Six Angry Girls

by Adrienne Kisner

  “You are forgetting theater camp where I always get the best parts and she loathes me for it, and summer stock where she gets all the best parts and I know I’d be better. And that one time in ninth grade when I was in the chorus and she was the lead. Her competition is the most annoying thing in the world. Thinking she’s better than me.”

  “Didn’t you once tell me you thought you were better than everybody? And that competition kept you sharp?”

  “Yes. You think I’d get up on that stage again and again if I didn’t? You really gotta dig deep because this is a life of rejection. Actresses are like this.”

  “But isn’t Raina also an actress? So, by logical extension, she would have to believe…”

  “Don’t bring logic into this,” she said.

  “Oh my God.” I shook my head at her.

  “Anyway, even though you are cruel and have taken up with that hack, I am kind and generous and have found you another witness.”

  We hurried into AP history, my favorite class.

  “Oh!” I said as the bell rang. “Who? One of your theater friends?”

  “Kind of. I’ll bring them by study hall after lunch. There’s a sub in for Mr. Cooper, and I am actively avoiding practicing my overdone lines.”

  “Fantastic!” I whispered to her back.

  I could barely eat at lunch because I was too excited that we were close to forming a team and also because Dad’s old debit card expired so I couldn’t reload any lunch money. I was stuck with some strange cheeselike product on dry bread and a carton of milk that hadn’t expired but probably should have. I should really get on him about taking me to get my license; then I could go shopping by myself.

  Claire met me just outside of study hall, probably so she didn’t have to spend any time with Raina without me there as a buffer, but when we got to the cafeteria, none of my other Mock Trial people were there yet.

  “Over there,” Claire said, nudging me toward the back wall. I followed her over to a red-haired girl hunched over a book.

  “Hi,” I said. She stood up. I could look her in the eye without straining my neck, which hadn’t really happened since about sixth grade when I embraced the fact that I’d be petite forever.

  “Hello,” she said, looking to Claire.

  “Millie, meet Izzy. Izzy, this is Millie.”

  “Please be on my team. You are welcome because of your height,” I said. I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Probably around school or from one of Claire’s plays.

  Izzy gave a small smile. “That’s all it takes?”

  “I trust you inherently.”

  She laughed.

  Just then Claire coughed, which I knew to be the universal sign that Raina had entered the room. I heard her laughing with Veronica and Grace. Izzy started fidgeting again, this time with her watch.

  “Okay, well, I’m outta here,” said Claire.

  “You aren’t staying?” said Izzy.

  “Well. I mean…”

  “Are you on the team now?” Raina looked at Claire. She put her stuff down next to a round stool at the end of the table.

  “No,” said Claire. “No, I’m not.” She made a point of pursing her lips and cocking her head in her “eff you” stance before waving to Izzy and walking away.

  Raina huffed. This was her universal sign that Claire stood within fifteen feet of her.

  Those two really were a lot alike.

  “Hello, everyone!” I said, maybe a little too brightly. “You all know my name. This is Izzy,” I said, pointing to her. “And Raina and Veronica and Grace. Grace, Veronica, and I will be lawyers. Raina and Izzy will be witnesses. Well. Actually, I just sort of assumed Izzy is joining. No pressure!” I said.

  Izzy looked like she was trying to figure out if we were all in our right minds.

  “Hi, people,” said Veronica. She propped her leg up on a chair.

  “Hey,” said Grace. “You represent the sum total of peers I know in this school. Please be my friends.” She grinned directly at me. My heart did a strange little flip this time.

  “Oh hi,” Raina said directly to Izzy. “We’ve met, haven’t we? Were we in a show together?”

  “Uh. Well. Yes. Two summers ago. Twelfth Night,” she said. “I do a lot of community stuff.”

  “Oh. Cool. That must be it,” she said.

  I could read the confusion on Raina’s face, like she should be able to place Izzy but couldn’t.

  “Okay, so I made a few copies,” I said. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Dad, it’s that ignoring tension can lead to greater productivity. “Witnesses, here are a sample of your statements.” My print allotment at Steelton High was dangerously low due to last term’s senior project. Without Mr. Darr, I wasn’t sure how to have enough paper for everyone, but I’d worry about that later.

  “How do you pick who gets which part?” said Raina.

  I thought about that for a second. A small realization wormed its way from the back of my brain that I’d never actually performed as a lawyer in competition. I’d spent three years in the background, researching. Witnesses didn’t need research, just help memorizing and improvising.

  “I guess pick the one you think you can”—What was that phrase Claire used?—“inhabit best?”

  That satisfied both Raina and Izzy, who nodded at each other and started reading parts.

  “I have a copy of the other case materials. It doesn’t include the witness statements, but does have maps and pictures. I find this case pretty intricate and fascinating. Last year, by the luck of the draw, we played the defense in all our rounds, and it was tricky. After reading all this stuff, I thought the guy was guilty. We lost in the semifinals at states because the other team managed to make all the circumstantial evidence appear too compelling. Our team kind of lost our rhythm, and no one would listen to me when I said we should go after the prosecution’s main witness. Their account had holes so big you could drive a cruise ship through. But noooooo. The guys didn’t even remember to ask about it. So we lost.”

  A burning taste started in my nose and made its way toward the back of my mouth. I took a drink from my water bottle and tried to clear my throat. Past failures bring present opportunities, my inner affirmation app intoned. You are at one with those who bring you harmony; you need not listen to those who bring you discord.

  Bitterness I thought I’d cleansed and released waved hello from my churning stomach. Darn it all.

  “Hey,” said Raina. “You are getting paler by the second, chief. I understand that the ‘varsity’ team is made up of dickwads. Don’t worry. We’ll listen to you. The powerful all-girl Steelton Mock Trial team is yours to command.” She bowed a little.

  “Seconded. Down with dudes. Do you know what they do to my lit magazine? They boysplain em dashes to me daily.” Veronica rolled her eyes.

  “I barely know you, and I fear you,” said Grace. “Ruth Bader Ginsburg is five foot one, for the record.” Grace looked at Izzy. “You are both our RBGs.”

  “That might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me,” I said.

  “Same,” said Izzy. “You are already by far the most welcoming people here since I transferred this year from Cardinal Byrne High.”

  “Oh, you’re new, too! Awesome!” said Grace. “Newish, anyway.”

  “Their trial team didn’t even make it out of regionals. But it’s okay. Their coach bailed midseason to take a job in Punxsutawney,” I said.

  “I wasn’t on it; they were all huge snobs. You’d think they won everything. The theater people made fun of them.”

  Raina looked like a lightbulb went on over her head. “Wait, you were in Cardinal Byrne theater?”

  “Yes,” said Izzy, raising her eyebrows. “Listen. When I was in Twelfth Night, I had a different name last year. But now my name is Izzy. Only Izzy. I transitioned. She or they pronouns and stuff.” Izzy smiled at all of us.

  “Oh my God, yes! You played Maria!” Rai
na smacked the table. “Ha! I thought I was losing my mind. I totally remember. You were transcendent; do you know that? I hate when people are better than me. But I only had a small part in that and didn’t get to know people because Mom thought we might have to move so I couldn’t commit. But we didn’t end up moving, so I was pissed I didn’t go for a bigger part. But less pissed because you were so great. You carried the whole thing. Did you know that Robert, the director, ran off with the guy who played Antonio?”

  “Shut up,” said Izzy.

  “I know, right? My camp friend played Fabian, and he said…”

  “Raina,” I interrupted, “I think Izzy might have been telling us something important?”

  She stopped, ready to launch into the sordid details of summer-stock gossip. “Right, right. Sorry.” She looked at me. “Don’t tell Claire that, Millie.”

  “Claire knows,” said Izzy.

  “About Robert? Because I heard it was a complete secret. Which I am now telling all of you, but…”

  “No, no, about me.” Izzy’s tone of exasperation matched the one I heard so often coming from my own mouth. “Listen, this ‘all-girl’ thing about the team seems important, and I would argue that I completely fit in, but we live in the Pennsylvania woods and you never know here.”

  Izzy slipped into silence, and the rest of us sat there in it with her.

  I looked at Raina, who looked at Veronica, who looked at Grace, who looked back at me, while we managed a complicated four-way group glance.

  Finally, Grace said, “What does it mean to be a girl, anyway?”

  We considered that.

  “I always felt most like a girl when I was climbing, and my fingers gripped handholds that no one else can see,” said Veronica. “I’d be on top of the world, holding on to nothing. I am woman, hear me roar, and all that stuff. Then I got dumped by my coach. But there are other coaches out there. I’ll get back to it. Being a girl means you are powerful.”

  “I thought I felt like a girl when Brandon dumped me.” Raina looked at Izzy and Grace. “Brandon dumped me,” she said, as if that would give the new people more context for her story. “My heart was smashed into pieces. But now I have this. I think I’m most a girl when I go after what I want. And I don’t think that’s Brandon.”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it, I felt like a girl when my girlfriend dumped me,” said Grace.

  Oh! I made a mental note to tell Claire.

  “For not liking sex,” said Grace.

  Strike that.

  Though, this meant Grace and I had something else in common other than Supreme Court justice appreciation. Something pretty huge. I could feel my face growing hot. I’d never met anyone who just came out and said it like that.

  “But I moved on. Girls are survivors.”

  “I got dumped by Mock Trial,” I said. “But I formed my own team. I’m a girl because I’m a boss. Or trying to be.”

  Izzy looked at all of us. “I’ve had my heart broken like three times this year. The whole other school sucked and kicked me out. Dumped me, I guess. But I came here. Girls take charge of their own fate.”

  “So, wait. Is the defining characteristic of girlness being dumped? A broken heart?” said Raina.

  “No. Listen to what everyone said. It isn’t the being dumped. Though, apparently you get crapped on more if you aren’t a guy. The guys get better equipment and climbing time and press. I guess that is part of it. But being a girl is also what happens after all that. It’s in how you stand up to all that stuff that’s thrown at you and how you kick ass after,” said Veronica.

  “Life tries to knock you down, and then you kick its ass?” Grace said.

  “Daily,” said Izzy.

  “Then it’s settled. You are welcome here,” I said. “I imagine you don’t have trouble memorizing lines.”

  Izzy laughed. “Of course not! This doesn’t even have lines. Just background.”

  “Yeah, what is that about? How much of this character can I make up, Millie? Exactly how far can I push things? Are costumes a part of this? Do we have a budget for that?” asked Raina.

  A dark thought crossed my mind, that Mr. Darr was likely to want to keep all the funds for his “varsity” team. I quickly scrubbed it from my conscious, since it was surely more likely that he’d help a team player rather than an angry girl.

  “A budget?” I asked. “Not for costumes, no. Now that you mention it, I have to ask Mr. Darr about that. They have money for travel and stuff. But I don’t know if they’ll give any to us.”

  “What?” said Grace. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We’ve never had two separate teams before.”

  Grace had these super deep gray eyes. Were they gray? They weren’t blue. Green? It depended on the light.

  Focus, Millie, I thought. Mock Trial, then college, then law school, then clerking, I affirmed to myself.

  “We need an adviser of our own. To … work with Mr. Darr? Advocate for us. And we need to find a lawyer to advise us. Anyone know a lawyer?”

  Grace raised her hand. “I do. My aunt is one.”

  “Oh, thank heavens,” I said. “Do you think your aunt would need a bribe or anything, or would she advise us out of the goodness of her heart?” I asked.

  “I’ll find out,” she said.

  “Wait, so does that mean I’m on the team?” said Izzy.

  We all looked at her. “Do you want to be on the team?” I said.

  Please, sweet universe, let her want to be on the team. Claire already liked her, which gave more of a buffer against her silly Raina animosity.

  I didn’t want to beg, but I was not above it.

  “Yes, I do,” said Izzy.

  “Welcome aboard. The all-heartbroken-yet-triumphant Mock Trial team of Steelton High.”

  “I don’t want to be heartbroken. Do you know how many times I stabbed myself casting on trying not to be heartbroken? Therapeutic fiber-art shit hurts,” said Raina.

  “Okay, not heartbroken, then. Too much heartbreak.” I poked around in my brain for how getting dumped by the other team felt. “How about angry?” I said. “Angry and triumphant.”

  “Pissed off. Accurate,” said Raina.

  “Works for me,” said Izzy and Grace together.

  “I’d prefer if you think of me as motivated. Motivated to burn down the patriarchy,” said Veronica. “But I will consider myself angry in this one context.”

  “Great. We can be five motivated girls. Motivated by anger. Six, once we find one more teammate.”

  “It’s like Twelve Angry Men, but with only six, because we’re twice as powerful,” said Raina.

  “Twice as powerful,” I agreed.

  FEBRUARY 1: ADMINISTRATIVE ORDER ESTABLISHING STANDARD PROCEDURES

  I hovered in front of the room. I didn’t really want to go in. But it had to be done. I knew this was his only free period.

  I pushed open the green metal door. “Hi, Mr. Darr,” I said.

  “Well, hello, Emilia. What brings you here?”

  You are angry and triumphant and motivated, I thought in my self-made affirmation.

  “I need the lawyer adviser form for my team,” I said. “I looked online and I can’t log in to the teacher section. Would you print one for me? The girls are seeking our own lawyer.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Darr said. He got up and went over to a file cabinet. He shuffled around inside and pulled out the paper I needed. He handed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He turned back to his desk.

  That was it? More than three years I knew the man and he really was just going to pretend this was no big deal?

  “Mr. Darr?” I said.

  “Something else you need?”

  “Do you realize I did most of the work?”

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “I did the research. I planned our strategy. I coached the witnesses. I wrote most of the arguments. I sat there, and I let other people take the credit because
I thought that was what the team needed. But I want to know—did you notice any of that?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn’t done.

  “And even if you didn’t, you had to know I was in the room. That I showed up for every practice, every meeting, every trial. And then they just found a way to get rid of me. That’s what that whole tryout thing was. You let that happen. Why? Why?”

  He waited a beat to see if I would keep going, but I didn’t.

  “I know you were an asset to the team. I get how you may have streamlined the process. But there were a lot of people who wanted to join. Tryouts went the way they went, you know? I advise two other teams. There’s only so much time in a day. I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted, but maybe this is for the best.”

  He sat down at his desk and looked at the papers he’d been grading before I’d interrupted him.

  I turned and walked out of the room. I figured asking about a budget wouldn’t get anywhere.

  What did he mean? Did he mean I was a nuisance, and he was glad to be rid of me? Or did he mean that I had a better chance of being happy or winning with my new team? Did he think the all-girls team was actually a good idea?

  I would never ask, so I’d never know. Because in the end, they dumped me, and I didn’t want to stick around someone who’d left me behind.

  I remembered what Veronica said. It wasn’t being dumped that defined you. It was what happened afterward. I had to complete my team.

  Sometimes the best way to solve things is to pull out the yearbook. Each year, the seniors get their beautiful full-color entries, with their favorite inspirational quotes, life aspirations, titles voted on by their peers. The rest of us get crappy black-and-whites squashed in together like an old catalog, but it serves its purpose. Nowhere else can you get as comprehensive a list of people who attend the school, other than a roster from the office. (Ms. Ann, the school secretary, informed me that students were not allowed to have those. I doubted that was actual law and more negotiable school policy, but students aren’t really in a position to argue with her. She controls the transcripts.)