a promposal to remember? I’ve read articles.”
“That’s kind of like getting down on one knee or whatever. I don’t know why people do that, but it’s probably because of the patriarchy. If you put on a big production in public, it’s hard for the girl to say no. Patriarchy, I say.”
I considered this. Some crazy gesture might be fun, but she had a point. “I wouldn’t,” I said. “Say no to you.”
“Do you want a public spectacle?” she said. “I have recent new experience in the public art known as yarn bombing.”
“No, no,” I said. “Yarn bombing? What … you know what, don’t tell me.” I leaned toward her. “Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Will you go to prom with me?”
“I would love to. Would you go to prom with me?”
“Yes,” I said.
We both grinned stupidly at each other, and then I became engrossed in cleaning up our Sheetz MTO wrappers when the moment made me feel like rainbow unicorn sparkles were about to explode out of the dress pockets.
Afterward, we went back to her car, and she drove me home in silence. The windows inside were lit up, so I knew Dad was home. We sat in the car for a second. I didn’t know exactly what to do.
“Thank you. For tonight,” I tried. “It was fun.”
“We should do it again sometime.”
“Definitely,” I said. I slowly picked up my bag from the floor.
“Millie, no worries if…”
I let go of my bag and took Grace’s face in my hands. “Can I kiss you?” I said.
“Yes,” she breathed.
My lips met hers and my heart beat joy through every vein until it filled my entire body.
“Wow,” I said.
“Agreed.” She grinned.
The porch light came on then.
“Guess my dad noticed the car pull up,” I said. “I should go inside.” I didn’t move.
“Guess you should,” she said.
We kissed again.
This time the front door opened.
“Night,” I said.
“Night.”
I got out of the car and walked up to the porch.
“There you are, Millie!” said Dad. “It’s so unlike you to be out!”
“Oh. Yeah. Saw a documentary on the Constitution.”
“Excellent. I had the best date! Do you want to hear about it? I’ll make tea!”
Dad chirped around me as I sat at the table remembering Grace’s freckles and the dimple in her left cheek.
“Anyway, Sheila’s really great, and I know you’ll like her. She has two small children I’m sure you’ll love. I met them tonight, and she wants to meet you. I don’t know why we’ve put that off.”
“Oh, sure, yeah,” I said.
Dad beamed. “Great, honey. We’re going out again tomorrow, too! And how was the movie? Did you find out more about truth and freedom and all that?”
“I did, Dad. I really think I did.”
MARCH 12: PRETRIAL DISPOSITIVE MOTIONS
“You kissed her?” said Claire.
“Yes,” I said.
“Like, kissed her kissed her?”
“What does that even mean?”
“Did you kiss her like you meant it?”
“I meant it. So. Yes?” I said. A little part of me regretted telling her. I knew this was the reaction I’d get.
“But I thought you didn’t like…”
“I like affection. She was good at it.”
Now I could hear Claire pout. “I am good at affection.”
I rolled my eyes. “You do not want to date me. You never have. One—I will give you affection but no sex. Do I contradict myself? No. I don’t. People want all sorts of different things. Two—you require far too much attention. Three—you are currently in love with a girl from Our Town.”
“We are in love. We are going to last forever. Or at least until June when she moves back to England. Her dad is here for a work thing. I’ll be available for you in the summer.”
“Will you be doing Steelton Three Rivers Theater Festival again?” I said.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then no freaking way. There is more drama offstage than onstage, and it is bad enough being a bystander to it all.”
“Strong words there, lady; watch it.” Claire laughed. “But you have a prom date! That’s so cool!”
“Right?”
As if summoned by the power of a consumer god, my phone beeped.
“Oh, it’s my mom. I should take this,” I said.
“Okay. The ol’ man at home tonight?”
“Nope. Another date with Sheila. He’s talking about another ‘play date’ with them soon. This time he wants me to go.”
“Oh God. We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Night.”
I clicked over to the other line.
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
“Hey, baby doll! It’s been a while. What’s happening?”
“Well…” I said. I hadn’t told Mom about college. Or Grace. Or much of anything.
“Everything okay?” she said.
“Yeah, actually. I … I heard from a few schools,” I said.
“And?” I could hear Mom fighting to sound casual.
“I got in.”
“That’s amazing, honey! Why didn’t you call immediately? This is fantastic. Matt! Guess what? Mills got into college!”
I heard someone whoop in the background.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Where did you get in?”
I sucked in my breath. I should tell her. But I’d just be getting her hopes up. I mean. I didn’t know where I’d go. And even if I moved to Ohio tomorrow, what was our relationship?
“Nothing is sure yet,” I said.
“I understand. You probably have a month or two to decide. Where did you get in?”
“And cost is a factor, obviously.”
“I know. But your dad can pay for it. I wish we could help more, but your dad makes plenty. Where did you get in?”
Dad always said I got my persistence from somewhere, and it wasn’t him.
“Well, I admit my top choice right now is—” I took another breath. And another one. She obviously didn’t know Dad very well if she thought he’d shell out cash for any old thing I wanted. “Ohio State.”
“Wait. What? Are you kidding? You applied? When? Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I mentioned it. I thought … You got in? Matt! Matt! She got into OSU!”
“Are you kidding?” I heard in the background. “If we throw the baby in the car now, we could be there in four hours. I will paint the house scarlet and gray.”
“Matt went there, you know,” said Mom.
“I did not,” I said. “That is not why I applied.”
“Oh, honey, I know, I know. He’s actually dancing. He played football there all four years.”
“I still know people. We can go to all the games,” he yelled.
“Do you hear him?”
“Yes. Mom! I might not go, you know.”
“There’s no telling him that. He told me it’s okay if you went somewhere else because maybe the baby would continue the legacy. But, honestly, he’s been praying you’d go anyway.”
“Why?” I said. I barely knew the guy.
“Oh, he knows I’d like to have you close.”
She would? Since when? Why? It’s weird that the stepdad seemed to care more about me then the father I lived with.
“Wow,” I said.
“This is just such exciting news.”
She was happy, even if I knew telling Dad might make him never speak to me again.
“Okay. I have more,” I said.
“What could possibly be bigger than Ohio State, home of a top-ten Mock Trial team?”
“I also wanted to tell you I have a date for prom.”
The woman actually squealed.
“I’m going to hang up if this continues,” I said.
“I’m sorry. I have to catch my breath. You swore off dances in middle school. Said they were a waste of time. I figured prom would fall into this category. Do you want me to send dresses? I could send a flat-rate box, and you could just send back the ones you don’t want. Or maybe I could drive out there some weekend.”
“Mom. It’s fine.”
“Do you have a dress already?” she said.
Six Angry Girls Page 16
