“That’s better than the terrace.”
“That can be our 295th addition.” Jia presses the fifth-floor button. The elevator travels upwards, passing floors hidden behind its doors.
“Now, all we need are seventy-one more. I wonder what the final project is?” Kay wonders.
“Probably a paper… or a poster.”
“Some poster that’ll be.” Kayla gives an uneasy expression.
“Or paper.”
“I hope not… I suck at essays.”
“You’re better at them than me. I gotta start days ahead to get it done.” Jia complains. The elevator doors slide open; she leaps out of her skeleton. Kay bursts into uncontrollable snorts. “Eww, stop!”
“I can’t!” She snorts like a pig. They chuckle while wandering an empty hall, locating the third fountain’s windowpane, where four birds are seated.
“Shh…we might scare them off.” Jia places a finger to her lips. Kayla covers her mouth, still releasing little sniggers of amusement. She aims the camera, centering the family of birds into frame, and clicks the capture button.
Pre-Law, second period. Kayla sits in a courtroom of dark wood paneling. A judge’s podium stands at the head of the court. The seating arrangements are accurate and separate the crowd with a swinging door. There’s a mock case reporter, a typewriter, and a Bailiff. The students sit in the crowd section, chattering. The guard steps beside the Judge’s podium. “All rise.” The class stands, now quiet as mice. “This court is now in session.”
The teacher, in judge attire, takes a seat—a man in his forties with a long, uncompromising expression. The Judge sits. “Be seated.” Extremely quiet teens take their seats. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Judge Smith,” the class vocalizes.
“I’m assuming you all are prepared for the mock trial.” Everyone nods. “Lawyers and defendants, gather yourselves.”
“Which one are we doing?” Chester, a long-haired boy, enquires between the group.
“The cow one, I think…..ask Fred.” Kayla inclines her head to a ginger-haired, freckled boy who passes through the swinging door.
“I don’t want to get yelled at…could we choose something else?” Chester eyes the Judge with utter dread.
I thought I had bad anxiety. I wonder why he’s so scared of Smith. I mean, Smith is strict but not terrifying. Chester doesn’t want to do this; I should swap places. There’s no need for a meltdown today.
Kayla shares an empathetic glance with him, then eyes her group. “What was agreed on? There was the cow, the traffic accident, and domestic violence.”
“I think it’s the domestic one. HEY FRED!” Izzy, an emo girl, shouts out to him.
Judge Smith stands, his presence now ridiculing. “No shouting, Izzy! You would be deemed unprofessional in a real trial and threatened with dismissal. ADJUST YOURSELF! Walk to Fred and ask what you need of him!” The teacher rubs his forehead harshly before sitting.
She does what he commands. At the podium, Izzy mutters something to Fred, who responds quietly. When she returns to the group, she clarifies the case. “He says the cow one.” The group snickers.
“You guys are gonna get us in trouble.” Chester shakes his head, leaning back on the bench dejectedly. “We need to take this serious.”
Izzy rolls her eyes. “It’s too early to be a killjoy.”
“Kay, can you please go? I can’t.” He pleads.
“Teacher’s pet.” Izzy jabs.
“Don’t tease.” Kay stands. “I’ll do it.”
Relief fills Chester’s face. “Thanks, I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She reassures him with a smile, then beckons to Izzy. The teens near the podium. The wood door swings behind them. Izzy takes a seat while Kay goes up.
Judge Smith bangs a gavel. Fred clears his throat. “Good morning, Your Honor. My name is Xavier, first initial F. Your honor, this is a case of tragedy. My client, Mr. Boone, suffered a great loss last week and is set on reparations.”
“Please state the loss.”
Fred holds back a laugh, fighting to keep a straight face. “A cow.” The room roars with laughter; some students clutch their stomachs in response.
Smith sighs longingly, unamused. “ORDER!” He beats the gavel down. The room falls silent. “Proceed.”
“Last week, Mr. Boone let his cows out on a hot Sunday.” Fred’s voice changes to a southern drawl. The room uproars, same as a comedy show. Kayla fights off titters, trying hard to remain serious. Struggling. “When that woman!” He shouts in a convincing country accent, pointing at Izzy. “Ran over poor old Spotty on a devil motorcycle, going well past 55.” He delivers each word dramatically. “Her reckless behavior requires punishment!” Fred bangs his hands on the podium.
“Mr. Xavier, correct yourself; this isn’t drama, class!” Smith hits the gavel down once more. “ORDER!!”
Sniffles escape Fred, who animatedly wipes his eyes, acting emotionally overwhelmed. “I’m sorry, your honor. My emotions got the best of me.”
“Allow the plaintiff to the podium; you may be seated.”
Fred shares a competitive glance with Kayla as he departs, whispering the words: “You’re going down, missy.”
Kay coughs to hide a laugh. Mr. Boone steps to the podium. He hesitantly eyes her; she gives him a thumbs-up, urging him to continue the fun. The boy locks eyes with the judge. “Hello, Your Honor.”
“Hello, Mr. Boone. Please state the events to your best ability.”
“It was early, around 10 a.m., when I went to the barn to let my cows flock.” Boone puts on an odd rural accent, an awful country hillbilly tone.
“NO MORE VOICE ACTING, OR YOU ALL WILL RECEIVE F’S!” Smith growls, banging the gavel down three times.
“Uh oh…” Kay turns to Izzy. “The fun is dead.”
“Crap.” The emo girl slumps in her chair.
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