Tease(83)

So for now, I just want to be quiet. Natalie lets me go and I step over to the bench, lowering myself down next to my mom. My parents. The paper sits on my lap and I wait.

We all just . . . wait.

“You may be seated.”

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor fills the room. This part reminds me of the times I used to go to mass with Brielle, way back in junior high when her parents still made her go. Stand up, sit down, stand up again. Pay attention when the guy in the robe walks in. Or in this case, the woman.

She’s younger than I expected, and prettier. Her hair is long and blond and down on her shoulders, kind of casual. And she smiles at everyone, like she wants us to sit down and relax, not worry, enjoy this. Like that’s even possible.

I wish I’d asked Natalie what this was going to be like, look like. She asked a million times if I had any questions about today, but I just couldn’t focus. Now everything is catching me off guard—the pretty judge, the pretty room. Unlike the first place we went, for the allegations or whatever, this is a real movie-style courtroom. It’s old, wooden. Half the room is pews (again, like church), and then there’s a low wooden gate, and we’re on the other side of that, at a big mahogany table. Well, I assume it’s mahogany, I don’t know.

There are high windows on either side of the room, and the judge sits up in a booth, just like you’d think. There’s a witness stand next to her. But we don’t have to use that. There’s a podium set up between the tables—the one thing that looks like it doesn’t belong here, with wires running across the floor—where everyone’s going to talk.

I keep staring ahead at the judge. She’s just going through some papers, talking to the court officer, but I can’t look to either side. On my left, Jacob sits with his lawyer and someone else, maybe another lawyer. On my right is Natalie, and then Brielle with her lawyer. And then on the other side of the podium, Emma’s parents and their lawyers. Behind us I hear the snap of cameras and the murmurs of all our parents, the reporters, who knows who else. I picture my mom and dad, sitting together a row behind me, holding my coat and purse. Like I’ve just run to the bathroom and I didn’t want to carry them.

The judge looks up at the Putnams’ table. “Counselor?” she says.

And it starts.

They go through all the charges, and then the charges we’ve agreed to accept so they’ll drop the other ones and leave us alone. It takes a while since there’s three of us, and despite my nerves I kind of zone out here and there. But then they call Brielle up to the podium for her individual allocution and everything snaps back into focus.

She gets up with her lawyer, and finally I look over. But I immediately wish I hadn’t. Brielle looks like she’s the lawyer—her hair is smooth and swept back, and she’s wearing a dark navy suit with a pencil skirt and heels. She looks about twenty-five years old, and her lawyer is this older guy who’s obviously won a million cases. He has a leather binder he opens on the podium, and when he says hello to the judge you can tell he’s met her a bunch of times. Like they’re always playing tennis and having scotch at the lawyer-and-judge club, or whatever.

He speaks, and then the judge reads Brielle’s charges and Brielle says “Yes” a bunch of times. And then the judge goes, “If you’ve prepared a statement, you may read that now.”

Everyone holds their breath. Brielle turns to the back of her lawyer’s binder, to a different page, and gently clears her throat. When she starts to speak, I immediately recognize her special for-adults voice. It feels like I haven’t heard it in years, and it makes me more nervous than ever. I know it’s not a competition, but this isn’t debate class—Brielle and I aren’t on the same team. If it’s a contest, she’ll win. She’s winning.

But I guess it’s too late for that, actually. We’re both here to admit that we’ve lost. We give up.

“Thank you, your honor,” Brielle says. Like she does this every day. “Mr. and Mrs. Putnam, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t know Emma that well, but she was a beautiful girl, and I can’t imagine what this loss must mean to you. I will always regret anything I did to make her feel less than welcome at Elmwood High, and I will always hold your family in my heart and in my prayers. Thank you.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence as Brielle’s lawyer reaches over and shuts the leather binder, takes it off the podium, and guides Brielle back to our table. She said all the right things, but—but what? Why does it feel wrong?

Then I hear Emma’s mom take a big, gasping breath. A sob. She quiets down again almost instantly, but I figure, okay, if Brielle made her cry . . . I guess she definitely said the right thing.

But, I don’t know, maybe it’s me—she just didn’t sound that sorry.

Is that what I’m going to sound like?

My heart is beating in my throat and I wonder how I’m going to manage to vomit and pass out in this fancy room full of formal people when the judge calls Jacob’s name next. I look at Natalie, panicked, but she just pats my hands, which are knotted together in my lap.

“Don’t worry,” she mouths. “You’re fine.”

Jacob goes through all the same things, though as we already know, he only has to accept a couple of charges, fewer than Brielle and I do. And Tyler—God, I’ve forgotten all about him. His case is separate, but I know he’s doing a plea too. I close my eyes while Jacob’s lawyer talks to the judge and try to imagine this being over. Not, like, later today, but next year. What will next year look like? Will things be normal? What’s normal anymore?