The Holdout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  “So what if I want to go on The Holdout? What would be your advice?” Andrea asks me this in an official, job interview sort of voice. How can a kid like her be so composed, so together, when I’m nearly twice her age and I haven’t even figured myself out yet?”

  “I’d say don’t do it.”

  “But…” Andrea’s face falls. Clearly that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “There’s the chance to win all that money! A million dollars would pay for college, and then med school.”

  “Andrea plans to cure breast cancer,” says Nick.

  “There are other ways to pay tuition.” I pop the calamari in my mouth and chew as I consider how to elaborate. “Look, being on the show just wasn’t what I thought it would be. I’m sure you’d be great, but if I had it to do over, I’d stay home. It’s not worth it.”

  Nick takes a gulp of his beer. “Has Alright Magazine been hounding you?”

  I address him. “I’ve gotten some calls, mostly on my cell, and usually when it’s turned off during jury duty. So that hasn’t been too bad. But just knowing everyone is judging me, all the time…” I look back at Andrea. “It’s not something I’d recommend.”

  Andrea nods seriously and I worry that I’ve ruined her impression of me.

  “Hey!” I say, my voice up an octave from where it was before. “What do I know? You’re young, and you have all sorts of adventures ahead of you. I’m sure you’ll be great, no matter what you do.”

  Andrea’s expression doesn’t lighten. “That’s a pretty broad assumption.”

  Despite myself I start laughing. “How old are you? Because I’m thinking there’s no way you’re only sixteen.”

  Nick starts laughing too. Finally, Andrea’s grim face turns to a smile. “Shut up,” she says to Nick.

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  She pushes him, he pushes gently back, and the three of us go back to having a good time.

  §

  Later I walk them to their car. Andrea gets in the front seat, whips out her cell phone, and is oblivious to the rest of the world. Nick taps my arm.

  “Thanks,” he says. “I really appreciate it.”

  “It was fun,” I reply.

  Nick looks over his shoulder, sees that Andrea is still looking down at her phone, and then quickly goes in for a kiss on the lips. It’s so sudden I don’t have time to pull away, and it’s over before it began. Still, I’m left with a tingly sensation, like how your skin feels when you jump into the swimming pool after sitting in the hot tub. I kind of like it even though I wouldn’t have expected to.

  I also wouldn’t have expected such a bold move from a motherless real-estate agent who’s been his younger sister’s guardian since he was twenty-three. Hasn’t he learned the consequences of taking risks? Maybe he was sick the day they covered that in motherless, over-responsible big brother school. But I can’t imagine that Ted and Ian ever missed a day, or a lesson

  He takes a step back from me. “See you Monday, Robin.”

  I open my mouth but words don’t come, so I give him a meek little wave instead. He grins, gets in the car, and drives away. I walk slowly back to the restaurant, dragging my feet. Meeting Jessie is not high on my list of things that I want to do. I think it comes somewhere between balancing my checkbook and bleaching out my toilet bowl.

  I pull open the heavy door and re-enter. After being outside in the cold evening, the restaurant air feels hot and sticky. I head back to the bar, pushing up the sleeves of my sweater as I go. When I get there I find Jack leaning against the edge, with a beer in one hand. His other hand is stroking Jessie’s shoulder. She sits on the stool next to him. There must have only been one stool available, so he gave it to her.

  Jack sees me and waves. “Hey!” He nudges Jessie and she turns around. Her hair is bobbed now, shorter than it was when I saw her here months ago at my going-away party. She smiles in a reserved, unhappy sort of way and my stomach flips and sinks. This is going to be even worse than I thought.

  “Hi!” I say, holding out my hand. “You must be Jessie. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Jack’s cousin Robin.”

  She gives me a limp-wristed shake. “I know who you are. I watched the episode of The Holdout where Jack visited you. Of course, I watched it alone, because Jack was sleeping on your couch at the time.”

  Jack squeezes her shoulder as if what she said was endearing. My hand drops to my side and I try to stay upbeat. “But you’re planning to move in together now, right? That’s so exciting. Congratulations!”

  Jessie shrugs. “I suppose. It’s not as exciting as being engaged, but I have to take what I can get.”

  Jack chuckles. I would too, except I don’t find anything funny. “How was your dinner with the guy from jury duty?” he asks me.

  “Good,” I say. “His sister is so cute. She’s like how I wish I had been at her age.”

  Jack turns to Jessie. “Robin is on jury duty right now. She’s been going down to the courthouse for nearly two weeks to sit and listen to a case about yachts.”

  “How awful,” says Jessie. “It’s too bad you couldn’t get out of it.”

  “Actually, I don’t mind. It’s been sort of interesting. I like learning about how federal cases work, and…”

  My voice trails off as I realize she isn’t listening to a word I’m saying. She’s looking around the room, waving at a friend, and then she grabs Jack’s arm. “There’s Michelle,” she says to him. “I have to go say hi.”

  Without as much as a goodbye she gets up and goes after Michelle. Jack just stands there, watching her walk away. Then he turns back to me. “I think she needs to talk to her about something important,” he says apologetically.

  “Sure.” I take out my cell phone and look at the time. “Hey, I should get going anyway. It’s late and I have to be up early tomorrow. I promised I’d go to the gym with Isobel.”

  Before Jack can respond, a person from the bar comes up to us. “Aren’t you Robin, from The Holdout?” he slurs. He’s standing a little too close.

  I step back. “Guilty,” I say. “Thanks for watching the show, but I was just on my way out.”

  He scratches above his ear and pulls down his shirt. “Yeah,” he says, continuing his train of thought rather than responding to what I just said. “You’re the snotty one. You’re mad because that guy likes the hot girl better.” He leans in and I can smell the beer and nachos on his breath. “On behalf of all the men in America, I’m going to tell you something. Bitches like you need to get the hell over it.”

  I’m sure I would be angry. But I don’t have the chance, because in the space of a second Jack has the guy by the collar of his shirt.

  “That’s my cousin you’re talking to,” he says, his face growing red with anger and exertion. Around us conversation dies down as people rubberneck towards this sudden conflict. “And this is my restaurant you’re standing in. So I’m going to tell you something. You need to leave. Now.”

  Jack releases him, and the guy stumbles backwards a little. One of his friends sees what’s going on and comes over. “Let’s go,” he says to his friend. He speaks to Jack. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Good,” says Jack. “Leave right now and they’re won’t be any.”

  The two of them make their exit and I look at my cousin with new respect. “I didn’t know you were a badass.”

  Jessie has seen the drama from across the room and she scurries over, elbowing past people to get to Jack. “What’s going on?” she demands. She sounds angry, like someone took the last piece of pizza while she was in the bathroom.

  “You just missed seeing your boyfriend get tough.”

  She broadcasts her doubt as she looks to Jack. “Really?”

  Jack plays it off, puffing on his knuckle and rubbing it against his shirt. Then he attempts a ghetto-rap voice. “That was just Jack Bricker every day.”

  I laugh but Jessie doesn’t. “Sweetheart,” she says, “You need to be more careful. What if that g
uy had tried to beat you up?” She’s talking to him with a gently scolding, preschool teacher voice. “Do you even know how to fight?”

  I rush to save Jack as he just saved me. “He could have totally taken that guy, Jessie. Seriously, he was awesome.”

  Jack smiles his thanks, and I leave as quickly as I can. Once I’m outside I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can go home, go to bed, and sleep in nice and late. Isobel and I aren’t going to the gym until noon.

  §

  On Monday morning I wake up eager for the day. I dress myself in one of my newest creations from last week, a top I like too much to sell on eBay. It’s a layered tunic made from both black and gray jersey, with a silky pink ribbon woven throughout. I put it on over tight black pants and my high black boots, but I don’t wear my fake glasses and I let my hair hang loose around my shoulders. People have recognized me from the show and the world didn’t stop, so maybe it’s time to own who, and what I am.

  I enter the courthouse with a spring in my step, and I’m debating with myself about what I’ll say to Nick when I see him. Do I acknowledge the kiss, or do I play it cool? I still haven’t decided when I approach the desk to check in, but instead of wishing me good morning, Madison, the jury clerk, tells me to go home.

  “Did they settle?” I ask, alarmed.

  Madison shakes her perfectly coiffed head. “I can’t say. But unless you hear otherwise, show up here at the same time tomorrow.”

  When I’m back down in the lobby I see Nick walking towards the elevators. For a moment I consider pretending like I don’t see him, but I kind of want to see him, sort of how I want a big snowstorm on Christmas or ghosts on Halloween. I walk purposefully towards him, with a smile fixed on my face.

  “Hi!” I say.

  He doesn’t smile back. “Hi,” he says, without expression, like I could be anyone on the jury.

  “We’ve been told to go home,” I tell him. “I think they might be settling.”

  “Oh.” He looks at his watch. “Wow. I guess I can go into the office today.”

  Really? He has a chance for a day off, and going into the office is the first thing on his mind. Well, as long as he’s being responsible…“You should probably check in,” I tell him, “just so Madison knows you were here.”

  He nods and walks away. Huh. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but it wasn’t that. Why wouldn’t a guy who kissed me two nights ago smile when he sees me today? Maybe he’s having second thoughts. Maybe my lips were unappealing. Maybe the girl who gave him that watch called him on Sunday and said they should get back together.

  I button up my coat in anticipation of protecting against the cold, even though I parked in the underground garage. Now I’m doubting this top I wore. Maybe it’s too much.

  On my way down to the car I contemplate what I’m going to do with my day. I could start applying for jobs. Or, I could go online and scour university catalogs to find appealing graduate programs. Whatever. The one thing I won’t do is worry about Nick. After the year I’ve had, I have no more room in my life for mixed messages and insincerity. Maybe it’s a good thing if the trial is settling. It can just be done, and I won’t have to deal with any of this anymore.

  Yet, if they settle, that means I spent two weeks listening to and thinking about this case, and at the end, I don’t get my say.

  I go home, feeling as conflicted as a platypus: part-duck, part-otter, and as mixed up as a semi-mammal can be. Do I want to be land-based and quacking, or do I want to be sleek, dark, and swimming away from conflict? I’m pretty sure I’m still warm-blooded, but there have been some moments in the last few months when my blood ran cold. So, like the clothes I design, I’m just a motley conglomeration of parts that don’t fit together, and even a little decision like whether I want to still be on jury duty has left me exhausted.

  It doesn’t matter though, because on Tuesday it turns out that the trial is still on, and I get out of the elevator and onto the fourteenth floor. I walk towards the jury room with my head down and I nearly run into Silas Smythe. In the process my foot trips over his, and I stumble. He puts a hand on my shoulder to steady us both.

  “Whoa,” he says. “Are you okay?”

  I straighten myself up and look around. Four is approaching and she saw my interaction with Silas. Her hair is back and her forehead is crowded with strict, distinct lines. I can see them from here, and they all shout disapproval. I bet she’s a hallway terror at the middle school where she works. My pulse starts to sprint.

  I make eye contact with Silas and point to the Juror badge pinned to my coat. Then I shake my head no. Silas gives me a guileless smile and saunters off.

  “What was that about?” Four demands. “You know that you’re not supposed to be talking to him, right?”

  I bite the inside of my mouth to temper my response. “I tripped, and he steadied me. I didn’t say anything.”

  Four purses her lips. “But he talked to you. I wonder if we should report it. Do you think they’d declare a mistrial?”

  Four starts walking, her strides wide with purpose. I follow. “A mistrial? After two weeks and what must be millions of dollars from both sides? All he did was save me from tripping and it’s not going to influence me. That would be ridiculous.”

  Four pauses and purses her lips. “Justice is never ridiculous.”

  We reach the door to the jury room. Four has her prox card handy, so she beeps us in. I open the door and hold it for her. And I’m laughing. “I really wish you were right about that.”

  Most of the other jurors have arrived already. Immediately my head turns towards Nick’s spot at the table. He’s reading his book and he doesn’t look up. Not even a nod hello. I know he heard us come in.

  So that’s how it’s going to be.

  Four starts telling the room why she’s so late. Luckily she doesn’t mention reporting me and Silas; her mind has already moved onto something else. “I had to go in and make more sub plans,” she says. “And I had to leave the grading key for the test on twentieth century presidents. Can you believe that most of them don’t know who FDR was?”

  Most of us shake our heads ruefully, except Twelve, who can’t be long out of school herself. Her face goes blank, so I’m guessing she managed to graduate without learning her twentieth century presidents. It’s too bad she didn’t have Four as her teacher.

  In a couple of minutes we’re summoned, and our entrance routine has become old hat. After lining up in our customary order we wait to hear “All rise for the jury,” and then we walk in, pausing in front of our chairs until the judge tells us to be seated. The whole time Nick avoids my eyes. Now that he’s sitting behind me I won’t know if he’s looking at me or not, but I think I can feel him glance at the back of my neck.

  The trial resumes, and I sit there, wondering how much longer it can go on. Is there really anything left to say about yachts?

  Then after around an hour or so, the ex-frat-boy defense lawyer concludes the cross examination of his expert witness, and I’m not sure I hear him right but I think he says, “Thank you your honor. The defense rests.”

  But I did hear him right, and after that everything happens really fast. Closing arguments are made, and the judge gives us instructions about how to proceed with deliberations. Then we’re sequestered into our jury room. They bring us lunch because we’re not allowed to go out, and they make us put our cell phones in a basket, which will stay with the security guard who is stationed outside the door.

  The first thing we have to do is elect a foreman. Nine points to One, the guy who is always wearing a suit. “Heck,” Nine says. “You’re already sitting in the right spot, and you look the part. Why don’t you do it?”

  “That sounds good to me,” I say. And it does, because as long as Four isn’t made foreman, I’m happy.

  One blinks from behind his large, square-rimmed glasses. “I can be foreman if that’s what everyone would like.

  People nod and voice their assent. Four sounds
particularly enthusiastic, but her smile is vacant, like she’s an actress who just heard someone else’s name announced as winner at the Academy Awards. I know she had her sights set on being foreman from day one. She probably started rehearsing her foreman acceptance speech on the morning her jury summons arrived in the mail.

  “Well,” One says. “Why don’t we start by giving everyone the chance to say what they think at this point? Let’s start with juror number twelve and go backwards.”

  Twelve’s mouth drops open and her eyes widen in shock. “You want me to go first?”

  Six turns toward her. “If you don’t want to go first, Dear, that’s okay. We can come back to you.” She looks over at One. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  One nods in a nearly imperceptible way, and then he looks directly at Eleven. The one smoker in the group, Eleven is fidgeting and tapping his hands together. He sighs. “Okay, well I’m mixed. I think the Smythes sort of got screwed with these boats that fell apart too easily, but I also think they didn’t store them right.”

  Next it’s Ten/Nick’s turn. All heads turn to him. He brings the tips of his fingers together and stares at them like he’s never seen them do that before. “This case seems pretty one-sided to me. If you sell a bad product then you should pay. Potenza’s boats didn’t live up to their promise. I don’t care how they were stored. Boats that expensive shouldn’t just fall apart and sink.”

  I take in a deep breath through my nose and suck the insides of my cheeks. Then I bite my lip and curl up my toes inside my ancient black boots. I have to wait my turn.

  Nine agrees with Ten. So does Eight. She owns her own boutique in a wealthy section of town, so she knows about consumer issues. Seven, who hardly ever says anything, speaks so softly that I have to strain to hear.

  “Well,” she says, “I’m not sure how I feel. It seems like a two-sided issue to me.”

  I nod and relax my toes a little. This I can work with.