Six Angry Girls

by Adrienne Kisner

  “No. I…” What? I did not have a dress. I could go shopping with Claire, I guessed. She’d be the same as Mom. “Okay. Well. Maybe you could mail them. You have eerily good taste in clothing for me.”

  “Yessssss,” she breathed. It was like I was talking to Claire. “Fantastic, baby. You will send pictures. We will stream it so I can have input.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “Who is your date?” she said.

  “Pardon?” My heart started beating in my chest. It was one thing for Mom to squeal over dresses. It was another to tell her about Grace.

  “Your date has a name, I assume?”

  “Hey, did I tell you about how I got into Ohio State?”

  “Is it someone I knew?” said Mom.

  “Sorry, you are breaking up. Connection weird. Bye, Mom!”

  “Millie…” I could hear the laughter in her voice.

  I tapped off the call.

  I flopped back on my bed, exhausted. Mom and Claire took a lot of energy out of a person. I knew they were happy for me. But sometimes it felt like that happiness came when I fit into the neat little box of their expectations. Claire wanted me to obsess over girls (or whoever, but girls preferred) so that I could be where she is. Mom wanted me to giggle over fancy dresses and then move to Ohio so I could literally be where she is. Would they love me if I moved to California and adopted four loyal huskies?

  Actually, that didn’t sound like a bad plan. But if I wanted to clerk for a Supreme Court justice, I probably wouldn’t be home enough to take care of the dogs.

  I heard the door click open downstairs. Maybe I should tell Dad about the whole college and prom thing. I did live with the man.

  “She’s probably asleep,” I heard him say. “She is really busy in school.”

  Wait, did Dad actually bring his date home this time?

  “I know she must be lovely,” said a woman’s voice.

  I crept quietly to my door and pushed it closed. I eased myself back into bed and clicked off the light. I wouldn’t even risk brushing my teeth or going to the bathroom. Sheila was in my house. Where were her little kids? Was she staying over?

  The idea was too gross to think about.

  I turned over and plugged in my phone. I started my bedtime calming meditation on the lowest volume possible. I breathed in peace; I breathed out thoughts of my dad and mom and Claire and Ohio and prom dresses. Ohio and prom dresses fought back, dancing around behind my eyes.

  “Focus, Emilia,” I told myself. Maybe I shouldn’t let myself get distracted by anything. Or anyone. Prom was around the same time nationals would be. I liked Grace, but wasn’t this doomed to failure? It’d be another instance of someone leaving me. Or me leaving her. The thought of hurting Grace made my stomach ache. There were still several trials to go before I could relax.

  In more ways than one.

  MARCH 13: DEMANDS

  Districts were the real deal. The biggest of deals. The deal closest to bartering for life and death and one’s soul.

  Or it felt like it, anyway.

  Cambria County rarely went to states, and as far as I knew had never won. Pittsburgh or Philly or the fancy suburbs always did that. Six teams competed today, and two of them could make states. They had to stagger the trials, because two teams were going twice because of snow dates or something. So they had to determine which of those teams got to come in the afternoon for districts. This left plenty of time for near panic before the event.

  I prowled around the downstairs, stopping briefly to nibble at a croissant, scowl at the dishes in the sink, inhale peace and exhale terror in the living room, and resent Dad in front of his office door. The circuit almost had grounded my inner being until Dad emerged, a big smile on his face.

  “Sheila is coming over later, and she’s bringing the kids! They are excited to play on the snow mountains in the yard. I’m thinking we should do something special for dinner. Maybe pizza? Or would homemade make more sense?”

  Was I supposed to know she was coming over? Probably. My ears had perfected the art of filtering out all mention of his love life.

  “You are going to cook?” I said.

  Dad laughed. “Well, I admit, I might need your help for that part. But I would take you shopping.”

  “This is today?” I frowned. “I have Mock Trial today, Dad.”

  “You do? But you are still here. Isn’t it usually in the morning? And haven’t you already had half a dozen trials already?”

  “It’s this afternoon. This is our third and is the qualifier for states.”

  Dad’s face fell. “Will you be back for dinner?”

  I probably could be back for dinner, if I came home right after the trial.

  “I don’t know. It depends on how long it goes.”

  Fortunately, Dad had never actually attended a meet, so he didn’t know they were timed.

  “That’s too bad. Everyone was looking forward to you being here.” Dad glanced over to the sink. “When are you leaving?” Clearly the man was thinking how the current lady of the house could help him tidy.

  “My ride will be here any minute. I was just going to go outside to wait.”

  This was a total lie. But CinderMillie did not have time for this.

  “Oh,” Dad said. “Okay.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I wasn’t being the team player he needed.

  Something caved inside of me. My fear over losing (and the secret fear of getting closer to Grace amid competition and graduation season) gushed out like a dam breaking. Under all that was a red-hot rage. So hot it kept me warm as I trudged down our long woodland drive carrying my backpack and trial box.

  Pick me up, I texted Claire, praying that would work. I’m running away from home.

  She showed up at the bottom of my hill in ten minutes flat.

  “You okay there?” she said.

  “Dad wants a servant, not a daughter. I feel like I should warn the new woman.”

  “No. She won’t believe you. They never do. It’s up to her to do due diligence.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Glad I could get the car today. But I can’t be out too late.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Millie, seriously, are you okay? You are kind of growling your words.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Claire knew to leave me well enough alone.

  She and I went into the courthouse, where Nikita, Izzy, and Grace greeted us, arms folded, watching other teams shuffle around. I shook my head at them.

  “Hey,” said Grace.

  “There are an awful lot of boys here,” said Nikita.

  “That happens,” I said.

  “I like that one,” said Nikita, nudging her chin toward a guy who was so ripped you could tell under his suit jacket.

  “Is he even in high school?” I said.

  “Totally. And his short friend.” She elbowed Izzy. “You can have that one.”

  “Who says I like short guys?” she said.

  “You did. At the last meet you liked that guy from Squirrel Hill. The one with the glasses.”

  “Oh yeah. He was pretty short. It’s good to be able to look them in the eyes.”

  “Actually, I think he’s the same guy. Maybe he’s wearing contacts,” I said.

  “No, that other guy had longer hair,” said Izzy.

  “Maybe he got a haircut,” said Nikita.

  “I feel like it might not be meant to be if I can’t tell whether he’s the same guy. And to be honest, it’s hard to date straight cis dudes. I look for the queer among us.”

  “We should get them to put pronouns on our name tags. Would that help cull the numbers? You know what, if we get their names, we can find them online,” said Nikita. “There’s five other schools at this meet. There must be more queer people here to pick from than just at Steelton, right?”

  “I go by ‘they’ as well as ‘she.’ I could put that on my name t
ag. That would put the word out on my end. But that can sometimes backfire around here,” said Izzy.

  “Have you seen my high kick? You point out any haters to me. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Oh my God, you two. This is not the time,” I said. “We are going up against those people, and if you two are trying to get dates…”

  “Prom is coming up. That guy would look good in pictures,” said Nikita, pointing in the most unsubtle manner possible. “Do not underestimate the importance of prom.”

  “We have to win this trial to advance to states,” I said.

  “I need to advance to prom,” said Nikita.

  “I can’t with all of you. I. Can. Not.” I grabbed Nikita and Izzy and dragged them into our courtroom.

  Ms. McClain, Kay, and the rest of the team were waiting for us inside.

  “Ready?” said Ms. McClain to us.

  “Always,” I said.

  Kay started talking. “This team is known for its strange psych-out tactics. They don’t win by playing by the rules. They make up objections and try to rattle you. Watch out, everyone. Stay on your game.”

  “How’d you learn this?” asked Ms. McClain.

  “I have my sources,” said Kay. “But you girls are whip-smart and on your game. You are tough and dynamic. I believe in you.”

  “And so do I,” said Ms. McClain.

  Raina closed her eyes and breathed in with her diaphragm.

  “You got your vocals ready?” I said.

  “I am getting into the moment.”

  The bailiff came in. They did a group swearing in of all the witnesses; it broke the fourth wall of this whole show, but it took up less time. The defense had won the coin toss, so they got to go first. Nikita’s guy gave the opening. He really was nice to look at. Dark wavy hair; light brown skin; dark, dark eyes. The way his arms flexed under his coat. He turned a little to look at us over on the prosecution team (well, probably just Nikita), and the way his collar outlined his neck made my chest feel tight against my blazer.

  Grace’s opening was elegant, and Izzy burst into tears as Jane Marsh, partner of the deceased Jess King. That freaked out the defense, Izzy was so good.

  “Brilliant,” I mouthed.

  “I watched sad puppy videos on the ride here,” she whispered back.

  When it was Raina’s turn, the bailiff gestured for her to sit in the witness stand.

  Veronica questioned her first.

  “Please state your name and position for the record,” she said.

  “Laura Cheney, bomb-squad technician,” said Raina.

  “Could you please describe for the court what a bomb-squad technician is?”

  “Certainly. I was, until a few years ago, an explosive ordinance disposal specialist in the army. I’m trained to recognize…”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” said a kid on the other team.

  The judge looked taken aback. “Pardon me?” he said.

  “The witness clearly could not have been in the army.”

  I stared at him. No one on the defense looked alarmed, so they must have known what the strategy was going to be. The witness statement clearly said Raina’s character was in the army and that’s where she first learned about bombs. Millie wasn’t kidding about this team’s odd strategy.

  “Counsel,” the judge said to Veronica, “is this the information your witness has in her sworn statement?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. It’s in the first paragraph of her biographical data. I was asking because…”

  “Oh, I know why you are asking,” the judge said. “Overruled.” He looked at Raina. “Continue.”

  “I actually started with the army in college. I joined ROTC during my undergraduate years at MIT. I got a degree in electrical engineering. I always loved puzzles, putting things together and taking them apart. And my family are all kinds of thrill seekers. I sought this out because I was bored in the lab. I could use my knowledge and serve my country.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” said the other team.

  “Overruled,” said the judge. “If you are going to try to refute the sworn statements of the case, do it on your own time.”

  Veronica tugged at her sleeve. I tried to send her calm vibes. Hecklers gave me life.

  “So, you know about bombs, then?”

  “Yes. After I retired from active duty—two tours in Afghanistan and one in Syria was enough—I entered the private sector. I now consult with the government agencies and help with domestic issues should the need arise.”

  “Domestic issues?” said Veronica.

  “I assess internet chatter about new destructive tech. Help form emergency-response plans. Analyze bombs used. That kind of thing.”

  “Objec—” said the same kid.

  “Overruled!” the judge shouted. I didn’t know what that team’s game was, but it wasn’t working with our judge.

  I heard Ms. McClain whisper to Kay behind me. She sounded pretty ticked off. But there wasn’t much advisers could do at this point.

  Veronica’s face grew more determined. Surely, she faced worse than this on the rock wall or even on the Puns of Steel magazine staff. “Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding the death of Jessica Marsh?”

  She dug in. The other team pushed and pushed the bounds of what I think was even allowed, but the judge wasn’t having it. Eventually, the other team seemed to give up. They asked Raina a few forgettable questions and sat down. The judge left the chamber to deliberate.

  “What the hell was that?” I said.

  “Kay was right. Bishop Flannigan High always does this. They are known for it. They try to pick apart the witnesses for being high school kids instead of the people in the parts. They go off book. Sometimes it works with judges who aren’t paying attention or who haven’t read the case. It seems like that team did their research and the other team wasn’t prepared. It’s cheating. Not even good cheating. But we got a good judge.”

  The fact that our shot at states hung in the balance with this team was wrong. Somewhere, in a courtroom across the building, the Steelton guys were competing for a shot at states as well.

  “Waiting is the worst,” said Nikita.

  Seconds ticked into minutes. I got up and stretched.

  “You were great,” whispered Grace. Her hand brushed mine.

  I sat back down so I didn’t pass out.

  Finally, after an eternity, the judge came back.

  I leaned forward on the edge of my seat. Everyone, even Nikita, couldn’t take their eyes off the judge.

  He leveled his gaze at us.

  “As I imagine you all know … or most of you, anyway”—he threw some side-eye to the other team—“the burden of proof lies with the prosecution. There were compelling moments on each side, but given the way today’s case unfolded, I am going to rule in favor of…”

  I held my breath.

  “The plaintiffs.”

  A little whoop went out on our side of the room.

  Holy. Crap.

  We won!

  “Staaaaaaaates,” said Veronica.

  Kay and Ms. McClain high-fived. They left the room to pick up materials for states from the registration table.

  “What if we won because the judge hated the other team’s tactics,” I said, “not because of the strength of our case? I even thought Chris was guilty when we were running the defense, but I didn’t see us having proved it beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s the tricky part.”

  “Why does it matter?” said Raina.

  Ms. McClain returned to the courtroom. “We’re prosecution,” she said.

  “See? We’ve learned so much. We have this in the bag!” said Raina.

  “Okay,” I said. Be in the moments that bring you joy, I thought.

  Nikita walked up to us. “Got his number,” she said to Izzy.

  “But their tactics!” I said. “You want to go out with a guy with questionable ethics and terrible strategy?”

  Nikita shrugged. “Might make for
an interesting first date,” she said.

  We heard whooping coming at us from across the parking lot, so I didn’t get a chance to talk Nikita out of it.

  “We’re going to states!” yelled Mr. Darr to Ms. McClain.

  “So are we,” she said.

  “What?” he said.

  “What?” she said.

  “We won our trial, and we are going to states.”

  “Yes, so did we,” said Ms. McClain.

  Mr. Darr blinked. “Oh,” he said. “That’s. Uh. Great.” He clearly hadn’t expected to hear that.

  “Don’t look too excited, Barry.”

  “It’s overnight,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “I read that.”

  “We will have to get a hotel.”

  “Yes.”

  “The budget is only for…”

  “We’ll figure it out,” said Ms. McClain. She waved her had dismissively at him. “This is about the students. Be happy for them.”

  I made an extra note to never get on Ms. McClain’s bad side.

  She turned to us. “Dinner on me, girls. Where to?”

  I could feel my phone vibrating in my bag. I searched for it while the others debated options. I noticed thirty-five missed texts.

  Are you coming home, honey? When did you say your trial ended?

  I could use some help cleaning this place up!

  Guess we’ll get pizza. Ran out of time to get to the store.

  Call me when you are out of your competition! Little kids are such a handful.

  I sighed. Honestly, did he even listen when I spoke? Maybe I should try to get back. He obviously needed me.

  “There’s a Cracker Barrel a half a mile from here,” said Grace.

  “Cracker Barrel, yes,” said Raina. “Sister needs some apple butter.”

  “Do you girls need to get home by a certain time?” said Ms. McClain.

  “Nope,” everyone said.

  The phone buzzed again. Sheila and I hope you can run after the rascals! It will give you a chance to make up for not helping out more today, Dad texted.

  My hand brushed against Grace’s as she put her phone away. Warmth traveled up my wrist from where she had touched it.

  “Nope,” I said, shutting off my phone. “Me either.”

  13