Dangerous Girls
Page 58
“Gates is going to finish up the defense today,” Dad says, “He thinks we should end on the video, and not throw anything else to distract the judge. So, with closing arguments and some final motions, we’ll be wrapped by tomorrow.” He gives me another hopeful smile. “The judge could have a verdict before the weekend.”
I sit down with a thump. “So soon?” I feel a shiver.
“I called and spoke to the admissions people. They all deferred your place until next year, if you want it. But you’ve got options. Your college fund is safe,” he adds awkwardly. “The money, from your mother. I never touched it. . . .” He pushes the envelopes toward me again, and despite every instinct screaming that this is a bad idea, that I’m tempting fate somehow if I look, I reach for them.
University of Chicago. Bryn Mawr. Georgetown. Smith. USC.
I open each envelope in turn, the paper already slit and waiting for me to slide out the cover sheets.
Congratulations!
Acceptances, a fat stack of them. I line them up in turn on the table, still feeling strangely uneasy. When I pictured getting my college letters, this was never how I imagined it. I was going to be waiting for the mailman at home, grabbing the pack from his outstretched hand and racing into the house to excitedly tear them open, already speed-dialing Elise.
“I’m sorry I opened them,” Dad apologizes, watching my face. I can feel the happy expectation radiating from him. “I didn’t want you to see, if there were any rejections.”
“I got in,” I say softly, staring at the admissions booklets, the glossy pictures of undergraduates strolling across leafy campuses. It’s a world I haven’t let myself imagine, or even think about, the great prospect of after.
Dad beams. “I know you want to try the West Coast,” he adds, but I shake my head.
“We were going together,” I say, stroking the cover of the USC packet. “It wouldn’t be right, walking around there, without her.” I take a breath. “Besides, I want to stay close to home—to you. An East Coast school.”
Dad smiles widens. “That . . . that would be great, sweetheart. I’d love to see you.”
I nod, still staring at the papers when the guard comes to summon us to the courtroom. My future, right there on the table: one path, the possibilities, but only if I make it out of this hell first.
I’m close. So close.
THE TRIAL
I walk into court the next morning knowing it’s one of the very last times. There’s nothing but legal motions and closing arguments now, before the trial ends and it’s all down to Judge von Koppel and her cool, blond deliberations.
I expected to feel relief, but instead, I almost don’t want it to end. This trial has been the only constant thing in my life for months now. First, it was the light on the horizon, keeping me going through the endless nights in prison. Now, there’s a comfort to the daily routine: dressing up in normal clothes; fixing my hair as best I can in a borrowed mirror; drinking in the view from the darkened windows of the prison van as we drive across the island to the courtroom.
It’s not just me—we’ve all fallen into a regular pattern here. Dad fetches coffee on his way in for us all; Elise’s parents sit in the same spot in the back left of the courtroom every day, staring straight ahead through every witness and piece of evidence. Even Dekker has his small habits and rituals, like the way he’ll straighten the papers on his table into perfect angles before the judge calls us all to order, and unbutton his jacket before standing to interrogate a witness. I know it sounds crazy, that something as dramatic as a murder trial could become normal and everyday, but it is to me now. And soon, everything will be different.
“Ready?” Lee gives me an encouraging grin as the judge settles in at the front of the room and we take our seats. “Nearly over now.”
He’s not the only one smiling. The mood in the courtroom is visibly lighter—they know we’re at the end too, and I guess the reporters and families are all relieved to be able to go home soon. Tate and Lamar and everyone have had to stay on the island throughout the trial, in case they were needed to testify. Only AK comes to court every day, probably making notes for his televised trial round-up on the Clara Rose Show each night. But the others stay away, and although spending a month stuck in Aruba isn’t the worst fate, I know they must be ready to leave the minute the judge says that they can.
I’m the only one here who’s scared for this to be over.
“Counselors?” The judge bangs her gavel for silence. Gates rises, but the other table sits empty—Dekker nowhere to be seen.
Von Koppel frowns. “Have we seen the prosecution judge?”
There’s silence. I look around, confused. Dekker is always punctual and precise—in all the month of the trial, he’s never once been late.
“Let’s try to find him.” The judge doesn’t look impressed. She beckons Gates and a couple of people closer, and they begin to murmur in hushed tones.
I sit back, on-edge now. “Where do you think he is?” I ask Lee. I drum a pencil against the table, my nerves suddenly jittering.
“Who knows? Maybe he had a crisis of faith and is off contemplating his sins,” he jokes, but I shake my head.
“Don’t.”
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Have you thought about what you’ll do?” Lee leans in close. His brown hair is longer than when I first met him, months ago, and brushes against his collar. “When you get out of here, I mean. What’s the first thing on your list?”
I feel that flash of panic again, like he’s tempting fate, but I know he’s only trying to keep my spirits up. I pause to think about it. “A bath,” I say at last. “I’m going spend a whole day in the tub—lock the door, use a whole bottle of bubble bath, just lie there for hours.”
Lee grins. “Sounds good.”
“What about you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, go back and see my folks, I think.”
“You won’t go back to the embassy?”
Lee gives me a look. “I don’t think so. Technically they’re calling this leave, but, I don’t think I’ll be welcome back in the diplomatic corps again, at least not for a while.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. He’s never said anything, but I know being a part of my team has caused all kinds of problems with his job, and after Clara Rose started speculating about our relationship, it only got worse.
I sit down with a thump. “So soon?” I feel a shiver.
“I called and spoke to the admissions people. They all deferred your place until next year, if you want it. But you’ve got options. Your college fund is safe,” he adds awkwardly. “The money, from your mother. I never touched it. . . .” He pushes the envelopes toward me again, and despite every instinct screaming that this is a bad idea, that I’m tempting fate somehow if I look, I reach for them.
University of Chicago. Bryn Mawr. Georgetown. Smith. USC.
I open each envelope in turn, the paper already slit and waiting for me to slide out the cover sheets.
Congratulations!
Acceptances, a fat stack of them. I line them up in turn on the table, still feeling strangely uneasy. When I pictured getting my college letters, this was never how I imagined it. I was going to be waiting for the mailman at home, grabbing the pack from his outstretched hand and racing into the house to excitedly tear them open, already speed-dialing Elise.
“I’m sorry I opened them,” Dad apologizes, watching my face. I can feel the happy expectation radiating from him. “I didn’t want you to see, if there were any rejections.”
“I got in,” I say softly, staring at the admissions booklets, the glossy pictures of undergraduates strolling across leafy campuses. It’s a world I haven’t let myself imagine, or even think about, the great prospect of after.
Dad beams. “I know you want to try the West Coast,” he adds, but I shake my head.
“We were going together,” I say, stroking the cover of the USC packet. “It wouldn’t be right, walking around there, without her.” I take a breath. “Besides, I want to stay close to home—to you. An East Coast school.”
Dad smiles widens. “That . . . that would be great, sweetheart. I’d love to see you.”
I nod, still staring at the papers when the guard comes to summon us to the courtroom. My future, right there on the table: one path, the possibilities, but only if I make it out of this hell first.
I’m close. So close.
THE TRIAL
I walk into court the next morning knowing it’s one of the very last times. There’s nothing but legal motions and closing arguments now, before the trial ends and it’s all down to Judge von Koppel and her cool, blond deliberations.
I expected to feel relief, but instead, I almost don’t want it to end. This trial has been the only constant thing in my life for months now. First, it was the light on the horizon, keeping me going through the endless nights in prison. Now, there’s a comfort to the daily routine: dressing up in normal clothes; fixing my hair as best I can in a borrowed mirror; drinking in the view from the darkened windows of the prison van as we drive across the island to the courtroom.
It’s not just me—we’ve all fallen into a regular pattern here. Dad fetches coffee on his way in for us all; Elise’s parents sit in the same spot in the back left of the courtroom every day, staring straight ahead through every witness and piece of evidence. Even Dekker has his small habits and rituals, like the way he’ll straighten the papers on his table into perfect angles before the judge calls us all to order, and unbutton his jacket before standing to interrogate a witness. I know it sounds crazy, that something as dramatic as a murder trial could become normal and everyday, but it is to me now. And soon, everything will be different.
“Ready?” Lee gives me an encouraging grin as the judge settles in at the front of the room and we take our seats. “Nearly over now.”
He’s not the only one smiling. The mood in the courtroom is visibly lighter—they know we’re at the end too, and I guess the reporters and families are all relieved to be able to go home soon. Tate and Lamar and everyone have had to stay on the island throughout the trial, in case they were needed to testify. Only AK comes to court every day, probably making notes for his televised trial round-up on the Clara Rose Show each night. But the others stay away, and although spending a month stuck in Aruba isn’t the worst fate, I know they must be ready to leave the minute the judge says that they can.
I’m the only one here who’s scared for this to be over.
“Counselors?” The judge bangs her gavel for silence. Gates rises, but the other table sits empty—Dekker nowhere to be seen.
Von Koppel frowns. “Have we seen the prosecution judge?”
There’s silence. I look around, confused. Dekker is always punctual and precise—in all the month of the trial, he’s never once been late.
“Let’s try to find him.” The judge doesn’t look impressed. She beckons Gates and a couple of people closer, and they begin to murmur in hushed tones.
I sit back, on-edge now. “Where do you think he is?” I ask Lee. I drum a pencil against the table, my nerves suddenly jittering.
“Who knows? Maybe he had a crisis of faith and is off contemplating his sins,” he jokes, but I shake my head.
“Don’t.”
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Have you thought about what you’ll do?” Lee leans in close. His brown hair is longer than when I first met him, months ago, and brushes against his collar. “When you get out of here, I mean. What’s the first thing on your list?”
I feel that flash of panic again, like he’s tempting fate, but I know he’s only trying to keep my spirits up. I pause to think about it. “A bath,” I say at last. “I’m going spend a whole day in the tub—lock the door, use a whole bottle of bubble bath, just lie there for hours.”
Lee grins. “Sounds good.”
“What about you?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, go back and see my folks, I think.”
“You won’t go back to the embassy?”
Lee gives me a look. “I don’t think so. Technically they’re calling this leave, but, I don’t think I’ll be welcome back in the diplomatic corps again, at least not for a while.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. He’s never said anything, but I know being a part of my team has caused all kinds of problems with his job, and after Clara Rose started speculating about our relationship, it only got worse.
