When Jamie and Jeff came running down the hall to ask if she’d heard from her father, she showed them the text.
“Better get going,” Jamie said.
“Good luck—whatever it is,” Jeff added.
Andi headed for the door, hearing shouts from various kids asking if there had been a ruling from the judge yet. It seemed as if the whole school knew what was going on.
As they drove to the courthouse, her dad filled her in. “I’ll lead you through the story,” he said. “Just tell it the way it happened.”
“And what about cross-examination?” As the daughter of two lawyers and someone who’d watched courtroom dramas on TV, Andi knew the opposition lawyer would get to question her.
“Just answer honestly,” her dad said.
They cleared security without much trouble; most people were headed out of the building at lunchtime, not into it. Andi walked into court and was happy to see Coach Dunphy already there. She was less happy when she saw who was sitting across the aisle from him: Coach Josephson.
“Just be polite, say hello, and sit down next to Dunph,” her dad whispered, as if reading her mind.
She walked down the aisle in front of her father. Coach Josephson was glaring at her. “Hello, Coach,” she said, looking her in the eye for a moment.
“It’s not ‘Coach’ anymore,” Ms. Josephson replied, turning away to talk to her lawyer.
Andi’s dad patted her on the back. “You did fine.”
A moment after they were seated, the judge came in and everyone stood, then sat.
He looked at the other lawyer. “I presume, Ms. Burmeister, this is Ms. Josephson?”
Burmeister stood. Apparently, you never addressed a judge while seated. “Yes, Your Honor, this is Amy Josephson.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ms. Josephson,” the judge said.
He turned to Andi’s dad. “And who have you got with you, counselor?”
Andi’s dad stood. “Your Honor, this is my daughter, Andi. She is the cocaptain of the Merion sixth-grade girls’ team.”
The judge nodded. “Andi, thank you for coming. Would you mind coming up here and sitting in this chair next to where I’m sitting?”
Andi understood. She walked to the chair and stood, waiting for someone to swear her in—the way she’d seen on TV.
The judge understood. “Andi, this is a hearing, not a trial, so you won’t be under oath. But I would appreciate it if you’d answer the questions honestly.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Andi said, and sat down.
Her dad went first. He led her through all that had happened, beginning with the first day of tryouts. As instructed, Andi answered in detail, especially when walking through the locker room incident at Chester Heights. Her dad also asked her to explain how divided the team had been at first—making the point that it had taken a lot to get them to the point where all twelve of them signed the petition.
Finally, he thanked her and sat down. The judge nodded at Ms. Burmeister, who stood and walked to stand directly in front of Andi.
She started with the soccer season, asking Andi about how she had “publicly humiliated” Coach Johnston to get on the team and then to play more. Andi’s dad had told her to expect something like this and to stay calm. She did.
“I wanted to play and thought I was good enough to play,” she said. “Coach Johnston told the school principal the only reason he cut me was because I was a girl. My friend Jeff Michaels told his dad what was going on and he thought it was worth a story on NBC Sports–Philadelphia.”
Burmeister seemed surprised. “You’re saying it wasn’t your idea to take your case to the media?”
“No, ma’am, it wasn’t.”
“But you went along with it, right?” she said, recovering.
“Yes, ma’am. I wanted to play.”
She moved forward quickly to the media turnout at the first game. Andi explained that she had known nothing about it beforehand and really didn’t want any publicity during basketball season.
“Well, you’ve got it now, don’t you?” Ms. Burmeister said, drawing a laugh from the crowd.
She went on to ask Andi if she and her “friends” hadn’t overreacted or misunderstood an “innocent” comment in the Chester Heights locker room.
Andi jumped on that one. “If it was an innocent or misunderstood comment, why didn’t Coach … Ms. Josephson, just say she was sorry or that she hadn’t meant it that way?”
“Your father prepared you well, didn’t he?” Burmeister said.
Talking about Andi’s benching, she just said, “Wouldn’t you agree that a coach, even an inexperienced one, probably knows more about who should play and who shouldn’t than an eleven-year-old?
Andi couldn’t believe she’d asked that question. It was like throwing a batting-practice fastball to Bryce Harper, the Phillies superstar right-fielder.
“I would agree that Fran Dunphy knows more about who should or shouldn’t play than an inexperienced coach does, and he started me and started Lisa Carmichael in his first game as our coach, and we won easily.”
The courtroom was murmuring loudly. Her father would tell Andi later it had been because an eleven-year-old kid was outsmarting one of the city’s better lawyers.
Burmeister seemed to understand. She thanked Andi and the judge told her to step down.
“Ms. Josephson,” he said. “Your turn.”
35
Carol Burmeister walked Amy Josephson through the saga of the Merion Middle School sixth-grade girls’ basketball season, just as Amy’s dad had done with her. But the spin was entirely different.
She had Ms. Josephson explain why she had wanted to coach and how hard she had worked all summer and fall to be prepared. Josephson talked about trying to find the right combination of girls to play when the games began and how sorry she was that the two African American girls and some of their teammates had completely misunderstood her point prior to the Chester Heights game.
She went on to say that Andi Carillo was a talented player, but from day one it had been apparent to her that she thought she was above all rules because of the notoriety she had gained during soccer season. Yes, Hal Johnston was a friend and she had sympathized with what he’d gone through, especially after coaching Ms. Carillo for a few days. She had been stunned and hurt by the petition, and even though Mr. Block had urged her to continue coaching, she had stepped down because if the girls wanted someone who would coddle them, well, so be it.
“So, in the end, you stepped down because you thought you were doing what was best for the girls you’d worked so hard to coach, correct?” Ms. Burmeister said.
Andi almost gagged.
“I didn’t think it was best for them to be coddled, but I did think they’d be happier if I stepped down. So I did it to try to make them happy.”
Ms. Burmeister turned the podium over to Andi’s dad.
“I’m going to steer clear of your treatment of my daughter,” he said as he stood. “Because, obviously, I’m biased. So, let’s talk about the other eleven girls on the team.”
He talked about Lisa Carmichael’s benching and all the suicides she’d asked eleven-year-old girls to run—asking her to explain what they were. “I understand one of your assistants ran with the girls one day,” he said. “Did you ever run?”
“She’s much younger than I am,” Ms. Josephson said.
He then asked about Joan Axelson’s resignation. As it turned out, he’d hit a nerve—the right one to hit.
“She was disloyal from the start,” Ms. Josephson said. “Clearly, she wanted my job. She undermined me with the players—particularly your daughter, who she encouraged to question me every chance she got. She seemed to think that because she played college basketball, she knew more about the game than I did.”
“Is it possible she was right?” Tony Carillo said in a gentle tone.
“No—I mean, well, anything is possible. But I doubt she spent the summer studyin
g coaching books.”
“So, like the players, ultimately she turned on you?”
“From the beginning. Then there was that ridiculous scene after the Chester Heights game when she tried to convince me that what I’d said in the locker room was somehow wrong.”
She was rambling now. How could a twenty-three-year-old know more about anything than she did? How dare she question her feelings on race? “I work with black people every day,” she said. “I teach them. I coached them—even if they don’t listen!”
“Your black players didn’t listen to you?”
“No. They were impossible. As bad as your daughter!”
“But two of your best players.”
“Well, yes. They can play ball. And run. And jump. No surprise there.”
She stopped suddenly, looking around. The courtroom had gone completely silent.
“Your Honor,” Burmeister said, standing. “May we have a five-minute recess?”
“No need, counselor,” Tony Carillo said. “No further questions.”
Andi saw tears in Amy Josephson’s eyes as she shakily walked back to the table where Burmeister was still standing. Andi almost felt sorry for her former coach. Almost.
Levin waited until Burmeister and Andi’s dad had taken their seats and gave a deep sigh.
“Even though I knew there was a game this afternoon, I had planned to take a while to consider both sides of this issue,” he said after a moment. “I’m not big on rushing to judgment. But it’s clear to me now that there’s no need. The motion for an injunction is denied. Coach Dunphy, Ms. Carillo, good luck today.”
Andi couldn’t believe it. Except she could. Ms. Josephson’s meltdown on the witness stand had made Judge Levin’s decision easy.
Fran Dunphy was shaking her father’s hand. “You were Barney Greenwald and she was Captain Queeg,” he said.
“So, you saw The Caine Mutiny?” her father said.
“Read it, too,” Dunphy said.
“Whaaa?” Andi said.
“I’ll explain in the car,” her dad said. “We all need to get going.”
* * *
They stopped at McDonald’s on the way back to school because Andi was starving. On the way, her father explained that The Caine Mutiny was a famous book—and movie. In the movie, Humphrey Bogart played Captain Queeg, the incompetent and often-cruel captain of the Caine, leading to a mutiny. During the trial of the mutineers Queeg melted down under cross-examination much the way Ms. Josephson had melted down.
“The only thing missing today were the steel balls,” her dad said.
“Steel balls?”
“He had two little steel balls he rolled in his hands whenever he got nervous. Ms. Josephson could have used them today.”
It was midway through fifth period when Andi walked back into the school. She had to go to the principal’s office to get a note excusing her lateness. Ms. Dumas barely looked at her as she filled it out. When she signed it and handed it to Andi, she said, “I guess you girls got your victory in court?”
Apparently, word had gotten back to school very quickly that Coach Dunphy would still be coaching that afternoon.
“We get to have a season, yes, ma’am,” Andi said. She left before Ms. Dumas could answer.
When she got to her English class, Mr. Anderson, the teacher, looked at the late note, then put it on his desk. He looked at Andi, who was waiting for him to give his approval, and said, “What are you waiting for, Ms. Carillo? Have a seat.”
Clearly, everyone had heard the news about the outcome in court.
Jeff was waiting for Andi when she came out of sixth-period history. He knew she was headed for the locker room and the bus to Bryn Mawr Tech.
“I heard you were great!” he said, giving her a hug. Then, embarrassed, he said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to get too excited.”
Andi laughed. “No worries,” she said. “Who told you I was great?”
“Your dad texted my dad. He texted me.”
That made sense.
Jeff was on a roll now. “Some of the guys were thinking about asking Coach C to kick Arlow off the team because of what he said about you on TV.”
“I doubt Coach C will do that,” she said.
Jeff grinned. “Yeah, maybe he’ll get so mad he’ll quit. Then Coach Dunphy could coach both teams.”
Andi laughed at the joke and said, “Leave him alone. He’s ours. Gotta go.”
* * *
Normally, Coach C walked into the locker room on the stroke of 3:30 p.m. If anyone wasn’t there on time, he noticed. Which is why it was a surprise when 3:30 came and went with no sign of either coach. There was also no sign of Arlow. Then came 3:35. Finally, at 3:40, the two coaches and Arlow walked in together. Everyone else was dressed and ready to go. The game was scheduled to start in twenty minutes.
“Sorry we’re late,” Coach C said. “Ron has something to say.”
Arlow stood in front of his teammates, arms folded. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost to the point where it was difficult to hear him.
“I talked to the coaches and they’ve explained to me how upset everyone was—including all of you—with what I said about Andi Carillo on television last night. It was wrong. I guess I’m still a little upset she got all the glory in soccer season.”
Jeff started to say something. Arlow noticed. “Sorry, Michaels,” he said. “Didn’t mean it that way. I was wrong to say what I said. The entire girls’ team signed that petition to remove Coach Josephson. I’m going to apologize to her and I’m apologizing to all of you guys now because I embarrassed our team by saying what I said.”
He paused for a moment and Jeff thought he was finished. But he wasn’t. “I’ve also told Coach C and Coach B that, given what I did, I shouldn’t be cocaptain of the team anymore. I want to be part of this team and help us win. But Michaels should be the captain.”
Now he was done. Jeff wasn’t sure how sincere he was, but he’d made the effort.
Coach C jumped in. “Anyone have any objection to Michaels being our captain the rest of the way?”
There was silence.
“Okay, Jeff, get ’em in. We need to get warmed up in a hurry.”
Jeff stepped to the middle of the locker room and said, “‘Beat the Techies’—on three.”
They all joined him—including Arlow—and then they headed out the door and up to the court.
36
Fortunately for Merion, Bryn Mawr Tech’s strengths were science and math, not sports. It was the weakest team in the league. It was known to one and all as “the nerd school.”
It showed.
Jeff started at point guard and Arlow started on the bench. By the end of the first quarter, it was 19–6 and Coach C brought in five new players—Arlow among them. It really didn’t matter who played; the lead continued to build all afternoon. The final was 49–22. Coach C ordered five passes before taking a shot in the fourth quarter to keep the score down. That helped, but Bryn Mawr simply couldn’t score.
“It’ll be tougher Friday when we got to Radnor, I promise you that,” Coach C said in the locker room after the game. “We have to keep winning because Haverford’s not going to lose anytime soon since Jordan’s healthy again.”
Jeff had checked the schedule and had seen that the rematch with Haverford—it was one of the four teams Merion played twice—was in the last game of the season. They would almost certainly need to go undefeated between now and then and hope Jordan missed another game along the way if they were going to have a chance to even tie for the conference title. For now, he was happy to be 4–2—especially after the events of the last few days.
As he and Danny walked out of the locker room, Danny commented, “No media, huh? That’s a switch.”
Jeff laughed. “We’re playing sixth-grade basketball and we’re surprised there’s no media waiting for us after a game. Something’s wrong with this picture.”
Danny laughed. “Maybe,” he said, “we’ve
finally got it right.”
* * *
Andi felt like she was dreaming. For the first time all year, she was playing with a group of girls she felt completely comfortable with and a coach who had no ax to grind with her—or anyone else.
The Bryn Mawr Tech girls weren’t any better than the Bryn Mawr Tech boys. By halftime, Merion led 31–9 and Andi had scored fifteen points. Coach Dunphy got everyone playing time in the second half, putting his players in a passive zone defense to give Bryn Mawr a chance to score and telling his players not to shoot any threes.
“No need to embarrass them,” he said softly during a time-out.
The final score was 53–25. It could have been far worse than that. This was one game that Andi suspected Merion could have won with Coach Josephson still in charge.
Maybe.
The bus ride back to school was unlike any other she had experienced in soccer or basketball. It was loud and celebratory and included some singing. When Coach Dunphy said he couldn’t stand one more Jonas Brothers song, they challenged him to come up with one of his own. He promptly launched into Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and impressed them all with his ability to carry the tune.
Jeff had texted Andi to say that everyone had played, Ron Arlow had stepped down as captain after apologizing for attacking Andi in his TV interview, and they had also won easily. Maybe Andi was dreaming. It all seemed too good to be true.
Her mom was waiting for her when the bus pulled up to school.
“Quite a day,” she said. “Your dad said you did great in the courtroom.”
“Well,” Andi said, “let’s put it this way: I did better than Ms. Josephson.”
“So I heard,” her mother said. “So I heard.”
* * *
There was plenty of media coverage the next couple of days of what had happened in court. Andi was glad there had been no TV cameras allowed into the hearing because she had no need to see Ms. Josephson’s meltdown again. She did find The Caine Mutiny on Netflix and watched it on Saturday afternoon from beginning to end. Her father’s comparison of Ms. Josephson to Captain Queeg fit almost perfectly. She could almost see her rolling the steel balls in her hand.
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