from perfect, educationally
speaking, but it still feels like more of a safe haven than the house does. And
since it’s Friday, I need to soak up all that goodness to get me through the
weekend.
All day, I
notice people looking at me differently. It’s laughable, really, the difference
that a little lip gloss and a shirt that actually fits can make. This is fun,
experimenting with all things feminine. And I have to admit, the attention
feels sort of nice.
Boys and girls
alike let their eyes linger on me, all of a sudden. But I don’t feel my ego
inflating or anything. It’s sort of like a science experiment of my very own.
As a foster kid, I don’t have many advantages to draw from. But if the way I
look can be a means of influencing people one way or another...who knows. It
could prove useful, someday.
When the final
school bell rings, hundreds of kids leap up and charge for the exit, but not
me. I’ve decided to go out on a limb at this school and actually try to make
friends. One of my more ambitious teachers oversees a mock trial club, and
recently invited me to join. I’ve never known much about law and order, but it
seems like a good way to meet people.
As I’m making my
way toward the club meeting, I feel a tentative hand rest on my shoulder. I
whip around, ready to tell off whoever feels entitled to a feel, but I’m
relieved to see that it’s just Trace. He, Garrick, and Conway have been waiting
for me by the school’s front doors.
“You scared me!”
I tell him.
“Oh. Sorry,” he
says, “We were gonna get out of here. I’m swinging by my dealer’s place on the
way home so we’ll have some supplies for the weekend. Are you coming?”
“Can’t,” I tell
him, “I’ve got a mock trial meeting.”
“What the hell
does that mean?” he asks. “You do something wrong?”
“No. It’s a
club,” I explain, swallowing a smile.
“Screw that,” he
says, “I’ve seen enough real trials to last me a lifetime.”
I want
desperately to quiz him about what he’s seen, but this hardly seems the time.
“I’ll be done in a couple hours,” I tell him, “Would you mind coming back to
pick me up?”
“No problem,” he
says.
“Great,” I
smile, “See you—”
“Hey,” he cuts
me off before I can turn away, “I was thinking. After I come pick you
up...maybe we could do something? Like...together?”
I feel my blood
pick up the pace through my veins. “What kind of something?” I ask.
“I dunno,” Trace
mumbles, squirming visibly, “Like...get some food? Or, uh, see a movie or
something?”
“Are
you...asking me on a date?” I say slowly.
“Would you...be
down?” he returns, “I mean, if I was?”
“Yeah,” I tell
him, “I’d like to go on a date with you, Trace.”
“Really?” he
says, looking like a little boy on Christmas. His hardened eyes lighten up for
the briefest of moments, and I feel my heart break a tiny bit on his behalf. I
wonder if he’s ever even asked a girl on a proper date before?
“Figure out
something for us to do,” I tell him, “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Cool. Uh.
Great,” he says, “Catch you...later.”
He turns to go,
punching Garrick happily in the arm along the way. I wrap my arms around my
waist, shaking my head in wonder. After a month of crushing hopelessly on
Trace, he’s finally returning the volley.
“It’s about damn
time,” I mutter, and head off to my meeting.
Even though my
head is preoccupied with thoughts of Trace, I can’t believe how much I love
mock trial. Every case that we discuss is like a puzzle. Someone is either
guilty or innocent, neither both, and it’s our job to make that call. I can’t
imagine what it feels like to really be in the thick of the legal process. It
must be a high like nothing else.
Hopefully, I’ll
never be on the wrong side of the whole affair, but having a hand in locking up
criminals might not be a bad thing to devote one’s life to.
The meeting
flies by, and I’m
speaking, but it still feels like more of a safe haven than the house does. And
since it’s Friday, I need to soak up all that goodness to get me through the
weekend.
All day, I
notice people looking at me differently. It’s laughable, really, the difference
that a little lip gloss and a shirt that actually fits can make. This is fun,
experimenting with all things feminine. And I have to admit, the attention
feels sort of nice.
Boys and girls
alike let their eyes linger on me, all of a sudden. But I don’t feel my ego
inflating or anything. It’s sort of like a science experiment of my very own.
As a foster kid, I don’t have many advantages to draw from. But if the way I
look can be a means of influencing people one way or another...who knows. It
could prove useful, someday.
When the final
school bell rings, hundreds of kids leap up and charge for the exit, but not
me. I’ve decided to go out on a limb at this school and actually try to make
friends. One of my more ambitious teachers oversees a mock trial club, and
recently invited me to join. I’ve never known much about law and order, but it
seems like a good way to meet people.
As I’m making my
way toward the club meeting, I feel a tentative hand rest on my shoulder. I
whip around, ready to tell off whoever feels entitled to a feel, but I’m
relieved to see that it’s just Trace. He, Garrick, and Conway have been waiting
for me by the school’s front doors.
“You scared me!”
I tell him.
“Oh. Sorry,” he
says, “We were gonna get out of here. I’m swinging by my dealer’s place on the
way home so we’ll have some supplies for the weekend. Are you coming?”
“Can’t,” I tell
him, “I’ve got a mock trial meeting.”
“What the hell
does that mean?” he asks. “You do something wrong?”
“No. It’s a
club,” I explain, swallowing a smile.
“Screw that,” he
says, “I’ve seen enough real trials to last me a lifetime.”
I want
desperately to quiz him about what he’s seen, but this hardly seems the time.
“I’ll be done in a couple hours,” I tell him, “Would you mind coming back to
pick me up?”
“No problem,” he
says.
“Great,” I
smile, “See you—”
“Hey,” he cuts
me off before I can turn away, “I was thinking. After I come pick you
up...maybe we could do something? Like...together?”
I feel my blood
pick up the pace through my veins. “What kind of something?” I ask.
“I dunno,” Trace
mumbles, squirming visibly, “Like...get some food? Or, uh, see a movie or
something?”
“Are
you...asking me on a date?” I say slowly.
“Would you...be
down?” he returns, “I mean, if I was?”
“Yeah,” I tell
him, “I’d like to go on a date with you, Trace.”
“Really?” he
says, looking like a little boy on Christmas. His hardened eyes lighten up for
the briefest of moments, and I feel my heart break a tiny bit on his behalf. I
wonder if he’s ever even asked a girl on a proper date before?
“Figure out
something for us to do,” I tell him, “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Cool. Uh.
Great,” he says, “Catch you...later.”
He turns to go,
punching Garrick happily in the arm along the way. I wrap my arms around my
waist, shaking my head in wonder. After a month of crushing hopelessly on
Trace, he’s finally returning the volley.
“It’s about damn
time,” I mutter, and head off to my meeting.
Even though my
head is preoccupied with thoughts of Trace, I can’t believe how much I love
mock trial. Every case that we discuss is like a puzzle. Someone is either
guilty or innocent, neither both, and it’s our job to make that call. I can’t
imagine what it feels like to really be in the thick of the legal process. It
must be a high like nothing else.
Hopefully, I’ll
never be on the wrong side of the whole affair, but having a hand in locking up
criminals might not be a bad thing to devote one’s life to.
The meeting
flies by, and I’m
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