The Black Sheep

by Yvonne Collins, Sandy Rideout

  I stand up and snatch the card before she can chew it up and swallow the evidence. The letters and numerals swim on the page before finally taking shape: TO THE QUESTION OF WHETHER KENDRA BISHOP SHOULD EMANCIPATE FROM HER PARENTS, WE THE PEOPLE VOTE: YEA—453,480; NAY—453,443.

  My mental calculator is sluggish, but it works. I lost by thirty-seven votes. Thirty-seven! I can only assume that viewers got caught up with the idea of emancipation and wanted to set me loose on the world. Either that, or they really didn’t like my parents.

  It isn’t fair. I never wanted this. All I wanted was a little more time to be with Mitch and enjoy my independence. But I let myself get crushed under Judy’s steamroller, and because of that, my life is going to change forever. I will be all alone in the world, with very few allies.

  So that is what it really means to be a Black Sheep. All of sudden, the idea has less appeal.

  At the moment, however, Black Sheepism is all I’ve got. Fortunately, it’s just enough to help me realize that, while I am down, I am not quite out. According to Nutty’s big acorn clock at the back of the studio, there are seventeen minutes left to the show.

  I stand in the witness box. “Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor.”

  “Denied,” Judy says.

  I do it anyway.

  Judy makes a slashing gesture at Chili and Bob, but I call, “Keep shooting, guys. You’ve pretty much destroyed my life. I figure you owe me sixteen and a half minutes.”

  They keep the cameras rolling.

  “Your Honor, I have a question. Did the people in this courtroom get a chance to vote?”

  “Irrelevant,” she repeats. “Sit down.”

  “I would argue that it is relevant. Everyone I love in the world is in this courtroom—except my friend Lucy and I guarantee you she already voted ‘no.’ In fact, I would argue that the only people qualified to weigh in on my fate are in this room. I insist that they be given a chance to vote.”

  “It’s over, KB. Give it up.”

  “It’s not over. We have fifteen minutes left in the show. As I see it, you have two options: I walk out of here right now and you fill the dead air somehow; or I give my closing argument and we let people vote one by one.”

  Judy eyes flick around the room as she does a quick head count. Realizing that there are forty-one people in the room, she shakes her head. “No. I’ll go with reactions for the rest of the show.”

  “Come on, Judy, I’d need thirty-eight votes to break the tie. You know and I know this would make for great TV. Think of the possibilities for conflict.”

  At the magic word, her eyes start to glitter. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Carrie and Meadow applaud wildly in the gallery, and Judy hammers the gavel down. “Silence,” she says. “Although it is highly unorthodox, I will allow the witness to address the courtroom today. Said witness has three minutes to prepare—during this commercial break.”

  Aaron offers me a long black robe that immediately makes me feel like a legitimate Black Sheep. I walk across the courtroom and bow first to the defense table, and then to the gallery. Focusing on Carrie to stay calm, I begin.

  “Good evening. Being on The Black Sheep has been the best experience and the worst experience I ever had, all at the same time. Most of you have been behind the scenes with me, but I bet you were as shocked as I was to see what happens to thousands of hours of raw footage. Editors cut and restructure events into whatever story the producer wants you to see. Although it’s a version of reality, it isn’t the truth.”

  Judy waves her gavel to attract attention. “Blah, blah, blah,” she says. “If we aired every minute of your life, KB, viewers would have tuned out long ago.”

  “That was an admission of guilt, in case you didn’t recognize it,” I say. “But recognizing the difference between entertaining TV and the truth isn’t the only thing I learned this summer. Living with another family has taught me a lot about my own. My parents are numbers people. They’re all about rules. They see cause and effect, profit and debt, black and white. The Mulligans have taught me to see shades of gray. They taught me about living with passion and commitment. Yet, I also learned that even the most open-minded parents want their kids to do as they say.”

  “KB?” Judy says. “Snoring.”

  “It’s my argument,” I tell her. “I get to be boring if I want.” I continue, addressing the gallery. “Being a teenager means exploring options. We can’t always accept what adults tell us at face value. Sometimes we have to figure things out on our own. If parents teach their kids to think for themselves, then those kids should be able to make sound decisions. Some of you think my decisions weren’t very sound, but I’m fifteen and I can’t get it right all the time. I’m more worried about the decisions that were made for me. I never wanted to divorce my parents; I just wanted to spend more time in Monterey. But when the network came up with the idea—” Judy tries to cut in here but I walk back to the bench, seize her gavel, and keep talking. “When the network came up with the idea, I didn’t fight hard enough against it. I allowed myself to be railroaded. As a result, I’ve learned that I have to speak up when I know something is wrong.”

  Aaron creeps up behind me and snatches the gavel back, giving me a second to catch my breath before going on.

  “It was a hard lesson, especially now that I’m potentially facing life on my own. I don’t have a plan yet, but I know I’ll survive somehow. That being said, I want to go home. I’ve realized that my parents have done their best. They’ve given me a good brain, good values, and some practical rules to live by.”

  “Ticktock.” Judy bangs the gavel. “Wrap it up already.”

  I turn to my parents at last. “I’m sorry I—”

  “Let the voting begin,” Judy interrupts. “I don’t want to influence anyone—judges are supposed to be impartial—but my vote is ‘Yes’ to emancipation. Aaron?”

  “I vote ‘Yes,’” Aaron says.

  She starts with the show’s other producers, and to my surprise, each votes “No.”

  “I’m not worried,” Judy says. “I only need two more votes.”

  She moves on to the back row of the visitors’ gallery, where again everyone votes against emancipation. Now I dare to hope.

  With the second row, I breathe a littler easier. As expected, Lisa votes “No” because she wants me in New York so that she can have Mitch all to herself. Mitch also votes “No,” which irritates and pleases me in equal measure. Sergeant Newman votes “No.” Walter also votes “No,” and offers me a place to stay if it doesn’t work out.

  Judy is starting to get nervous. Her gavel hand twitches.

  The first row starts well with Carrie, Rosa, and the Mulligans quickly voting down emancipation. But then Ted Silver mutters an apologetic “Yes.” He and Judy must be closer than I thought.

  One more “Yes” and I’m done for. I look around and realize the odds are against me. Bob and Chili will very likely support their boss. And Maya, well, Maya could go either way. My parents, with their faces of pale marble, give nothing away.

  Judy says, “We have four minutes left, so let’s make this fast. Chili, Bob, you’re ‘Yeses,’ I presume?”

  The guys look at each other and shake their heads. “Our vote’s with Kendra,” Chili says. “‘No’ to emancipation.”

  Judy gives them the evil eye. “Maya?” she asks, her voice now all high and nonjudicial.

  Maya glares at me for a long moment. Then she looks to her parents, and they give an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Her shiny hair swishes from side to side. “No,” she says.

  “Okay, Bishops, it’s up to you,” Judy says. “Do you want this piece of defective baggage back or not?”

  In unison, my parents chime, “No.”

  Judy’s face cracks in two, all toothy joy. “No?”

  For a moment, it seems as if my lungs have calcified. I look around, panicking, and somehow my eyes find Mitch’s across the room. They lock on mine,
and I see that he is sorry for me. My chest expands in a great gasp.

  My mother clutches my father’s arm and he shakes his head, “I mean, we vote ‘No.’ Of course we want our defective baggage back.”

  That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever heard. My parents are already on their feet, smiling as they come around the defense table. We meet halfway, and if we were the crying type, there would probably be some tears on both sides. Even so, my mother gives me a bone-crushing hug, worthy of Dr. Ernest himself. Dad settles for a hearty handshake that more than suffices.

  There is a flurry after that, as everyone hugs everyone else. Rosa is honking into a handkerchief, and Mona looks a little misty, too. I look around for Mitch, but he’s standing with Lisa.

  My father clears his throat. “Permission to speak, Your Judiness.”

  Is that a joke? My parents don’t make jokes, they make rules.

  “You’ve got ninety seconds,” Judy snaps.

  “My wife and I want to thank the people in this courtroom, as well as the 453,480 who voted to keep my family together. We also want you to know that we never had any intention of abandoning our daughter, regardless of any decision made in the court of reality television. However, we’re relieved to know the feeling is mutual. We hope to get to know many of you better—particularly the Mulligans—as we’ll be spending the rest of the summer in this area.”

  “We will?” I ask. “Why?”

  “Consider it a gesture of goodwill—toward the southern sea otter,” Dad says. “You need more time to win the war.”

  I smile at them. “What about the bank?”

  “We’re taking a leave of absence,” my mother says. “The bank will still be there in September.”

  “And by then our colleagues may have forgotten about the show,” Dad adds, proving he’s still Dad under this new veneer.

  “It was our idea, but Rosa agrees,” Mom says. “She’s helped us realize that we have to put our own pasts behind us and give you the freedom to explore what you want out of life.”

  “So I don’t have to become a banker?” I ask.

  “I think the criminal record pretty much eliminates that option,” Dad says.

  I wave my hand airily. “Don’t worry, Dad. If Boulder Beach doesn’t drop the charges, we’ll have our records expunged later.”

  “We should have taken you seriously from the beginning,” Mom says. “I’m ashamed to say we’d forgotten what it’s like to be young and fueled by passion.”

  Rosa is a genius. I have my doubts my parents were ever fueled by anything but dollar signs, but it’s time I started cutting them some slack. “It’s okay, Mom. I realize that this whole thing has been a nightmare for you. Believe me, it will never happen again.”

  I turn to glare at Judy, who lifts her lip to expose a hint of fang. “Oh, boo hoo,” she says.

  “We’re proud of what you accomplished with Team Fourteen,” Dad says, “even if it ended badly.”

  “If you’re proud of me, why wouldn’t you bail me out of jail?”

  “There are different ways to achieve a goal, many of them legal,” Mom says primly. “If you’re going to go leaping off the deep end, you’d better learn to swim.”

  And they’re back. The New and Improved Parents were too good to last. “You wouldn’t let me take swimming lessons,” I point out.

  Mom ignores this. “Have you forgotten everything we taught you?”

  “What ever happened to Rule Number Four?” Dad interjects. “Remember, Think before you act.”

  “I should have made burning The BLAH a condition of my returning home,” I say.

  Rosa comes up behind me and jabs me in the ribs. “Behave.”

  Judy hammers her gavel so hard the fake bench snaps in two and crashes around her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re already off the air. Clear the damn set.”

  I flail through the water, choking and sputtering as wave after wave hits my face. Someone should have warned me about the treacherous conditions so that I could wear a life jacket. Sure, it would have been humiliating, given that I’m in the shallow end of the pool, and the other two students in the class are half my age. But the water is extremely choppy, and even the swimming instructor agrees that I have buoyancy issues.

  But I must persevere. If I don’t figure out how to turn my aimless thrashing into forward motion, my parents won’t let me go on the otter-watching expedition I read about. I mentioned it at dinner last night, and Mom had enrolled me in swim class by morning.

  It’s not how I’d planned to spend day one of our first real family vacation. In fact, I was tempted to throw some foul language around, until Mom said, “But only yesterday you complained that we wouldn’t let you take swimming lessons. We’re listening to you, Kendra, just as you asked.” There was a slight twitch to her upper lip that suggested a smirk, but I reminded myself to keep an open mind.

  Despite this minor setback, I believe they are trying to lighten up. After all, they offered to come on the otter-watching trip with me—just as soon as we’ve completed a boating safety course with certified professionals.

  Swimming they’ve already mastered. Who knew bankers are immersible? Yet there they are in the pool’s fast lane, creating so much churn I’m taking on water like a leaky kayak. It turns out that they are in training for next year’s Ironman competition. This news might have annoyed me if they hadn’t invited me along to Hawaii with them.

  I drag myself out of the pool, and Rosa rushes over to wrap me in a robe. If I’d known that the swimsuit I bought with Carrie would see active duty, I’d have chosen something that isn’t transparent when wet.

  Rosa is staying with us for a few days in the cottage my parents rented. It sits high above the shore, not far from where Maurice was released. My bedroom is gorgeous, with the pale, washed-out quality of tide-worn pebbles and sun-bleached driftwood. The best thing about it, however, is that it is mine alone. There are no cameras, no ferrets, and no bratty little sisters to bother me. To be honest, I sort of missed Meadow and Manhattan last night. I’ve grown fond of them in the way hostages sometimes grow fond of their kidnappers.

  “What a natural,” Rosa says, leading me to a deck chair. “Your breaststroke was excellent.”

  I snort, partly to expel water from my brain. “That was the front crawl. I think I’m too old to learn to swim.”

  “You’re never too old to learn something new.”

  “I learned enough this summer to last me till college.”

  “So why do I have to remind you to put this on?” she asks, handing me a tube of sunscreen. “I was proud of the way you handled yourself in that courtroom yesterday. You’ve really blossomed. I used to worry that you’d hide in the shadows forever.”

  “No one can shoot you in the shadows,” I point out. And black sheep aren’t as bulletproof as I once thought.

  Rosa takes the chair beside mine while lamenting, “You’re all grown up. You don’t need me anymore.”

  I lean over and give her a one-armed hug. “Maybe not as a nanny, but I’ll always need you as a friend.”

  “Your parents are doing better, no?”

  I nod. “So far, so good. They’d already booked my flight to Hawaii. If they’re taking their defective baggage with them, I guess they were serious about not giving up on me.”

  “They won’t give up,” she says.

  “They even got me a telescope so that I can keep a lookout for Maurice. I can’t believe they thought of it.”

  “Actually, they didn’t.”

  “Who did—Carrie?”

  She shakes her head, grinning. “A boy with eyes as blue as the Caribbean Sea.”

  I lift my shades to stare at her. “I am so not ready for jokes about Mitch.”

  She settles back in her chair and lowers her shades. “Fine, Miss Snippy. If you don’t want to hear the story, that’s up to you.”

  I get out of my chair and perch on the edge of hers. “Tell me everything you know.”


  “I know he’s a nice boy.”

  “Cough it up, Rosa, or I’m boycotting the sunscreen.”

  “Well, he showed up on the doorstep with a brand new telescope two days ago. I let him in and he set it up for you.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To help you see better?” she says, smiling as if she’s quite the wit.

  “Mitch and I are through. He used me.”

  “Baloney,” she says. “He cares about you.”

  I get back into my own chair, sulking. “If he cared about me, why did he move to Calvin’s after our fight?”

  “That’s what men do. Don’t ask me how their minds work.”

  “Well, what makes you think he likes me?”

  “Duh! He told me so.”

  “I’m the only one who ‘duhs’ people around here,” I say. “And why was he telling you that and not me?”

  “Because I listen. He said he tried to talk to you and you ‘shut him down.’ That doesn’t sound like the polite girl I raised.”

  “Rosa, he’s obviously involved with Lisa. You saw the episode.”

  “I saw some images Judy cobbled together that prove nothing. On the other hand, a boy who spends hundreds of his hard-earned dollars on a girl proves something.”

  “It proves that he feels guilty. Mitch hasn’t exactly been there for me, you know.”

  “You need to tell him how to be there for you. That’s what a girlfriend does.”

  “If there was nothing between them, why was Lisa pissed off when he shared a tent with me?”

  “I imagine she thought it was inappropriate,” Rosa says. “If so, she was right. You’re fifteen.”

  I don’t need a chastity lecture, especially when there’s no longer any threat to it. And I don’t understand why this has turned into a discussion of my shortcomings, when Mitch was far from the model boyfriend. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I ask.

  “Yours,” she says. “Always. But that doesn’t mean I won’t tell you what I think. And I think you should use the next month to get to know this boy better.”

  “We’re not speaking to each other. Duh.”