Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(91)

“Ahem,” Heather clears her throat next to me. “Are we going to do this thing?” She gestures toward Emily.

“Yes.” I try to shake off Randall’s hurtful words. “Yes, we’re doing this thing.”

The rest of the team springs to action, and we make it all the way through the trial without stopping. None of us corrects Heather’s errors, or our own for that matter. We let it all slide. I’m too tired, still stinging from Randall’s rebuke, and too heartsore to really care.

“We’ll take a ten-minute break and do closings,” I say after finishing with the last examination. Beside me, Heather looks fresh and invigorated as if the last two hours weren’t completely draining. “Heather, I have some notes I typed up—”

“No, thanks,” she interrupts me. “I’ve got this. In fact, we can start now if you want.”

Randall wiggles his eyebrows at me, but I’m still angry at him to join in any of his games.

“Sure.” I slump against my chair. Anything for this practice to be over.

She stands and strides confidently toward the open space in front of the fake jury box. She extends one hand toward Randall. “May it please the court? Opposing counsel?” The other hand floats toward me. “Women and men of the jury. On behalf of my client and co-counsel, we thank you for your time. The right to trial by jury is as fundamental to this country as owning a gun or the right to vote or the right to practice one’s religion. It’s in both the 6th and 7th Amendments to the Constitution. By sitting here today, you are upholding the very document that created this country.”

Her reference to the Constitution is smart. I jot a note to make sure she includes it every time. Heather proceeds to tell the room full of weary students exactly why her client was victimized by a callous corporation seeking profits over safety.

Her rich voice, unhurried, weaves a tale of a hard worker, taken advantage of by a shoddily designed product that was inevitably going to hurt someone. In this case, that someone was our client.

By the end, we’re sitting there with our mouths hanging open, and I, pretending to be the counsel for the manufacturer, want to throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness.

After her last thank you, the entire room is silent until Randall releases an awe-filled, “Damn.”

And he keeps repeating it as our teammates jump out of their seats and rush Heather. They clap and smile and hug her. Every mistake she’s made, every insulting word she’s said, it’s all forgotten.

And seeing my whole team embrace her makes me feel even shittier than when I thought we were going to send another losing team to Regionals.

Maybe I’ve been too hard on Ace.

“What?” Heather demands. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I f*ck up again?”

“No. Everything was perfect.” And it was. Everyone performed flawlessly. Heather remembered to ask the court for permission. I didn’t screw up any questions on direct. All the witnesses looked either smart or vulnerable or, in the case of Emily, both.

“She’s just in shock,” Randall jokes. “Want to run through it again?”

“No.” There are thirty minutes left in our practice time, but I want to leave on a high note. “We’re ending early.”

The team whoops with joy. Even Randall, who ordinarily wants to stay longer, is excited. He leans down to give me a quick hug goodbye and gives Heather a kiss on the cheek. She shoos him away and soon it’s just her and me.

“Need something?” I ask as I gather the materials together. Evidently she wants to talk and if there was ever a time that I didn’t want to deal with Heather’s shit, it would be now.

I’m emotionally tapped out. I kind of just want to go back to my apartment, cover my head with a pillow and cry for a few hours—as I’ve done nearly every night since I broke up with Matt.

“Yes. I want to know what I did wrong tonight. You haven’t said more than two words to me. I want to know if I’m f*cking up.” She juts out her chin pugnaciously, as if physically preparing herself for me to bust a fist across her chin.

“You aren’t f*cking up.”

“I know I didn’t set that cross-examination up right. That I didn’t get her to admit she was under oath before asking her to read from the deposition.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, though. That’s a small error. Do you want to run through it right now?” I pull out the deposition.

Heather pulls it out of my hand and sets it behind her. “No, I want to know why you didn’t call me on that bullshit during the practice. You would have any other night.”

“You were in the groove, and it didn’t make sense to interrupt you.” I decide Heather can keep that copy. I can print out a new one. I shove everything else in my backpack, but before I can close it, Heather’s hand reaches out and rips the bag out of my hand.

“Something’s wrong.” If it were anyone else, I’d say there was concern in her voice. But this is Heather. Despite some evidence to the contrary, Heather is focused on herself alone. In some ways, I really admire that. She’s a sophomore, a year younger than me, but has the drive, determination and direction that people ten years older lack.

I reach for the bag, but she shoves the bag under the desk and plants her ass on the seat. I’ll have to crawl underneath her to get it, which sounds as appealing as running nude in front of the Playground.