Mel’s mom doesn’t look that convinced. “Anyone can manufacture data,” she says.
“Let’s look at a study from an independent research firm,” I say. I turn to the second slide, this one a graph of a study that showed students who went to private school had no real advantage when it came to getting into college. “This slide shows that the most important factor in a student gaining admission to college is grades. The second most important factor is if the student has a parent who went to that school.”
Mel’s mom raises her eyebrows at this, and I can tell I have her a little bit interested.
“And,” I say, quickly moving to the next slide. “There has also been research showing that school uniforms actually stifle a student’s creativity.” I try to say “stifle” in a really shocked voice, like getting your creativity stifled is the most horrible thing that can happen to you. The slide I made is a picture of Mel in a school uniform that I Photoshopped on, and next to her is a picture of a rock crushing the word “creativity.” Mel’s mom gives a little smile at this one.
I go on to show how yanking someone out of their school environment can cause undue stress and cause a person’s grades to go down, and how our school district has some of the best teachers and the best standardized test scores in the state. I show how public schools lend students a better, diverse experience when it comes to socialization, and how these social skills can benefit them throughout college and beyond. I follow everything up with a list of famous smart people who went to public school, and a list of politicians who chose to send their children to public school, like President Carter, who sent his daughter Amy to public school while he was in office.
“Thank you for your time,” I say when it’s all over. And then I add something that my dad told me to do, just in case Mel’s mom might think I’m coming into her house and telling her how to raise her daughter. “Of course, I just want what’s best for Mel, and I understand that the decision lies in your hands, and so I’m sorry if I’ve stepped on any toes. I just thought we’d present our case in a better way than, uh, bringing Corbin over here.”
“That was a very impressive presentation, girls,” Mel’s mom says, sighing. She grips the coffee mug she’s holding tighter and looks at us over her reading glasses. “But it still doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me last weekend.”
“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry. But we all know that under normal circumstances, Mel would never, ever do something like that. She’s the most honest girl I know.” This is true. Mel hates lying. She’s the one who was always urging me to just be honest with Luke, and to confront my dad about the whole affair thing. “So she must have been under real duress to do something like that.”
Mel’s mom bites her lip and sighs. “You really, really don’t want to go to private school, huh?”
“I really, really don’t want to,” Mel says. “All my friends are here. I like my school, I like my teachers.” She looks down at her hands. “My grades are good.”
“That is true,” Mel’s mom says. “Your grades are good.”
“Maybe we could make a deal,” Mel says. “As long as my grades stay good, I get to stay?”
Mel’s mom doesn’t say anything at first, and I hold my breath. Then she turns to me, turns to Mel, and sighs. “Okay,” she says. “If you really, really, don’t want to go, then you can stay at your school.”
Mel and I yell and scream and jump up and down. Which is very hard to do in the heels that I’m wearing, FYI.
“If,” Mel’s mom says as we both hug her, “if you keep your grades up.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Mel says. She hugs her again, and as she looks over her shoulder, there’s a little bit of a tear in her eye as she mouths to me, And thank you, too.
“You’re welcome,” I say, smiling back.
Two hours later, I am sitting on the bus to go over to the mock trial competition, and I am sooo happy. I don’t even care that this is going to be totally not fun. I don’t even care that I’m going to be seeing Luke. I don’t even care that I forgot to change out of my secretary clothes and now I look like I got dressed up to go watch a mock trial competition. Mel isn’t going to private school! I cannot stop smiling.
Well. Until Kim Cavalli sits down next to me. You’d think that she would be sitting with Bailey Barelli, since those two are BFF. You’d think. But in an even worse twist, Bailey is sitting with Luke. The only thing I can comfort myself with is the fact that it seemed like this was orchestrated more by her than by Luke.
When I got on the bus, Luke was already sitting in one of the seats about halfway back, looking out the window. He didn’t look up when I passed by, but then Bailey got on the bus and was all, “Oh, Luke! I’ve totally been meaning to talk to you about something!” and then she plopped down right next to him. And then Kim got on the bus and sat down next to me, and she’s been blabbing away for the past ten minutes.
It’s actually very annoying. She keeps trying to act like she’s being nice, when she’s really not. For example, she says things like, “I’m so glad that you and Lexi are still friends, I mean, nobody thought you guys would ever patch it up after you lied to her and then tried to keep her and Jared apart.”
The only good thing about sitting with Kim is that she said she thought it was fabulous that I was back with Greg, which means that Luke didn’t tell Bailey that I made that up. I’m not sure what that means. That he wanted to be nice because he still likes me? That he thinks I’m pathetic? That he doesn’t care and so it just didn’t cross his mind? That he hasn’t talked to Bailey since last night?
By the time I get off the bus, my head is spinning around and around and around. Mr. Ikwang is so excited I’m afraid he might pass out or something.
“Students, students,” he says as he herds us into Westland High, where the competition is going to be taking place. “Everyone into the auditorium, please, that’s it, that’s it, take your seats.”
The auditorium is mostly filled with parents of the kids that are going to be putting on the mock trial. I get stuck sitting next to Kim, with Luke and Bailey sitting a couple of rows ahead of us and a few seats over. Ugh. I can’t decide what’s worse—being able to see what they’re doing, or not being able to see what they’re doing.
“I’m just so glad that Lexi and Jared are together,” Kim is saying. “And I don’t know why she hates me so much. I mean, it would be so much easier for everyone at our lunch table if we could just get along, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say, not really listening. And then the mock trial competition starts. It’s a case in which two kids hacked into some computer system and made the alarms at a zoo go all wonky. It should be an interesting case, but I can’t keep my mind on it.
I keep watching as Bailey leans over and whispers things to Luke. What is she saying? What is he saying back? Does he like her still? Is he even thinking about me?
Kim spends the whole time keeping up her super annoying chatter by whispering to me every second, everything from how the people in mock trial are dressed (“Ohmigod, can you believe she’s wearing those shoes?”) to how crazy Mr. Ikwang is (“Check out his face, could he be liking this any more?”) to finally remarking on me staring at Luke (“You don’t still like him, do you? Won’t Greg be jealous?”).
When the mock trial competition is finally over, I’m relieved. I can’t believe I made it through without killing myself. And as we file out of the gym and back onto the bus, I make a decision. No more mock trial. It’s ridiculous to join something because the guy you like is in it. Me being in mock trial didn’t make Luke like me more. All it did was cause me to make up a fake boyfriend who ended up making Luke like me less. And to stay in mock trial just so I can keep an eye on Luke and Bailey is just dumb. I should be in radio with Mel and Lexi, like I want to. I feel a little cheered, thinking that after today, I won’t have to listen to any more fake trials.
“Now,” Mr. Ikwang says. “How did everyone like their first mock tria
l competition?”
Everyone sort of stares at each other blankly. Honestly, teachers shouldn’t ask questions like this. No one’s going to offer how much they liked something that’s, let’s face it, a little bit nerdy.
“Anyone?” Mr. Ikwang says. “Bailey, what did you think?”
“Personally, I loved it,” Bailey says. So much for the theory about people not wanting to admit they liked something so nerdy. “I know we weren’t supposed to be talking during it, but Luke and I couldn’t help remarking on how impressed we were seeing the trials come to life.”
Ugh. Luke and I? I slip down further in my seat, wondering how long we’re going to stay here talking about this. Maybe I should raise my hand and let Mr. Ikwang know I need to be home immediately. Like for a family birthday party or something. Mr. Ikwang asks a few more questions, and kids raise their hands to answer them. Come on, I’m thinking. I want to get out of here.
“Devon?” Mr. Ikwang asks. “What did you think of the case?”
Um, I dunno because I wasn’t paying attention, since I was too busy spying on my ex-boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend? “I liked it,” I say, hoping that will suffice. Then I pull my binder out of my book bag and pretend that I’m taking notes. This is a trick I used to use last year in science when I didn’t want to be called on. I’d pretend I was taking notes on something, and usually that would work.
“What did you like about it?” Mr. Ikwang persists.
“Well,” I say slowly. Everyone has turned to look at me now, and I can see Bailey out of the corner of my eye. I can’t be sure, but I swear she’s smirking at me. “I liked that it was kind of hard to tell if the person was guilty or not.” This seems safe, because hello? If the cases weren’t controversial, we wouldn’t be doing them in mock trial.
I shoot Bailey a smirk right back, and notice that Luke isn’t looking at me. Of course not.
“And what was your personal opinion on it?” Mr. Ikwang wants to know.
“I think that what happened was something that just sort of got out of control,” I say, looking down at my hands. “I don’t think those kids really wanted anything bad to happen, but they started something, and it was too late to stop. I think they’re really sorry, and that everyone deserves a second chance.” For some reason, my voice catches in my throat at that last part, but it’s only for a second, and then it passes.
Mr. Ikwang moves on, and after a couple more questions, the bus driver starts the bus, and we’re on our way home. Thank God. I cannot wait to get home, maybe take a bubble bath, and call Mel to celebrate the fact that she’s not going to private school and finally get the dirt on her and Dylan. And then maybe I’ll cheer myself up by getting online and planning out the color scheme for my room in the new house.
“That was sooo boring,” Kim’s saying from the seat next to me. I tried to ditch her in the crowd on the way out of the school, but she’s like gum in my hair—I cannot get rid of her.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling my iPod out of my bag.
Kim doesn’t get the hint. “God, I mean, I only joined this because Bailey wanted me to, and it’s, like, such a waste of time.” She reaches into her bag and pulls a brush out, then slides it through her hair. “Sooo boring. At least we’re not getting graded on stuff.”
I slide the earbuds into my ears. “Yeah,” I say. And then someone taps me on the shoulder from the seat behind me. Sigh. I look up, and hanging over the seat is Luke. His face is like one inch away from mine.
“Oh,” I say, turning around to face him and hastily pulling the buds out of my ears. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey!” Kim says brightly. “I thought you were sitting up there with Bailey?”
“Um, can I talk to you for a second?” Luke asks, ignoring Kim.
“Sure,” I say. “What’s up?” My heart is beating so loud in my chest that I’m afraid Kim will be able to hear the vibrations.
“I can’t stop thinking about what happened last night,” he says. His lips are so close to mine that for a second, I think he might kiss me, right there on the bus in front of everyone.
“Why?” Kim asks loudly, looking between me and Luke. “What happened last night?”
“Can we switch seats, please?” Luke asks. And before Kim can answer, he’s standing in the aisle in front of our seat. Kim has no choice but to move. And as they switch places, I catch a look at Bailey’s face from a few seats ahead of us, looking back, totally shocked.
“Look,” Luke says, sliding in next to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. That wasn’t nice of me.”
“It’s fine,” I say. I turn away and look toward the window, but Luke puts his hand on my shoulder and I turn back around. He leans in close to me, resting his head on the back of the seat in front of us.
“I didn’t know you made Greg up,” he says. “And when I saw you at the mall with him that day, I realized how much I liked you, and I guess I didn’t know how to handle it.”
“I know,” I say. I look down at my hands and play with the clasp of the silver chain bracelet I’m wearing. “And I’m sorry I lied. It’s just that Bailey kept talking about all that four-wheeling, and then she ate some of your pizza.”
He looks confused. “My pizza?”
“Yeah, that day in the cafeteria, and I dunno, I just . . .” I take a deep breath and decide to go for the truth. “I thought you might still like her.”
“Devon,” he says, reaching over and taking my hand. “I like you. Not Bailey. Not some girl who has a crazy ex-boyfriend named Greg. You. The real you. The girl I saw last night, the one who was waiting for her dad and just being herself.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” he says, smiling. “And I still want to be your boyfriend. If you can forgive me for ignoring you like that.”
“I think I can,” I say, smiling. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! Luke and I are back together. It’s all I can do not to stand up and shout it at Barelli and everyone else.
“But, um, Luke?” I say. “I have one more confession to make.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, looking a little nervous. “What’s that?”
“I hate mock trial.”
Luke bursts out laughing. We talk for the rest of the ride, and when we pull up in front of our school, Luke takes my hand as we walk toward my mom’s car. Right past Barelli, who has a totally scandalized look on her face.
“I’ll text you later,” Luke says. And then he kisses my cheek.
I can see my mom through the windshield, her mouth gaping. And I smile and head toward the car. Ready to let my mom know that yes, I hold hands with my boyfriend, and sometimes he even kisses me.
Ready to figure out this whole moving thing. Ready to go home. Ready to be the real Devon Delaney.
I get into the car, and Katie’s sleeping in the backseat.
“Who’s there?” she asks groggily, stirring on the seat.
I smile. “It’s just me.” And finally, that’s enough.
Lauren Barnholdt, Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better
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