“Good idea. Let’s sit on the grass. Glad it’s warm.”
We spread out our jackets on the wide-open space behind the benches. Soon everyone was yarning or painting or drawing or just talking. A reporter and photographer from the Tribune Republican were there and everything. They asked if we minded getting our picture taken.
Then someone cleared his throat behind us. I turned, and there stood two police officers, city manager Peter Jones, and none other than Judge Herman T. Wise.
All day I noticed that Grace and Millie sat near to each other but didn’t really interact. It felt like a wall had fallen from the sky between them. Once in a while, one would move to touch the other or speak, but then that wall grew an inch and they just couldn’t. Now that her worst fears had been realized in the arrival of a potential Mock Trial judge, Millie looked like she wished she had never met any of us.
Judge Wise went right up to Carla and Alex. “You weren’t in the courtroom. Newspapers only say so much. You don’t have any idea about the eccentricities of any of my cases. Then or now.”
“You represented the perpetrators,” said Alex. “Never once do I recall a time you fought for any victims.”
“Alleged victims. I represented the accused,” he said. “And they deserved a fair trial.”
“You got them off!”
“Because they were innocent. Innocent until proven guilty is how it’s done in this country.”
“Why are you here? To defend yourself? You didn’t think you could do that onstage in front of all those other people?” said Carla.
“I’m here because if you are going to hold me up for trial in the court of public opinion, I wanted a say.”
Judge Wise surveyed the crowd. A bunch of us just stood staring at him. Part of me still liked the guy. He’d never been mean to me. And he’d come out here to what was sure to be an unfriendly audience to defend himself. He looked at me and Megan and Millie. I could see in his face a flash of recognition, like he thought he might know us from somewhere but couldn’t place from where.
Millie’s face turned her deep shade of mortified crimson.
“Pardon me,” Judge Wise said to the reporter, “I’d like to speak to you as well.”
Judge Wise and Peter Jones guided the reporter away from the crafters.
“Oh, I see,” said Carla to us. “He’s here to control the press on this.” She watched him talking, waving his arms around for emphasis. She moved toward them, but one of the police officers subtly shifted in her direction. Carla stopped.
“Not worth it,” she muttered.
Eventually, Judge Wise and his companions finished talking to the reporter. Everyone had committed to ignoring them out of loyalty to Carla, so they unceremoniously retreated to wherever they had come from.
Millie didn’t speak to any of us after Judge Wise had shown up. She gathered her things, got up, and left without a word as soon as the judge was a safe distance down the block.
Grace didn’t even try to say goodbye.
Around four o’clock, angry gray clouds gathered overhead. I stretched out my legs, which had fallen asleep for the sixth time that day.
“Em’s Subs is calling us,” said Megan. “We can split a super deluxe torpedo. No hot stuff, though.”
“That is the best plan ever,” I said.
A bunch of us “rows before bros” regulars took our various creations over to Carla before heading out.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” she said. Delight radiated off of her. “This will all be put to good use. Law enforcement be damned!”
“How?” said Grace.
“Don’t you worry about it,” said Beatrice. “Here’s a Mock Trial term for you: plausible deniability.”
A woman who looked like Beatrice, only with dark hair and less wrinkled skin sighed. “Mom, please don’t make me post bail. Both kids need braces.”
“I can post my own bail, thank you very much,” she said.
“Mom, I swear…”
I laughed. I turned toward Grace, who looked like her puppy had just died. “Grace? Yinz all want to be a part of this torpedo action?”
We’d probably have to get a few. Megan trained year-round like an Olympian. A twenty-two-inch sub probably fed only her.
“Oh, no. I have to go home. Family stuff,” said Grace.
“You sure? I said.
“Yeah,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows as Grace walked away. If Claire’s performance hadn’t been enough to heal that rift, I worried nothing could.
Megan gave me a ride home, which was good because I’d eaten so much Em’s I thought I might explode. Mom was at work, so I put her favorite roast beef grinder in the fridge for later.
Damn brilliant Claire for making me a better daughter.
I found my phone in my room. It’d been hard being separated it for a whole day, even if nearly everyone I’d have texted was with me.
I picked it up and the screen lit up at the movement.
“Fifty missed texts?” I said.
Some were from Megan, but the rest were from Claire. I swiped to see them.
Admissions decisions! Oh my God!
They dropped!
I didn’t know because I was busy with the play.
Two of these schools sent it out days ago, OMG.
Bet you forgot. Check your admissions portal.
Actually, whoa, a bunch dropped!
I got innnnnnnnnnnn, she said. OMG, my mom is going to freak if I tell her I want to move to New York. I didn’t want to go, but that’s when I thought I didn’t have a chance.
Sorry, that last one was for Millie. I’m not actually trying to be a dick.
My stomach flipped a little at that last one.
Where are you? Wait, there was a knitting thing. That’s probably why Millie isn’t answering. Damn it.
I put down my phone. Shit. This was it? I was a few clicks away from one of the most important moments of my life? Should I call Mom? Megan? The whole Mock Trial team? Brandon and I always used to joke that we’d do this together, even if one of us had to wait. He was always going to go to Duquesne political science, but I didn’t know if that was still true.
I sat on my bed and opened my laptop. This was it. I could call people after.
I logged in to my CMU portal. My heart lodged itself into my throat when I saw the message in the inbox.
Dear applicant, it started.
There was a particularly large, talented pool of applicants this year.
The admissions committee had hard decisions to make.
And I was … wait-listed.
Wait-listed? What?
Claire got in.
And I … didn’t. Not yet. Not right off the bat.
Since we’d applied to pretty much all the same schools, I went to all the portals.
Wait-listed.
Wait-listed.
Wait-listed.
I had been put on the wait list for every school I applied to.
Every single one.
I stared at my computer in disbelief. What did this mean? Had there been some kind of clerical error? Was my computer acting up? It didn’t have the spinny wheel of death. It seemed kind of statistically unlikely that I’d be wait-listed at all of them. What was the word my dad used to describe this situation? It was a church word.
Purgatory. This was purgatory. I wasn’t rejected, but I was … what?
Still waiting.
I picked up my phone to text Megan. But I saw Claire’s text.
… innnnnnnnnnnn, it said.
I grabbed my bag. Are you kidding? Wait-listed? I was a turkey. I was the best turkey the world had ever seen. Please. Even if I wasn’t at my most prepared. Or motivated.
My knitting grew tight. Small. Pissed. I thought I added a stitch at the end of the row, so I ripped it out. In that row, I was Raina, Brandon’s girlfriend. It had to go. I tried again. The next row still cinched in a way that didn’t match the rest of it. I ripped it out again.
That was Raina the CMU actress. It took about nine tries until I calmed down and got back to the neat pattern that matched my previous work. There I was. I was in the rows that flowed with the others. What was I making? It could be anything. A scarf. An afghan. A blanket for an elephant.
I didn’t know, but there were so many possibilities untangling with every stitch.
APRIL 4: MOTION FOR SUMMARY JUDGMENT
“I am a district Mock Trial champion, and I was rejected from everywhere,” I said to my mom. “What should I do now? I am open to suggestion.”
“To be fair, the schools didn’t know you were such a winner in Mock Trial, did they? You advanced after you filled out applications. Also, you were wait-listed. There’s a difference. I read about it. You can send them a letter appealing it if you don’t hear and you are still interested. Do that. If you are still interested. Or take a gap year. Get a job. Do theater around here. Maybe take yourself a lover,” she said.
“I can’t just…” I stopped and stared at her. “I’m sorry. Did I just hear you say ‘take yourself a lover’?”
“You were a lot more relaxed when you were with Brandon. As relaxed as you get, anyway. I’m guessing it was the sex, because the conversation always seemed pretty forced.”
“Mom, you’re telling me to have sex? Isn’t that against the mom code or something?”
“Okay, well, have safe sex, then.”
“Mom,” I said.
“You are eighteen. Maybe get yourself a nice vibrator. Safest sex of all. If you clean it properly.”
“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THIS CONVERSATION?” I put my head in my hands and tried unsuccessfully to purge the fact that my mother mentioned a vibrator in my presence.
“All I’m saying is that you have options. You thought you’d shrivel up after Brandon, and look at you. You found a new passion. Several passions, actually. Working for a year could give you some money for school. Go to community college first, then transfer. Never underestimate the importance of artists or lawyers not having too much student-loan debt.”
“I thought I had life figured out. And then I didn’t. This is so unfair.”
Mom kissed me on the head. “Life is hard, Raina. I don’t know who ever led you to believe it is fair. Especially in a competitive field like theater. Suck it up, baby. Good things can come with the bad only if you keep going. I believe in you.”
I went upstairs and started knitting again. Mom had so much perspective on life. She’d wanted to be a cellist. She was good. Incredible. But Grandma died when she was little and then Grandpa died and then she got pregnant with me. She played for me when I was little, but she doesn’t much anymore.
How goes? Megan’s text buzzed my phone.
My mother told me to buy a vibrator, I texted back.
That’s amazing, she wrote.
It’s horrifying, I texted.
Your mother is my queen, she wrote back.
Claire got into all the schools, I said.
Megan just called then.
“Do you want to egg her car or something?”
“No. She’s great. She deserves it,” I said. I shook my head at myself. I actually meant it.
“If you stayed around town, you could do the community theater productions without worrying about homework and the school plays. And you know you’d have your choice of lead roles. Who is going to challenge you?”
“No one,” I said. “Especially if Claire is gone. I’m by far Steelton’s best.”
“There’s my girl. And what about states? Use the pain.”
“Yeah.”
“There you go. I have given you a life plan. You are welcome. You have a … uh … trophy to win? Medal? Gavel? What do they give you at national Mock Trial?”
“I don’t know. Millie is giving us a few days off to regroup. I think she needed some Millie time. She is possibly trying to figure out a way to disassociate with people connected to the Judge Herman T. Wise resistance. Also, because I think some of our teammates hate our parts for nationals. But I can ask on Monday.”
“Good. Because I want to know. Nana and I will knit a cozy for whatever you win.”
“You are knitting with your grandmother?”
“We knit together remotely now over the computer. To spend more time together.”
“That’s beautiful,” I said.
“Fucking Our Town, you know what I’m saying?” said Megan.
“Do I ever.”
14
EMILIA GOODWIN,
:
FAMILY COURT
:
OF DAUPHIN COUNTY
Plaintiff,
:
:
v.
:
:
MR. DARR,
:
Case No. USHLDNOBTR2
:
:
Defendant
:
APRIL 11: FIRST CAUSE OF ACTION
“This is cozy,” said Veronica. She and I lay side by side in our double bed, after celebrating our win yesterday into today. Raina and Izzy shared the other.
“Isn’t it just?” I said.
Because of budget constraints, we were sleeping four to a room at the Quality Inn Riverfront for states. Nikita and Grace were in the room next door with two girls from another school. I hoped they weren’t cute.
Maybe I should have pushed the room assignments.
Though, Grace was as clear as I was on her utter lack of interest in sex.
And in being in the same room as me.
Or possibly the same state or nation.
So help me, they better not cuddle.
“Focus,” I said to myself.
“What?” said Veronica.
“Nothing,” I said.
In the morning, it took two hours before each of us got a turn in the bathroom. I could only imagine what was happening with our neighbors, since Nikita made it known she needed at least an hour for herself. My eyes burned and my back ached. Veronica was a very respectful bed cohabitator, but I slept poorly because I didn’t want to turn and accidentally drool on her. The rest of the team looked like the experience had been similar.
“Bye, Michele and Andrea!” Izzy called.
Two girls waved and walked down the hall.
“They are two East Philly Prep witnesses. They were pretty cool. Though, I’m pretty sure they hate their team for voting them into our room.”
“Probably,” I said. We walked down to the grand ballroom, where the day’s trials would be posted, and met Kay and Ms. McClain. There were four bouts in the morning and then the final in the afternoon.
“It’s us versus Weston High,” I said.
“Let’s do it,” said Ms. McClain and Kay simultaneously.
The two of them may have been spending too much time together.
The morning trial went fine. I stumbled through cross examination, and the other team kept objecting and having those objections sustained, but we got through it.
The same thing happened as the day before.
The judge left.
We waited.
Raina kept telling us all to breathe.
“All rise,” said the bailiff. We stood, and the judge came back.
Then he didn’t give his ruling but told us all to register to vote and to always make sure to show up for jury duty. He complimented our passion and preparation.
“That was kind of anticlimactic, right there,” I moaned. I lay back on the ground. I sat up. I wondered if waiting for verdicts like this was meant to replicate the speed of the real court system. I bet the Steelton boys’ team was just waiting for its victory. I hoped the boys failed in spectacular fashion.
We sat around the grand ballroom as Kay helped Ms. McClain pass out our box lunches. The finalists came down to points awarded, and we didn’t even know if we’d won our case.
“Why do they make us sit here?” I glared across the room at Brandon and the boys. One guy hung off a post while others threw cookie wrapper
s at him. Their ease annoyed me.
“It’s for the drama. Or maybe they just need to calculate scores. No matter. You already have so much to be proud of. We’ve made it this far,” said Kay. She delicately picked up her veggie wrap, eyed it, and placed it back in the box. “So few teams can say that.”
“I agree,” said Ms. McClain. “Keep in mind that four months ago, there was no all-girl Steelton team. But now here you are.”
The doors of the ballroom opened. The local organizers streamed in, carrying a piece of rolled up butcher-block paper.
“This is it,” I said, barely able to get the words out.
It would be okay if we didn’t make it. Like Ms. McClain said, we’d come so far already. I’d gotten so much already.
The organizers reached the front of the room, and one picked up a microphone.
“Hello, Mock Trial state qualifiers!” The room whooped. Most teams stay for two nights, unless they are local. The room was still filled with Mock Trial kids who wanted to be a part of the audience at the last trial, even if they weren’t participating.
“It’s been a great two days of competition, and we are here to tell you the results are a fascinating twist ending for all of us.”
Chattering erupted across the room.
“What does that mean?” said Izzy.
“Were we all disqualified?” said Veronica.
“Maybe there’s a tie?” said Grace.
“Since its inception in 1984, the United States High School Mock Trial Association…”
“They are actually trying to give me a stroke,” whispered Ms. McClain.
The woman up front talked for a solid five minutes. Finally, she said, “This year’s competitors in the finals are…”
Someone started pattering on their knees until others joined in.
This was it.
“Steelton High versus Steelton High!”
The pattering stopped.
Kay’s mouth dropped open.
The room sat completely hushed, everyone stunned by this development.
“It’s a first, we admit. The rule changes this year don’t prevent such a thing from happening, and this is how the scores aligned. Teams, observers—we will see you in Courtroom A in”—she looked at her watch—“exactly an hour.”
Six Angry Girls Page 20
