PART 3 TEASER: With the arrival of the school attendance letter, Darren’s grasp on his former adult life is tenuous. Despite this setback, he hatches a plan to regain his status, and the prospect of salvation through legal emancipation becomes a reality. Should he fail, however, come September, he will face true horror- a second trip through high school. As this is happening, Abigail has her day in court. Through it all, Abigail experiences the powerful effects of what she hopes is simply a harmless crush.
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A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR:
This story is my thank you to a community that has provided me free fiction for years. It is also my first story (and probably my last), and I will warn you- it is long. My intrepid editor, Robyn Hoode, slaved through the drafts of the story, providing insightful and helpful commentary. His enthusiasm for the subject material kept me motivated. Honestly, without him and his constant feedback, this story wouldn’t exist. So, if you enjoy this story, you have him to thank, as much as me.
This story is very much a slow-burn, character-driven transformation. As I said, it is lengthy, but I hope you will stay for the entire ride.
Please feel free to leave a comment or to send feedback to the following e-mail: oneshot20XX [at] gmail.com

DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Part 3

Chapter 36

“Hey, if it isn’t the extraordinary teenage lawyer. So were you planning on ignoring me all summer, or just most of the summer? I’m hurt that you didn’t at least come and say hello.”

It was a week later, just two weeks before my hearing, I was trying to enjoy my lunch in peace and Ethan, being his usual sarcastic self, was keeping me from that enjoyment by his very presence.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.”

I didn’t look up at him. I stayed focused on my phone, trying to complete an e-mail to my parents. They had ridden their motorcycle down the east coast of the United States, and would be in New Orleans in a few days. My father was perfect for the task of rooting out the more unseemly elements of the city’s mystic community. He was fearless, as well as practical and had a sense of adventure that took him into the underbelly of cities. He had been to Afghanistan in the late seventies and more recently Nigeria, which he described as beautifully chaotic. I expected that he would enter districts that would make my mother’s already grey hair turn white. He would neither take her to those places nor would he tell her about them.

I replied, “Let’s keep it that way.” I stayed focused on my phone.

“You’ve almost always got your headphones on. You love music right? Well why don’t you come hear me play? I play every day at lunch over by the fountain next to the skate park.”

I knew when he played, and I'd seen that he actually attracted a little crowd every day. I had taken my lunch early because I knew that I was going to be very busy in the afternoon. I planned on only taking thirty minutes, even though Stephanie expected me to take an hour, because of my workload. She didn’t know that her husband, who had taken a real shine to me, was feeding me extra work. Stephanie would be upset because she would consider it Anthony’s work, but it meant that Anthony could work on other projects.

Anthony had won the case involving the transport truck driver, and with my help, Stephanie won the media-sensitive case. Due to this, the firm was getting more business, but Stephanie and Anthony were over-stretched. The firm needed to hire another lawyer or, at least, a paralegal. I knew that Stephanie would not agree, but I thought I could convince Anthony to have the firm hire me, since I had worked with him a great deal. This occupied my mind as Ethan continued to bother me.

“I see you eat your lunch here alone every day. Why is that?”

He moved into my line of sight, and the weasel-like boy with the beady eyes and the near hook-like nose was no more. First, he had grown probably two inches since I had seen him last. Even though it was the middle of summer, he wore the same leather jacket as when I first met him. His hair was still as shaggy, the bangs dancing in his eyes, obscuring them. At the back, it was almost feathered, but not in a girly way, it just had a lot of body. It was dark brown, almost black, but the tips of his bangs were dyed orange and green. It was the type of hair style that screamed ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think’, a testament to teenage rebellion.

His face, dotted with acne here and there, was more angular, having lost some of the baby fat that had made him seem so young when we first met. His body was still scrawny. He wore a pair of skinny jeans, the type so popular with teens, both boys and girls. His was a drain pipe style, grey and wedged tightly over chicken legs. I was pleased I could find fault with him. I was less pleased that when he entered my line of my sight there was a sudden tightening in my chest and a little tingle in my brain. It was clear that spending any amount of time around teenage boys was going to be problematic and potentially devastating to my male ego.

I answered, “It’s because I have a lot of things on my mind. Plus, I’m very busy at work.”

I don’t know why I replied, but I told myself it was because I hoped he would leave me alone, rather than that pleasant tingle in my brain.

He put a hand to his heart and acted wounded, staggering about, “Be still my heart, she spoke to me!”

I shook my head and glared at him, “You are such an ass.”

He grinned. “How’d you get that job anyway? And why would you want to work in a place like that. Isn't it boring? Wouldn’t you rather work at Dairy Queen or something? There’s kids our age there, you know.”

I said, “I don’t really get along with um, kids my age.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Because you are so much smarter than us right, working in a big law firm? You are a weird girl. Here it’s a beautiful summer day, and you want to go look at books.”

I suppose I was strange. Whereas most girls my age were working at age-appropriate jobs behind the counter at fast food restaurants or as grocery store cashiers, I was reading and synthesizing legal material. I turned the question on him, “What’s wrong with being smart?”

He wore a lopsided smile, and his eyes moved upward gently, “Nothing wrong with being smart. You have to admit that not many girls your age are lawyers.”

“Um, I’m not a lawyer. I do research for them, help them out with their cases. It’s fascinating work.” Why was I spending all this time talking to him?

He changed the subject, “So what kind of music do you like?”

I answered, “Hard rock, some metal. Anything with melody really. Nothing too hardcore, like where it is all screaming.”

Ethan grinned, “Nice. Well I play stuff like that. You should really come and hear me.”

I shook my head, “I need to head back inside. Really busy today.”

Ethan’s shoulders sagged as I denied his request. “Well mystery not-a-lawyer girl. Can I at least get your name?”

The boy looked pathetic. He gave me this sad look where he pushed his lower lip out slightly and stared at me with downcast eyes. I kind of felt bad for him. He was annoyingly like an over-excited puppy dog, the type that peed when he saw his master and barked incessantly, but was generally a good dog. A part of me wanted to blow off the afternoon and jam with him, but I had responsibilities, plus- I didn’t really like how his presence made me feel.

“It’s Abigail. Um, but I really need to head inside.”

Before I could escape back inside, he said, “Hey look, Abigail if you come and hear me play, I’ll let you sing with me. I mean a beautiful girl like you, you probably have a really great voice.”

I knew that it was a line, and bad one at that. How exactly would beauty equate to having a nice singing voice? There are plenty of singers who have nice voices who wouldn’t win any beauty contests. Susan Boyle, who has an amazing voice, is no beauty queen. There are plenty of examples of homely looking men in rock who have powerful voices, Meatloaf being one of them. It was more of a stereotype for the hot girl to have a terrible singing voice. It brought to mind the idea that if you had the body, you could sleep your way to the top, as many critics accused Madonna of doing. She actually can sing, but the electric-laced pop stars of today like Kei$ha, who are attractive, couldn't hold a note without the help of studio magic and a hell of a lot of reverb. I sometimes joked that artists like Kei$sha could actually just have two barking dogs in the studio and still get a number one hit on the pop charts. Who would get the gold record, the dogs or Kei$sha? My vote would go to the dogs.

I should have instantly dismissed the compliment, but the attention I received from Ethan awoke something within. As humiliating and worrisome as it is to admit, it was a tiny measure of feminine pride. I knew that the girl I had become was pretty, but beautiful? It was something that I wrestled with from time to time, especially when I saw males staring at me. It was probably so easy for Ethan to say those words to me, but far more difficult for me to accept them as truth. Yes, the skin was beautiful, but the person inside that skin was still confused, unwilling and scared.

I felt a little smile creep onto my face. Beautiful. He had called me beautiful, but true beauty was acceptance, and I was not at the end of that road- yet. Still, the feeling it gave, was like the sense of acceptance I had with my band mates and friends, but amplified a hundred times over. Is this how normal girls, actual girls reacted? I had no one to speak to about this. I could not go to Amélie or my mother, so I bore the burden alone.

Ethan smiled back at me, “I knew I could make you smile. See you tomorrow hopefully, Abigail.” He put emphasis on my name, allowing the word to dance off his tongue.

***

That afternoon, I spoke to Anthony about the possibility of them hiring me at the firm. “Hi Anthony, thanks for agreeing to speak with me.”

Anthony smiled, his round face and jovial eyes gave him a welcoming presence. Despite Stephanie’s pleasant treatment of me, she was vicious in court, taking apart high-priced corporate and government lawyers. Anthony said that women in law often felt the need to take on ultra-aggressive personas because they thought they had more to prove. Amélie had spoken of women in private firms in similar terms, going as far as calling some of the female lawyers she dealt with ‘mega-bitches’. Anthony was a little easier going, still dedicated, but he did not walk around as if he had something to prove. Perhaps because he had no need.

“Not a problem, Abigail. Stephanie and I are highly impressed with your work. I had a little time this afternoon. So, I see in the e-mail you sent you would like to discuss future opportunities? Next summer then?”

I shook my head, “This fall. I know from the new case load you and Stephanie have, you will need to hire someone after I leave. So why not just hire me? I’m going to come straight out and say it. I am trying to get legal emancipation so I can continue to work- hopefully, here.”

Anthony frowned slightly, but he didn't have the same expression of disappointment that Stephanie had. It was more one of surprise, but I could see the wheels moving in his brain. I knew then that he was not entirely against the idea. “What about school though? You are probably in your last year right? Why not just finish the year?”

I frowned, but a part of me was pleased that Anthony seemed to think I was actually graduating, instead of entering the tenth grade as my school registration stated. “Because you have a need now and, if I go back to school, I will lose that opportunity. I really like working with you and Stephanie, and I feel like I am learning a lot.”

Anthony smiled, “It’s funny- you remind me a lot of Stephanie when she was your age. I didn’t know her then, but the way she talks about herself, she was focused and very career driven even in high school. I haven’t done any emancipation cases though. Do you know the test?”

I nodded my head and answered confidently, “The test requires that the minor have an ability to gain economic independence, a high level of maturity and either a talent or a capacity to perform actions outside of those expected of a minor. Essentially, you and Stephanie would have to indicate, in writing, your intention to hire me. I would need a second letter stating that I have a maturity level above and beyond someone my age, and for the third, proof that I am completing legal work beyond the high school level.”

Anthony looked impressed and his words matched his face, “Excellent Abigail, a student your age might be able to logically quote jurisprudence, but to explain a test that way and then be able to apply it to your exact situations, is remarkable. How old are you by the way? I can certainly speak to Stephanie, and then we can have a meeting to discuss it all together. How does that sound?”

I frowned slightly, “The issue is that I don’t think Stephanie thinks it is a good idea. She feels like I am wasting my youth working in a law office. And I’m sixteen.” I decided to use the same age I saw in the police report because that was, in my mind at least, more official than the school registration confirmation.

Anthony shook his head, “I met Stephanie when she and I were in law school. However I do remember her saying that she felt that her obsession with the law in high school caused her to take her pent up youthful energy and direct it in less than useful ways once she reached university. She was apparently quite the party girl. I think she's become fond of you and doesn't want you to make same mistake.”

I knew there was more there, probably promiscuity, beer pong and one-night stand mistakes, but Anthony wasn’t about to divulge anything like that. I knew girls like that in university, so it was easy to imagine what type of girl Stephanie was.

He continued, “The way I see it. It isn’t up to either Stephanie or myself. The law isn’t about emotion or feelings. It is the facts, and if you meet the test, then Stephanie should respect that. I will speak to her.”

I was playing a dangerous game. I risked causing an argument to erupt between Stephanie and her husband, but I knew that in order to succeed in this, I needed to gamble. I hadn’t been a gambler before, preferring to carefully weigh my options and then choose the least risky, but I was running out of time, and in this case, I needed to roll the dice, even if it meant rolling snake eyes, which meant having Stephanie upset with me. I figured that I couldn’t stay at the office either way if Stephanie disagreed with signing the emancipation documents, so I was willing to risk it all, potentially playing husband against wife.

“Thanks Anthony. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, “You still may have to pretend that you assist Chantal.”

I smirked and looked at Anthony confidently, “Really? You don’t think that clients will be impressed with a teenage paralegal who actually emancipated herself?”

Anthony laughed, “You might be right about that, Abigail! I promise that I'll speak to Stephanie about this soon.”

I asked eagerly, “Do you think that it could be within the next week or so?”

He nodded, “I think so, Abigail. And, I actually know a judge who could hear your case. He owes me a favour.”

I smiled wide, “Great. Now, about the Richardson case, what do you think about using a section 15 Charter argument? It is accepted that the Charter can be used in administrative law.”

Anthony grinned, “I will talk to Stephanie about it tonight.”

Chapter 37

As I bit into my ham sandwich at lunch the next day, I heard someone strumming an acoustic guitar gently. It reminded me of when I first sang in front of people other than my family. I was so nervous that my guitar playing was louder than my singing. When my friends asked me to sing louder, I told them I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. The strumming behind me was hesitant. The same way my singing had been. I recognized the song, even though the player was making plenty of mistakes. It was “Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton which many mistook for a love song, when in fact, it was about the death of Eric’s child. At least I thought so, reading the lyrics, it was certainly no “Wonderful Tonight” which was clearly a love song. I could play both songs on guitar, or at least I used to be able to before I had long nails.

I turned around to see who was playing to offer them encouragement, and potentially some advice on easier chord changes and saw that it was Ethan looking terribly nervous. His usual demeanour, sarcastic and confident was gone, replaced with that of a vulnerable amateur musician who looked at the fret board too much rather than the audience. Was he trying to serenade me? Oh god. He was. I raised a brow in his direction.

“Hey, uh, aren’t you supposed to be by the fountain? It’s show time isn’t it?”

Ethan stopped playing and looked forlorn. He was clearly not happy with his performance. I was shocked that his usual devil-may-care attitude crumbled when faced with something more than simple speech. Was it possible that everything was an act, his television references, his sarcasm? Was it simply the way he dealt with his nervousness? Without his wit and only a guitar, he was laid bare. There was no way his playing was normally this bad because he usually amassed a small crowd when he performed by the fountain. Some of the girls who had spent their morning gabbing and boy watching at the skater park often moved to the fountain to hear him play.

Ethan replied, “Oh sorry, I- um, I was just practicing.”

I shook my head, “Listen, it’s fine. Just needs a little work that’s all.”

As bothersome as the boy was, I was not going to crush his musical spirit. I still remember the encouragement I received from my parents, how proud they were when I managed to play my first basic 4/4 pattern on the guitar. When I started singing, my parents were equally supportive, but they offered their suggestions as well. My parents, and especially my mother, had an excellent ear, likely from years of piano lessons. I knew what it was like to suck, and I didn’t want Ethan to feel discouraged. I recall Anthony mentioning the boy’s playing a few times. He seemed to like what he heard.

Ethan grew defensive, “Hey, you know I’m a lot better than this you know. I- I am just having a bad day. I guess I’ll play 90s grunge songs this afternoon because even if it’s bad, I can just say, oh that’s grunge. An excuse to suck at guitar, right?” He tried to laugh it off, but I didn’t laugh along with him.

He was not preaching to the choir. He was, in fact, preaching to the unconverted anti-Christ at this point. The nineties were a decade that spawned my favourite music. To this day, I have not heard anything that can compare in terms of the style, the tone, the energy and the emotion. Ethan had unleashed a snarling beast when he insulted MY decade. The decade of my youth, when I became musically aware.

My eyes widened and the young man turned into a little boy under my gaze. “That is such a stereotypical attitude, and not one I expected from someone struggling with an intermediate level song. Grunge wasn’t about playing guitar badly, it was about playing for yourself, not the crowd. It was about a musical evolution that destroyed the stagnation of rock that was 80s hair metal. It was a resurgence of rock. Yes, some of the songs are simplistic, but they are catchy, with a fierce power behind the vocals.”

He threw his hands up in the air, “Okay, okay. So you think that music is great.” I could see the confidence fill him. His shoulders rose, his chest puffed out slightly and his head rose. “But songs are more than just vocals. Name me one good guitar song from the 90s. None of that lazy, three chord, bad guitar playing can even compare to anything that Mars Volta or As I Lay Dying puts out.”

I smirked, “Dude, let me guess, you read, or at least read comments on, Guitar World magazine’s page. They think Van Halen’s “Eruption” is a good song, when it’s actually just guitar masturbation.” Ethan snickered as I said the word ‘masturbation’ but I frowned at him, and he stopped. I continued, “Sweep picking doesn’t make a good song. Have you ever heard of Alice in Chains? Listen to the solo in “Them Bones” and then tell me that there were no good guitar songs in the 90s. In fact...”

I took out my phone and my ear buds, which were high-end. I got them on sale, but they were definitely better than the ones that came with the iPhone or any other smart phone. I dropped them into Ethan’s hand and said, “Listen to that solo. Each note is perfectly placed, yes it is dirty sounding, but it fits the tone of the song. It doesn’t make Jerry’s technique bad.”

I proceeded to play him “Rusty Cage” by Soundgarden. It was a perfect driving song. It had likely caused its fair share of speeding tickets.

Ethan’s expression went from dislike, to tolerance, to genuine enjoyment as I put him through a musical education over the lunch hour.

After thirty minutes of hard rock’s greatest songs (in my opinion at least), Ethan said, “So, who turned you onto this stuff? Your dad? I guess, I don’t know. I heard Smells like Teen Spirit and the solo is so easy, I learned it in like twenty minutes. It wasn’t like the stuff you played for me there. I liked that stuff.”

I shook my head, “Good music doesn’t have to be played fast, or screamed or have a million notes in a solo. It just has to sound good. You can like music you don’t want to play. There’s no rules, man. That’s what is so great about it. Actually, there is one rule. Nickleback sucks.”

The kid grinned again, and I couldn’t help but notice how close he was to me. I inched away from him and took my phone and ear buds back. “Yeah, I hate Nickleback too, they write one song about saving the world and the next about fuck- um, having sex with girls.”

I nodded, “Nothing worse than an insincere douche rock band. They give all Canadians a bad name. What’s it called?”

Ethan nodded, “Hoser rock.”

I laughed, “Yes, exactly.”

I was aware how easily Ethan and I were getting along, but as a fellow musician this was not too worrisome. What was of a concern was that I wasn’t sure my body would allow him into the friend zone. I liked talking to other musicians, and unlike Alyssa, we actually had something in common.

Ethan asked, “So you never told me who got you interested in this music. Was it your Dad?”

I nodded, “Uh, yeah. He’s got a massive CD collection. Played it all the time when I was a kid. Instead of Raffi or Barney, it was anything hard, heavy and loud.”

Ethan replied, “Your dad sounds really chill.”

“Yeah he is, uh listen though. I better get back to work.”

I was glad that Ethan and I were able to have a normal conversation. It was actually reassuring to realize that I was not completely ruled by my hormones.

Ethan got up to leave, and he flashed me a smile, “See ya around Abigail.”

As he smiled at me though, I had that pleasant little tingle, but instead of maintaining position in my brain, it filtered outward filling my shoulders and my chest with a similar sensation. I needed to speak to someone about this because as much as I wanted to be away from him, I wanted just as much to be near him. So while I was not making any moves, as long as he did, the feelings lived.

I could absolutely without a doubt not speak to Amélie or even my mother. Amélie could never know about this. I could think of only one person- Jacynthe.

***
Chantal said teasingly as I entered the office, “Did your boyfriend play you a nice song?”
She continued, “I saw you talking to him yesterday. And I see the way you look at him. The way you look at the other girls who sit next to him at the fountain.”
I shook my head vehemently, “I don’t care what those girls do.”
Chantal said, “Hey Abby, I’m just trying to help you out. I know you are the shy type. I did you a favour. I know how much you like music, so I told that boy to come play you a song. Did you like it?”
Apparently, Chantal’s revenge was to kill me with kindness by finding me a boyfriend. Great. Although, perhaps she had an ulterior motive.
“I know what you are trying to do, Chantal. You are hoping I will get all love struck and either quit, or at the very least, your little ploy is meant to distract me from the fact that you're still making the same mistakes day in and day out.”
Chantal shook her head. I looked at her face closely for any sign that she was lying. I looked for the tell-tale signs, but she maintained eye contact and a friendly, almost sisterly smile. “Abby, you know it’s not strange for you to have feelings for him. I saw your little exchange yesterday and today. It’s a crush. Don’t you feel all fluttery around him, like your legs are made of jello and like you can’t find the right thing to say sometimes? Do you think about him at any point during the day? Do you get mad when the girls flock around him while he’s playing guitar?”
I replied with a little more force than I intended, “No! I mean, we both like music.”
I was getting flustered, and while it sounded like she was reading off an official crush checklist from Cosmo, some of the symptoms she described were legitimate.
Chantal said softly, “You know, he asked me about you. Would you like to know what he said?”
Chantal had power over me like this. She could evoke feelings of nervousness, and genuine fear. My cheeks reddened. I was reacting like a real teenage girl, and it was terrifying.
I shook my head repeatedly and sat down at my desk. The open lay-out of the office did not allow me to hide from Chantal’s knowing eyes, but I stared down at my work.
“If you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
I replied, “I don’t care. Can we just get back to work? Mr. Locke is due in court tomorrow morning, and he needs those copies done. I’ll likely have to check them over.”
My last words were meant to retrieve some of the power I had lost. Thankfully, Chantal was still as sloppy as ever.
The smile disappeared from her face, “Boys don’t like ice queens you know. If you treat him that way, he will find a girl that can show her feelings, that doesn’t have her face stuck in a book. When I was your age, I had a boyfriend. I still did OK in school and I had a part-time job, what are you so afraid of?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, “Look, I am not falling for some weasel faced, long-haired punk. Just get to work before we fall behind and I need to stay late.”
Chantal looked down at me with a mixture of frustration and sadness, “And what do I tell him if he asks about you again? Do you want me to tell him that?”
“Tell him whatever you want. Just do your job.”
I huffed and proceeded to focus my attention again on my research. It was hard to concentrate on the employment accommodation research I was doing. Would Chantal tell Ethan that I wasn’t interested? In a way, I hoped she would, but I actually did enjoy talking music with him. I didn’t have many friends. My band mates were acting strangely around me, and Andrew, my best friend, was barely talking to me. Despite our practices, I felt isolated. We hadn’t managed to find a new guitar player. There was plenty of interest, but when we met the people, they were weirded out.
Some of them thought we were a family band and lacked the commitment. Others indicated their concern over a teenage girl being on tour with grown men. They questioned my ability to even go on tour, asking if I would be allowed to leave school. The really committed players even questioned Andrew and Steven on their dedication to the band because of their responsibilities as fathers. Musicians could be colossal jerks, but I wondered, too, about their ability to leave on tour. If things snowballed and we gained enough popularity to score a record deal, then we would be expected to tour. Could Steven and Andrew leave their families? Would I be able to leave Amélie and Chloe for months on end? Were we chasing a dream that would be impossible to live out?
Also, it was very difficult to explain that I would still play rhythm guitar. The musicians, one of them a woman, couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just cut my nails. Hers were shorter than mine had been before my change. She thought I was some girly-girl princess, and while I didn’t sound like it as I sung, the woman, who was in her thirties likely thought I was immature. We were still searching, but our lack of success was causing in-fighting in the group. Steven had discussed me no longer playing guitar and just singing, but Andrew was dead-set against it.
As for Ethan, I think part of the reason why I tolerated him was because of my loneliness. I was no social butterfly, but since Stephanie had banished me outside to eat my lunch, I was left on my own. Since I didn’t interact with the clients, as I was expected to play Chantal’s trainee assistant, my only real contact was with Chantal. The lawyers left me alone, busy with their own work and secure in the knowledge that I needed little supervision. Without the annoying crush, a conversation about favourite bands and guitar styles would have been a godsend.
From experience, I knew that crushes usually don’t last and mine would likely not be an exception. I immensely disliked the feelings I had because I feared they were changing me somehow. I made a point to speak to Jacynthe after work.
***
A few days passed, and still, I had not received an answer from Stephanie or Anthony about my emancipation, nor had I spoken to Jacynthe about my feelings. I asked Anthony, and he said he was still working on it. Ethan hadn’t come around since our last conversation, and I was finding myself more and more distracted at work. I knew he was just a kid, but we actually had similar interests. If we could stop making goo-goo eyes at each other, maybe we could be friends. I blamed it on the fact that I just missed talking to people about music, people who understood. Amélie didn’t understand, but Ethan did. Even if he liked some crappy bands. I actually spent a little time at work researching my crush and how to get rid of it. I couldn’t have Amélie catch me conducting research of that nature. I would literally die if she did. First, my heart would stop, then my eyes would bulge out of my skull, and finally, my head would tumble, dangling down like some macabre puppet. I nearly spit water over my screen as I saw one suggestion. “Want to get rid of your crush? Need to know how? Well pucker up baby! Girl, if you don’t feel fireworks, then he’s wrong for you!” Instead, I choked the water down. I needed to speak to Jacynthe about it, but I hadn’t mustered the courage. Chantal giggled at me as I continued to cough.

I had a little less than two weeks left before my hearing, and while I didn’t want to rush things between Anthony and Stephanie, due to the delicate nature of the conversation, I was running out of time. I noticed as well that Stephanie was distant. Her usual bubbly demeanour, in my presence at least, was replaced by a fraction of what opposing attorneys saw on a regular basis. She tolerated my presence only because we worked together. I also observed Stephanie losing her temper with Anthony. They fought over insignificant things like who had forgotten to refill the kettle. Had I caused this? Guilt crept into my stomach like skeletal hands from the grave.

Finally, the next day, Anthony called me into his office. He looked tired. I hoped that my request hadn’t put him on the couch the last few days.

“Abigail, I managed to convince Stephanie that you should go before a judge and have them determine if you meet the test. She wants to meet your sister though.” He pushed my employment form toward me, “It’s Amélie, right? It says here she’s your legal guardian.”

I nodded, surprised at first because I figured he was going to tell me he had been unsuccessful. He really was a talented lawyer. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Great, well have her come here tomorrow after work. Stephanie wants to speak with your sister to make sure she is on board with all this.”

I smiled, “Thanks Anthony, I really appreciate all you’ve done.”

He smiled tiredly, “Thank me when this is over.”

Chapter 38

It was after work that same day. I had gone home to change first, as I didn’t want to try and explain to Jacynthe why I was dressed so nicely. Plus, I was more comfortable that way. After two weeks of wearing a skirt, the kitten heels and blazer, I had to admit it felt less alien, but not exactly comfortable. I walked into the Big Gob Brewery. It was almost empty, except for a few regulars that I recognized. I knew one of them because he had come to both shows and introduced himself afterward. He was a big fan of our band. He spoke to me in French.

(Abigail, are you coming here to play another gig soon? I will bring my wife again. She couldn’t stop singing one of your songs on the way home the last time. ) He hummed a few notes, and I sang a few lines.

I liked to practice my French when possible, so I answered him in one of Canada’s two official languages, (We would, but we are finding trouble with a guitar player. We need two. )

He shook his head, (I don’t think you need another one, but I am not a musician. Are you here to see Jacynthe?)

I nodded, and a few seconds later, I heard Jacynthe’s boisterous voice, “Abigail, ma belle! Please tell me you are here to taking me up on my offer to play again. All I hear from people like Gaston is when is Abigail playing?' ”

I shook my head, “This isn’t really a business call, Jacynthe. I need to talk to you about something else. It’s kind of embarrassing though.”

Jacynthe smiled widely and then ushered me into her office. I waved a quick goodbye to Gaston before entering.

“So what can Jacynthe do for you? Is it boy problems?” The grin never left her face, and when my cheeks reddened, she put her hand on my shoulder. “I know that it is. I see your face. This boy, what’s his name?”

I frowned and shook my head, “Well it’s not really important what his name is. I need a way for him to see me as a friend only. The problem is that- I think I have a crush on him.”

It was momentous for me to admit that I actually had a crush on a boy to a person other than myself. I knew that if I could battle against this one, successfully burying the crush, I could survive the next one.

Jacynthe furrowed her brow slightly and took her hand off my shoulder. “You are working too hard, Abigail. Music is not a world. You need to have time for things like this. What does your mother say, or sister?”

“They say nothing because I didn’t tell them anything.” The smile reappeared on Jacynthe’s face and she leaned in to hug me.

“You make me very happy to come to me. Very happy. Now, the problem is that he doesn’t like you back, you bring him to me. I will talk to him.”

I shook my head, “No, I think he likes me fine. He played guitar for me the other day, or tried. He was very nervous. I just need a way to stop having these feelings.”

Jacynthe asked, “Ahh, you don’t like him back. That’s the answer?”

“Not exactly. I like him as a friend. We have a lot in common. I just don’t want to feel THAT way about him.”

My cheeks reddened again. I was thinking about Ethan. I squirmed in my seat and tried to fill my head with girls, half-naked girls, Amélie wearing her sexy high boots with her soft flesh all poured into her tight jeans. It worked, as it had the fifty other times I had to do it since this madness started. Ethan melted away among a sea of soft feminine flesh.

Jacynthe replied, “Well, this is good, you know you have a crush. But they are not easy to stop these feelings. I can see your face, your eyes, c’est la guerre.” This is exactly how I saw it. It was war- war between myself and Abigail.

She continued, “Why won’t you just see where this feelings take you, Abigail? This is normal for girls your age. Is he not your dating type?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I just need to focus on music right now. It’s an unnecessary distraction. Can’t I just tell him I want to be friends?”

Jacynthe nodded, “You could, but your body it’s playing different rules. You might still show you like him in other ways, your lips or your hips.” She grinned, “This is how I did it, shaking my hips with my first boyfriend. He was attentive.” I couldn’t tell if she had accidentally created a double entendre with her questionable English or if she purposefully meant to tell me that the guy was erect. Maybe it was my dirty mind? OK. Girls. Amélie. Deep breaths.

I grimaced, “I don’t want to show that to him. What if I just avoid him?”

Jacynthe replied, “Well then you would not be friends. Isn’t that what you want? To make friends with him?”

I frowned, “I guess- I guess I don’t really know what I want.”

Jacynthe said, "You are a strong girl, Abigail, if you want to be friends with this boy, you tell him the truth. That's the best way. Don't hide from him. If he tries anything after that, you bring him to me and we'll have a chat!" She smiled.

From experience, I knew what a crush was, and what it can do to a person. As a socially awkward teenager, I used to get crushes on any girl that paid the least bit attention to me. The enigma known as woman was mostly unknown to me at that point in my life. They were a whirling dervish of giggles and glares. While I numbered among them, in body, if I could control the crush and morph it into a friendship then perhaps my maturity and my logic would negate the feelings, and I could avoid joining the emotional whirlwind that is teenage girl.

It was nearly impossible to do when I was really a teenager because I lacked the experience then that I have now. I had dated only two women seriously before I met Amélie, but I had a fount of knowledge now. In a way Jacynthe was right, I was strong because I had an adult mind that could decode my emotions, and while I hadn’t been a girl before, I imagined that crushes worked much the same way. I could use my maturity to my advantage. I knew that no crush lasted forever, and by telling Ethan that we could only be friends, it would likely reduce the shelf life even further.

I remember one girl from high school, a leggy Italian blonde beauty who used to traipse around in heels very similar to the ones Chantal wore. She was actually taller than me in the heels. She would be a giant next to me now. I gazed at her from afar in math class, much the way Ethan did, but instead of a month, it took me a year and half to finally gather the courage to ask her out. She said she had a boyfriend, and while I continued to carry a flame for her in the short term, because I had actually established my feelings and knew how she felt, I could move on.

I nodded, “Yeah. That’s what I will tell him. Thanks, Jacynthe.”

Jacynthe moved in and hugged me tight, squeezing me with her beefy arms. “Oh Abigail, you come back any time and ask me more. You are such a sweet girl!” I thought the older woman was going to cry, but she proceeded to sniffle and then release the momma bear hug.

“Um. Yeah I will.” As I left, I wondered if Jacynthe had any children. She was old enough to have teenaged children, so unlike John and his daughter, they wouldn’t have left the nest unless she had them very young. Or maybe she couldn’t have children. I didn’t want to pry, but I had a feeling Jacynthe would tell me one day.
***

The next day after work, my parents picked up Chloe, and Amélie met me at the Locke Agency. Amélie was still skeptical that Stephanie would sign the documents, but I told her that Anthony had convinced her, mostly. We had prepared a story for why Amélie was Abigail’s guardian. Her parents lived in the country and because of the lack of quality schools there and job opportunities, they allowed her to live with her older sister in town. After spending a summer working in her sister’s employ, she found that she had an affinity for law, which is why she chose to approach the Locke Agency.

The parents still came into town once a month to check on their daughters, but they trusted Amélie’s guardianship. We avoided any of the obvious stories. No, Abigail’s parents didn’t abandon her, and no they didn’t die in a car accident. If I continued employment with the Locke Agency, there was a very good chance that Stephanie would want to meet my parents (actually, Amélie's). Given my understanding of the law, it made sense that the parents would allow her to attend schools with better academic records and more class choices.

Stephanie smiled as she shook Amélie’s hand. I was in a room with three lawyers, two of them fiery at times. I wasn’t talking about Stephanie and Anthony either.

Anthony began, “Thank you for coming Ms. Grenier. I want to say that we are highly impressed with Abigail’s work ethic and her abilities.”

Stephanie smiled, “No doubt Abigail learned a great deal in your employ.”

Amélie returned the smile and replied, “Abigail loves the law. She was very excited to get the chance to work in your firm. I am hopeful, you will keep her on after the summer.”

Apparently, even though this discussion was to begin the process of my emancipation, I wasn’t part of it. I stayed quiet and watched the exchange. I didn’t need an emotional outburst that would lessen Stephanie’s opinion of me.

The smile disappeared from Stephanie’s face, “We are happy with Abigail’s work Ms. Grenier, but I do have some concerns. I understand that you are her guardian, and that her parents have given their blessing, but I have some misgivings about employing a teenage girl on a full-time permanent basis. I did agree to this meeting, but I want to understand why you think it is a good idea to take Abigail out of school.”

Amélie answered calmly, “Abigail is extremely mature for her age. She would be an excellent addition to your firm.”

Stephanie’s frown deepened. I could see that Anthony was nervous. He was playing with a pencil and then his wedding ring, and trying to get Stephanie’s attention with furtive looks.

Stephanie replied evenly, “I asked you, Ms. Grenier, why you think it is a good idea to take Abigail out of school. The girl barely socializes with anyone in her peer group. I had to force her to go outside and eat lunch, but she still refused to associate with anyone out there. Until recently.”

My eyes widened and my mouth went dry. My tongue rolled back in my mouth. I thought I was going to choke on it, but Stephanie continued and my lunch time liaison with Ethan remained a secret.

“High school is a place where adolescents learn more than just what is on the curriculum. They learn how to act in peer pressure situations. They are given options, but it is a place where they can have fun too, dances, school trips and clubs. Friends. Are you not denying Abigail these things Ms. Grenier, by allowing her to grow up too quickly? She’s just a girl.”

Amélie looked over to me. She could see that I was seething. I had my hands clasped in front of me, but they were digging into the table. We exchanged looks. I had apparently brought Amélie into a quasi-courtroom, where she was facing a veritable shark.

“I allow Abigail to make her own decisions because she has shown time and again, that she can be mature. Look at the evidence in front of you. She does not goof off. She completes her work on time, even with the ultimate distraction in front of her, kids her own age at play all day long. As for her socialization. I believe that Abigail is simply on a different level. You do remember high school, right Mrs. Locke? Could you really see Abigail with the girls you knew? She is mentally beyond that place, ready to work for you, and to help your firm, which I understand she has done in spades.” Both women now were fully engrossed in the courtroom setting, using intonation they would have saved for cross examining belligerent witnesses.

“Has she ever tried fitting in with them? Does she have any friends her own age?” Stephanie shook her head.

Amélie replied, “No, but that is her choice. Between this job and her band, she doesn’t have a lot of time for friends.”

Stephanie stood and leaned down on the table, exposing cleavage, but at the same time laser locking her eyes on Amélie’s, “Right, the band she plays in with the two grown men.”

I had invited Stephanie and Anthony to our second show at the Big Gob Brewery. I was excited about it and mentioned it in passing, and Stephanie and Anthony, being ‘chill’ as Ethan would say, were pleased to come along. I had only been working there for a week at the time.

Before this conversation, I thought Stephanie was a highly intelligent woman, but all I could see was the obstacle to my freedom. I moved to speak up, but Amélie silenced me again. I shot her a dirty look and Anthony offered me a sympathetic face. The two women continued their barrage.

“Those grown men have known Abigail her entire life. One of them is the husband of my best friend from grade school. We are very tightly knit. I do not appreciate any insinuations, and please sit down Mrs. Locke.”

Stephanie nodded and sat down, smoothing her skirt as she did. The women in the room all had bare legs. I found it suffocating to wear panty hose in the summer, so the world was privy to my bare legs. Still, I couldn’t help but feel tiny in the room, not only because of my stature but because I wasn’t getting to say anything.

Stephanie replied, “I apologize for my misunderstanding, Ms. Grenier. I am more concerned with the fact that a girl who grows up too quickly, who enters the adult world before she is ready is often swallowed by it. I will use myself as an example. I was exactly like Abigail in high school, too ready to grow up, turning my nose up at kids my age because I thought I was better than them, smarter than them.

“Once I got to university, things changed. I didn’t have a sip of alcohol before then, and suddenly it was free flowing. Those people who I had looked down on sure saw the humour in my indiscretions. I lost focus on my studies and made some very bad decisions. I never noticed or cared about boys before, and analogously with the alcohol, they were free flowing. I see Abigail, a very bright girl in her own right, making the very same mistakes. Because I didn’t enjoy high school, I enjoyed university far too much. Without the small mistakes that teens can make, maybe stealing alcohol from their parents or staying out too late once or twice. These can have very serious repercussions later on because the stakes are higher. Letting Abigail make the small mistakes now is better than trying to pick up the pieces later on.”

I had had enough. Listening to Stephanie filibuster in what was supposed to be an amiable meeting had caused me to dig a small groove into the table with my nails. I spoke up, “That’s just it though, Stephanie, I’m not you. My experience will not necessarily be the same as yours. That is false logic. Assuming that because you had such an experience, that I will have it as well is faulty reasoning at its worst. I am not going off to university, not yet, and even if I do, I will not stay in a dorm room, as I trust you did to have such an experience.” She nodded, allowing me to say my piece.

“By forcing such logic on me, you deprive me of a unique experience. One that is all my own. Yes, you made mistakes, and I will make some as well, but you have to admit that I am the most mature adolescent you have ever met. You said yourself that I am working at a level similar to an articling student. That takes far more than simply the talent, it takes focus and most importantly patience, something that is lacking in others my age. I appreciate that you are worried about me, but have I done anything to make you think that I am anything less than a highly mature individual? If you agree that I have not, then I meet the test, and you must sign these documents.”

I looked around the table. Anthony was smiling, as was Amélie, but Stephanie was still frowning.

She said, “Is this what you really want Abigail? You could be missing out on so much. Everything that I missed out on.”

I nodded my head, “It is.”

To be fair, I had had those experiences already. High school wasn’t a fun time for me. University was where I blossomed socially. I didn’t feel like I missed out on anything, and I certainly didn’t want to relive high school as a girl.

Stephanie took the emancipation papers I had prepared and signed them all. Eventually, a small smile appeared on her face, which turned into a wide grin, “You are going to make a hell of a lawyer one day, young lady.

I smiled back, “I know.”

Chapter 39

It was nearing the end of lunch hour on Monday. I was still on an emotional high, feeling practically bulletproof as I walked toward the fountain where Ethan was entertaining. I had succeeded in getting the emancipation papers signed the previous Friday, and while it wasn’t a cure, it would enable me to continue to work in law, and to avoid having to return to school. Emancipation did not make me a legal adult. I still could not drink, rent a car, or vote (although there was some argument there), but in the eyes of the state, if I succeeded, I would no longer be a dependent. My legal independence would afford me the choice either to work or to attend school. I would, without a doubt, choose the former, of course. All of it rested in the hands of Judge Patrick Schuler.

Ethan hadn’t come by since I started his musical education the previous week. I wondered if there was even any point in addressing my little crush on him because he was apparently satisfied with playing hard to get. I stayed on the periphery with the men in the small crowd. The girls flocking around him didn’t bother me one bit. Not even their short shorts that showed just a little too much leg. OK. Maybe just a little. It was as if there was a tiny insignificant little girl in my head, whispering over the megaphone that was my male ego. When I was depressed, the megaphone was weakened and the little girl climbed into the device and shouted at the top of her lungs. To me, this is where the crush could be dangerous. On top of the world, it held little power over me.

As Ethan finished playing, the crowd started to thin. I say crowd, but there were only about ten people. Still, I saw the inside of his guitar case, and he had probably made thirty bucks in under an hour. It took me almost three hours to make that! As Ethan saw me, he made a beeline, causing dark looks to be thrown my way. I was amazed at how he totally ignored the girls who had probably listened to him the entire lunch hour, just because I was there. That little girl managed to commandeer the megaphone in my mind, and scream, “He likes you, he likes you!”

Ethan realizing that maybe he was coming on a little strong, and perhaps looking a touch pathetic, slowed his pace. He gave me a head nod. “Hey.”

I replied, “Uh. Hey. I like that song you played. It’s one of the ones I played for you.” Wow, he had taken the time to learn one of the songs I had…oh he had it bad. I did the exact same thing. One girl I was semi-dating in my early university years liked “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias. He was worse than John Mayer because he didn’t even play guitar. He just looked. He stared at the camera, with bedroom eyes, ushering the girls toward him, and for some reason they bought it. So to impress her, I played and sang the song for her, even though I thought the song was the worst kind of generic pop trash. I realized that I needed to extinguish the torch Ethan held because I knew that the next step was him writing songs about unrequited love, as I had also done.

He grinned, “Yeah, I downloaded every last Alice in Chains song. I like I Stay Away the best.” Yeah. It was my favourite too, which I had told him. He was telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. My adult mind was easily able to deconstruct his behaviour. That boosted my confidence.

His grin made me feel guilty for what I was about to do, but I had to tell him the truth. The lunch crowd was thinning, but I wanted to do this in a less public place. I pointed over at an empty picnic table under an oak tree, and he followed me like a lamb to the slaughter.

We sat down, and he sat close, and then inched away realizing that I looked uncomfortable. It was very hot, and I wasn’t wearing a blazer, just a thin blouse and a skirt, my legs bare and my soft arms on display. Ethan was wearing his leather jacket.

“So, you liked what you heard? The song, I mean.”

He was nervous. I wonder if he thought I had brought him here to kiss him out of the watchful eyes of his jealous female fans. I saw such hope in his eyes, as well as expectation and excitement. He didn't realise I'd moved him away from those girls to avoid humiliating him. Maybe this was going to be worse than I thought. I had planned it carefully, but he wasn’t acting as I expected. I was trying my best to seem aloof and uninterested. Was I doing something to make him think otherwise?

I nodded my head, “Yeah. You nailed it.” He screwed it up, but I lied. He didn’t need to feel bad for two different reasons. He must have seen me coming and started playing it. I was amazed that he had actually gone home and learned “I Stay Away”, just for me.

His grin widened, and he inched closer to me on the bench. I could tell he was feeling adventurous, my compliment had given him courage. He looked me straight in the eyes, and with mirth in his voice he said, “You know Abigail, you look like a sexy librarian dressed like that. Some of the kids say you look like a nerd, but I stick up for you.”

I replied, “Um thanks.” His words made me feel queasy at first and then the tingles I had felt during previous encounters in my head, neck and shoulders returned two fold, then tenfold until I actually shuddered. This was unlike anything I had experienced as a teenage boy. I dipped my head low, removing eye contact. The little girl in my head had turned the megaphone up to eleven apparently. Still, I was steadfast in my belief that I could beat this, so I gritted my teeth and blurted out.

“Listen Ethan, I know you like me, but I’d really prefer that we were just friends. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but I really would like us to be friends. We have a lot in common. Do you understand?”

His face went through a range of emotions, so much so that I wondered if he might be auditioning for a role in a play that needed a wide range. His face fleetingly bore the sad puppy dog face, his hope squashed, and then confusion, as he probably considered my body language both in previous encounters and only moments ago, and finally an understanding smile.

He tossed his head back, moving the hair on his face to reveal his eyes, “It’s cool, Abigail. I never really thought we would date or nothing. Just, you know, hang out. It’s sweet, that you are a girl and you know all this stuff about guitars and sick music. If you wanted to be friends though, why have you been avoiding me?”

I frowned. I was trying to ignore how much I liked looking into his eyes. “Um. It’s complicated. There’s a lot of stuff happening in my life, you know. I have a band, and there’s my job. I don’t really have time for a relationship.”

Ethan grinned, “You have a band? Okay, you are officially the sickest girl ever. And why are you talking about a relationship?” He smirked, “What are you? Like thirty? Can’t we just hang out and not have people think we want to get married?” He laughed, but when I didn’t, he stopped abruptly and waited for my response. When it didn’t come, he broke the silence.

“Man, don’t look so serious. It was a joke.”

I guess he was right. I probably did look very serious as I tried to explain why I didn’t want anything but friendship with him. I don’t know why he wanted to hang around me. I must have looked depressed during a lot of the summer before I started to see even a measure of success regarding my emancipation. I think one of the reasons why I wanted to be friends with Ethan was because he brought me away from the dark places. I could lose myself in a conversation about music with him. I could be myself. Sort of.

“I guess I am a bit confused though. That girl from your work, she came to me a few times last week and asked if I was going to talk to you again. She said you liked me, but that you were shy.”

Chantal. That conniving bitch.

I sighed and replied, “That’s Chantal. You shouldn’t listen to a word she says. And I do like you, just as a friend. Maybe she got confused.”

Ethan looked unconvinced, but he replied with a smile nevertheless, “Yeah okay. So this band of yours, is it anything like Alice in Chains? Are you the singer?”

I nodded my head and said proudly, “Yes I am, and I play rhythm guitar. And it’s kind of a mix. We all have different influences, but it works.”

I took out my phone, and my headphones, which I dropped into Ethan’s hand. I took an earbud and he took one. I played him the tracks we had recorded shortly after my change. The guitar work wasn’t as bad at that point.

He nodded his head, “You guys are good. And I was right, you do have a great voice. Probably one of the best I’ve heard. When is your next show?”

The crush reared its head again, a lumbering beast of chaotic emotion that stomped through my mind. I felt my cheeks redden. How could Ethan get over me if I kept showing him I liked him? He was obviously more perceptive than most guys his age, unless he had taken Chantal’s words to heart and based his actions on that alone. To me, if I saw a girl blush like that, the attraction was obvious.

I cleared my throat, “Um. We don’t know. We are looking for another guitar player. I have a bit of trouble singing and doing some of my parts.”

Ethan’s eyes opened wide, “OK, crazy idea, but what if I tried out for the band? I have gear at home. I don’t only play covers, and I write a lot. So, it’s you and two other people? And no worries if it doesn’t work out, it’s just cool to get the chance to play with other people. I’ve played with drummers before, just nothing serious. Just guys messing around in a basement. Oh wait, that sounds kind of gay.” He had that excited energy surrounding him again. Was I going to shut him down twice in one day?

I replied, “I don’t know- I- mean. We are a serious band. We don’t just mess around. We have goals.”

He could tell I was considering saying no because he wore the puppy dog face again. I hated how that expression kept softening my resolve, but I did feel bad for him. I was amazed at how fragile he could be one moment and then the next, he could walk around as if he wore impenetrable armour.

I was surprised he had offered to audition so quickly, but then I knew how kids his age operated with respect to bands. When I was a teacher, I often spoke to the musicians in the school, not only because we had common interests, but because I was curious. I often wondered what bands they were in, what shows they were playing. It was always interesting to hear the ones who were really serious speak with such focus and determination. Ethan did not strike me as someone who would stay in a band, and just like his crush, I assumed he would move on to another band in time.

I said, “I would have to talk to the guys. They are kind of older-“

Ethan interrupted, “And what, they don’t want two kids in the band? How old?” He laughed, “You aren’t in a band with your dad, are you? Because I’m going to have to pass on that. I’m not joining the Partridge Family. And as for serious…” He adopted a very severe expression, and then said in a newscaster voice, “The prime minister requested another white paper this morning. You see the paperboy threw his on the roof of Parliament Hill.”

I laughed because I actually understood the joke. So-called white papers are often used to explain complex issues. Also, the prime minister would not have a paper boy delivering his paper at Parliament Hill. It was lame, but if you understood politics then it was funny, but certainly groan worthy.

Ethan said, “You have a weird sense of humour Abigail. My dad tells that joke to every new person he meets. He’s a lawyer but he’s obsessed with politics. I’ve told it to my friends, and they don’t get it. But like I said, I can be serious, and I am focused on music. It’s all I think about.”

I smirked, “Sure it is. Well like I said, I’ll talk to the guys.”

I wondered if it was a good idea to even mention this to Andrew and Steven. They were already treating me differently, but the longer we went without a proper guitar player, the rustier we would become. I didn’t want the band to fall apart. I had been in previous bands that broke up because we failed to find new members to replace the old. It gets to a point where everyone just wants to move on because they realize there is nothing they can do to save the sinking ship. We weren’t at that point yet, but the rats were already considering their options.

Was I playing with fire even considering letting Ethan join the band? The close quarters in the basement could certainly make things worse, acting as life support to the crush, but at the same time, it was an excellent test of my resolve. If I could save my band and break free of my feelings, then I would be well on my way to taming my emotions. Maybe I would stop crying so easily. I decided to speak to Andrew and Steven at our next practice.

***
Judge Schuler could not see me until Friday, but in the meantime, Ethan and I became fast friends. We hung out every day. Because I had been honest about my desire to be friends, Ethan didn’t offer any compliments that brought my crush to the surface. We talked music, and I even sang with him over the lunch hour. We made over sixty bucks in under an hour. Ethan gave me half. The crowd we drew grew, and by Friday, we had made almost a hundred dollars each.

Once he had found out I was not girlfriend material, his guitar playing got a lot better. There was still the odd awkward moment, when our bodies refused to listen to our brains, but overall, it was far more comfortable than it had been before I had come clean about my feelings. He was respectful of the fact that I wanted to be friends, and I tried to avoid blushing, squirming or shuddering in front of him.

I was pleased that I was able to seemingly control the crush. My adult mind was winning the battle with my teenaged body. I would speak to the guys on the weekend about having Ethan audition for the band. He could be very immature, making stupid jokes and comments, but I liked the fact we got along so well. I thought of him like a little brother. We could talk music, hockey, anything really. He seemed enamoured with the fact that a girl knew so much about his favourite subjects.

We only hung out during lunch. He invited me to his place a few times, but I never accepted. He was aware of my living situation. He knew I lived with my older sister, and had to help with the baby, so he understood. He also asked me to come to shows with him. There was one in Montreal next weekend. I told him I couldn’t miss band, but I also thought that sleeping in a car with a bunch of horny teenage boys over the weekend was probably a very bad idea, considering my burgeoning sexuality. When he offered to give me the backseat all to myself, it still didn’t change my mind. He also kept asking me about the band. I said I would speak to the guys over the weekend.
***
When I finally saw Judge Schuler Friday afternoon, I knew that was cutting it very close, since my hearing was on the following Wednesday. I figured it was enough time for the judge to provide me with the document I needed to show I had passed the emancipation test. Amélie wanted to go with me, but I declined. I needed to show the judge that I could represent myself. I knew that Amélie would interject if I brought her, so I went alone.

I had the papers signed by Stephanie in my black file bag. The papers stated that her firm intended to hire me on a full-time basis, that I was mature, and that I was completing work on a level far and above that completed by my peer group. When you compared it to making a burger or stocking shelves, I knew that I would easily pass that section of the test.

A young woman Chantal’s age invited me into the judge’s chambers. The chambers lacked the opulence that you see in their television equivalents, but they were still tastefully decorated. As I entered, my eyes were instantly drawn to set of black and white pictures. They showed a young man in uniform. I recognized the Canadian military uniform he wore, but more specifically, the paratrooper wings he possessed. I was a history major in university, and even as a kid I had an interest in anything semi war-like.

The judge had his back to me, but I could see that his head was almost entirely bald. He had wisps of hair in places that looked similar to the hair you might see on an infant, except for being snow white. He turned around, and I could see a face wizened by time. He had large bushy eyebrows and sagging cheeks. I could not see his body, but he was swimming in his well-kept robes. As much as my transformation had impacted my life, I was actually thankful I had not aged significantly, instead. As humans, I believe we fear death more than a loss of freedom and privilege. It was the first time I realized that there were worse things than being a pretty teenaged girl.

He spoke with kindness and strength as he greeted me. His eyes spoke of a lifetime of memories, but they were not dulled like I expected for a man that age. “You must be Miss Grenier. Yes, Anthony told me that you would see me. I trust that Melanie gave you an appointment in a timely manner.”

I nodded my head, “Yes, pleased to meet you, your honour.”

He raised his hands and smiled, “Please call me Patrick, or at the very least Mr. Schuler. I am not a practicing court room judge any longer, and I always disliked the formality of the title. I continue to practice law in a reduced capacity because I believe it keeps me lucid.”

The man exuded a powerful presence. I could imagine that in his day he caused many lawyers fear at the thought of having to face him in court. I could not call a man like that Patrick. I gained instant respect for him in shirking his official title and even more for fighting the stereotype of the feeble and senile old man.

“So Anthony says that you have come to speak to me about legal emancipation. This is rarely done. And I notice that you have no counsel with you. This in itself is highly unusual for someone your age. You do know you can have counsel present with you during these proceedings?”

I nodded my head, “I felt that I could show you that I meet the test far more effectively if I demonstrate how self-sufficient I am, Mr. Schuler.”

The judge smiled and clasped his hands in front of him, “When Anthony said that he had a high school girl coming to see me, a girl that worked in his firm. Well I told Melanie to book you in immediately. I must say that I have never had a successful emancipation, but you look to be a precocious young woman Ms. Grenier. How old are you?”

I answered, “Sixteen.” I still refused to say fifteen. There was no truth to that registration paper from the school, even though Amélie thought it would be accepted in court as an official document.

He smiled, “You and I are similar in mind Abigail. I joined the army at sixteen. We were both in a rush to grow up. Two years later I was in Normandy.”

I asked, “Did you land at D-day? I saw those paratrooper wings.”

The judge smiled, “I did. And I am glad they are teaching students about the war.”

“They do. When I taught that chapter, I made sure to discuss the ramifications of war. Yes, the Second World War is known as a necessary war, but it was also the war that saw the most civilian casualties. The mass bombing of Dresden, and the atomic bombs dropping on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I wanted to show both sides though. For instance, the atomic bomb stopped the war, but a generation of people suffered from increased incidences of cancer. ” I was enjoying the conversation, but I had thoughtlessly blurted out something that could blow my cover.

The judge raised a large bushy brow, “You taught the class?”

I answered quickly, trying to explain myself, “Uh. It was part of the unit. Everyone had to teach a portion. I picked Dresden and the atomic bomb dropping.”

He looked conflicted at first, as if my stance on the war, and war in general, ran counter to his own. Eventually, he smiled and replied, “You are a very intelligent girl, Abigail. And you have convictions. I applaud that. You could have seen my pictures from the war and kept quiet, thinking you might offend me or you could have accused me of being a warmonger. Instead, you speak your mind respectfully, discussing both sides of the issue. This is a measure of maturity, and it is part of the test. Now you have some documents to show me?”

I nodded and opened my bag, presenting the judge with the emancipation papers signed by Stephanie.

“Did you prepare these documents, Abigail?” I nodded.

“Did you have a lawyer look them over before getting them signed?” I shook my head.

He smiled, “Good, but you could be lying. So let me ask you this, it says here you are familiar with constitutional law, administrative and human rights law. If you were in court and you were defending someone who has broken a traffic law, how could you use a Charter of Rights defence successfully?”

I thought about the question, making sure to take my time. It was tricky because the Charter usually wasn’t invoked in an administrative tribunal where most traffic offences are disposed. My eyes widened and the answer formed on my lips.

“It would depend on the circumstances, of course, but Charter defences can be used if there is a penal consequence for the conviction. If it is monetary or a licence suspension, and as long as there was no racial or gender profiling, the defence could not be used. If jail time is a possibility then the Charter could be invoked.”

It was a trick question because the average person thinks of traffic laws as speeding or running a stop sign, but considering a traffic law could also fall into a criminal conviction, it was not an easy question, and it required that I understood how the standard was applied.

The judge grinned, “I am sure I could not go into any local area high schools and get the correct answer to that question. So, you have passed the third test. Well done. There is a caveat however, because you are making the minimum salary that the test allows, we will have to conduct interviews with your employer and your legal guardian.”

I frowned, “Wait does that mean I won’t be emancipated by next Wednesday?” My heart sunk.

The judge furrowed his brow, “I am afraid not, Abigail. There is an administrative process to something like this. I will do everything in my power to ensure your application does not sit on some bureaucrat’s desk, but it will take at least a week because the province’s lawyers will also have to review your application and decide whether they want to appeal my decision.”

I was successful in convincing Judge Schuler, but I would not have the emancipation document for the hearing. Ironically, now my fate resided in the hands of the public service. I hoped the work ethic had improved since I left their ranks.

I thanked Judge Schuler as I left, although he could tell I was upset.

“Are you in some kind of trouble Abigail, is there a reason why you need it for next Wednesday?”

I shook my head, “No, Mr. Schuler. Everything will be fine.” I wished I believed my own words.

***

Our practice that weekend could be summed up in one word- sucked. The morale of the band was low. Steven again insisted that I give up playing guitar, and we even discussed timelines for pulling the plug. Andrew was my best friend, or least he had been before my change, and he still supported me, but it was becoming clear that his support was waning. I decided to have the conversation with them about Ethan because I thought the band was on its last legs. After practice, as Andrew was putting away his bass and Steven was tightening one of his tom drums, I spoke up.

“Alright. I am not sure that this is ever going to work. We keep getting people here, and they never come back. I know we are a good band, and we’ve written great songs together, and because of that I am willing to make the sacrifice. I will stop playing guitar, but I don’t think it will solve an even bigger problem. My age. Even the college kids we’ve had come out were turned off by my age. They think that this is some joke of a band, and that I am not mature enough to be in a serious band. Well what if we went in a different direction?”

Andrew put his bass down. “What do you mean Darren? The older ones have been equally turned off. And we said no kids, right?”

I frowned. Andrew would have normally been on my side, at least before my change and the band turmoil. “I met a guy. He’s a really good player. He plays cover songs every lunch time next to my work.”

Steven narrowed his eyes, “How old is he?”

I added, “He is also really mature for his age. And he writes his own songs.”

Andrew shook his head and sighed, “How old is he Darren?”

I replied in a little girl voice, “Um. He’s sixteen.”

Steven shook his head, “Great, in a band with two teenagers.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Hey. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Andrew looked conflicted. His expression softened, “You know Silverchair started when they were fifteen. So this guy could be the real deal. I say we give him a chance.” I noticed that Andrew didn’t exactly defend me, but at least he agreed with me.

Steven looked unimpressed. He grunted and went back to adjusting his tom drum. It was two to one, and in a band democracy, majority rules. I could only imagine the conversation that went on while Andrew drove Steven home that night.

Chapter 40

Finally, the day for my hearing came. I felt prepared. I had located case law to show that I was not evading an officer. The only issue that remained had to do with my use of the school registration document to show that I had a guardian. I still felt that it was necessary to remain consistent with the story I had told the police officer. My father and Amélie disagreed wholeheartedly with my plan. I told the officer that I was sixteen, but the registration said I was fifteen. If the state tried to make me a ward, then I would produce the document.

My whole case hinged on the fact that I was a mature sixteen. It was imperative that I show I was not ignoring the officer’s instructions and therefore evading the police. I needed to demonstrate that my decision to wait was based on the careful observation of the road conditions and the width of the gravel shoulder.

My parents had returned only a few days earlier from the trip to New Orleans. My father said that he had been unsuccessful in locating a cure, but he had left his contact information with someone who claimed to be a prominent practitioner of voodoo. My condition was apparently unique even among those who claimed to practice a form of magic. He tried to downplay his failure, knowing that it could distract me from the task at hand, but I still appreciated his efforts and told him so.

My hearing was set for nine am that morning. Stephanie was happy to give me the morning or even the day off. She felt that she was taking advantage of me by paying me student wages while I carried out the job of a paralegal. She didn’t ask me what it was for, but she was pleased to have me take some time off. I wonder if she thought I was going to the beach or to an amusement park.

We arrived at the Ottawa courthouse. Despite living in Quebec, my alleged crime was committed in Ontario, so I would be tried there. The courthouse is a large grey structure. I thought it looked more like a prison due to its lack of windows. Once inside, it was no better. The atmosphere was stifling. Police officers manned the entrance. I felt a tinge of fear, which crawled through my brain like a spider. I could lose and end up in juvenile hall, away from Amélie, Chloe, my parents and my band mates. I knew it would be fewer than six months as the youth penalty had to be less than the adult one for my particular set of charges, but still, it would be six more months in this body.

I had a fleeting thought about Ethan as I entered the court room. I guess I would miss our conversations about music, but all I could think of was how his bangs partially obscured his eyes, and how I kind of liked that. For some reason that didn't bother me at the time.

I dressed in my best skirt and blazer, and I let my mother do my hair, putting it into a severe bun. I would have worn my glasses, but they hurt my eyes too much. I saw the police officer who had laid the charges against me, Officer Michael Patterson. I narrowed my eyes at him and wore a subtle smile. From listening to Amélie, and from working in a law office for the whole summer, I knew that intimidation and mind games could be key, especially because I was going to cross-examine him eventually. I knew I would have to take the stand as well, but because I was acting as my own counsel, I could call witnesses and even question the Crown’s witnesses.

Next to the officer was my enemy. Outside of the court room, he would have been a colleague, but in here, he was a bitter rival. The Crown Prosecutor was a man in his thirties. He was unassuming and wore a cheap grey suit. I knew that prosecutors made a lot less than lawyers in private practice, but his attire was ludicrous. Was this part of the mind game that lawyers played? Because he wasn’t wearing a three thousand dollar hand-made Italian suit, I would take him less seriously and let my guard down? His suit wasn’t even pressed, and he looked exhausted. He gave me a casual nod, but beyond that did not acknowledge my presence.

Despite the prosecutor’s appearance, I planned to keep my guard up. He could very well be a shark in cheap clothing. I had never been to court before, but by listening to Anthony and Stephanie through the summer, it felt like I had.

I was ushered into the court room. Amélie took a seat next to me at the defendant's table. I began removing folders from my black bag and setting them out on the table when I heard the clerk say, “The Province of Ontario v. Abigail Lawrence. All rise, honourable Justice Richter.” I rose, feeling nervous, and needing to steady myself. This was not a good turn of events. I had read newspaper articles about this judge. He was a strong supporter of the federal government’s tough-on-crime bill with a focus on youth justice. I fervently disliked the idea that judges could be biased. They were there to interpret the law, not to colour it with their political leanings. The best I could hope for is if I lost, it might be easier to appeal based on the apparent bias of the judge.

Judge Richter was the polar opposite to Mr. Schuler. Richter struck an imposing figure with broad shoulders and a strong chin. He had a grey hair at his temples, but they served to make him look distinguished. He wore a severe expression, and I wondered if his mouth was always scowling like that. I pictured him enjoying a romantic dinner with his wife on their anniversary. He muttered through the scowl, “These potatoes are delicious, honey.” I did this to alleviate the sudden fear I felt. The sensation was there when I entered the court house, but now it had returned with a vengeance. The fear crawled through my body, turning my limbs to rubber, and I quivered as I stood. Where Mr. Schuler had balked at tradition, Judge Richter revelled in it. He kept us standing while he made his way to his chair at a snail’s pace.

He spoke in a gruff, assertive voice, “You may sit. Counsel approach the bench.”

I moved to approach the bench, and the judge looked at me with a withering glare. My mother grasped my hand before I could go and whispered in my ear, “No matter what, Darren, they won’t take you away. I won’t let them.” This did nothing to halt my growing anxiety. In fact it exacerbated the problem because now I feared my mother was going to do something foolish. I exchanged worried, yet knowing, looks with my father. I hoped he would be able to talk her out of any irrational behaviour.

Other than my family, the stenographer, the judge’s clerk, a man in a three-piece suit, and two uniformed officers who were probably there to support their colleague, the court room was empty. Youth criminal cases are usually free of spectators. The reason for this is that the names of youth are protected, they cannot be published, so while they can be uttered in courtrooms, under the law, they cannot be mentioned outside them. For this reason, unless they are directly involved in the case, the public cannot enter.

The Crown Prosecutor and I approached the bench. He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. I was hopeful that meant he would be lax in his duties. The prosecutor, whose name I learned was Mr. Anderson, looked at me with indifference. Clearly, I intended to defend myself, but Mr. Anderson didn’t seem to care. Judge Richter, on the other hand, stared at me intensely.

“Miss Lawrence, I sincerely hope you do not intend to act as your own counsel. This is a court of law, not a place to be playing pretend lawyer. The charges against you are serious, and they carry with them the possibility of detention for a period just under six months.”

Mr. Anderson stated, “Your honour, I have no issue with Miss Lawrence representing herself.” Of course he didn’t, but he had no idea who he was dealing with. They had both called me ‘Miss Lawrence’ because that was the name I had given to Officer Patterson.

I looked at Judge Richter and locked my eyes to his, I tried to speak confidently, but my voice wavered at times, “I am prepared to represent myself. I- I believe the Crown’s opening statement is first?”

Judge Richter’s gaze never wavered. He motioned for Mr. Anderson to sit down, but he asked me to come closer. “Miss Lawrence, I usually do not accept children as counsel in my court with this set of charges, but, based on the documents you have prepared, you do seem organized to defend yourself. I will not go easy on you, young lady. I expect you to know courtroom procedure. I will not hold your hand through these proceedings. Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly and returned to my seat. I had never been in court before, and I was certainly not enjoying my first exposure to the Canadian system of justice.

The clerk read the list of charges, “Miss Lawrence is charged under the Ontario Highway Traffic Act for allegedly speeding and driving without a licence. She is charged under the Criminal Code of Canada for wilful evasion of a police officer, specifically, she is alleged to have failed to heed the instructions of a police officer to pull over for a routine traffic stop.

“Miss Lawrence, how do you plead?” Judge Richter looked at me expectantly.

I answered firmly, “Guilty to the charges of speeding and driving without a licence. Not guilty to the charge of wilful evasion.”

Judge Richter asked me again, “Are you certain that this is how you want to enter your plea?” So much for not holding my hand. His behaviour was patronizing, if anything.

I nodded, “This is not a Traffic Court. I understand the gravity of the alleged offence. I will not waste your honour’s or the court’s time by arguing a traffic ticket.”

Judge Richter nodded brusquely and said firmly, “Mr. Anderson, your opening statement.”

The prosecutor addressed Judge Richter politely and proceeded to outline the case against me. “Because Miss Lawrence chose to plead guilty to the offences under the Highway Traffic Act, I will focus only on the charge of wilful evasion. The crux of the matter is that Miss Lawrence failed to heed the instructions of a police officer.” He pointed to Officer Patterson.

“The Crown will show that Miss Lawrence not only ignored police direction, but that she also lied to an officer of the law, and while she is not being charged with obstruction, the Crown will demonstrate that Miss Lawrence knowingly lied about her age and gave a partial false name. Due to this, the veracity of her words cannot be truly determined. In her statement to Officer Patterson, she stated that she knew she was being followed, but that she continued driving for safety reasons. The Crown intends to prove that Miss Lawrence is not credible, and that her words cannot be believed, and therefore, she wilfully evaded an officer of the law.”

Amélie and I exchanged worried looks. I had not submitted the school registration, nor was it in the disclosure package that I had been provided with. Amélie frantically flipped through the package, looking for the registration. It wasn’t there.

I stood, “Your honour. I request to see the disclosure package of the Crown.”

Judge Richter furrowed his brow, “Miss Lawrence, you were given those documents two months ago.”

I nodded, “I received no additional disclosure, and I believe that a document has been added.” Judge Richter motioned for Mr. Anderson to provide his copy.

I frantically looked through the disclosure package until I saw it. The school registration was there. Mr. Anderson may not have looked it, but he was slimy. He was trying to blindside me. I stood, “I object to the inclusion of this document. I did not receive this in my original package. I argue that the document should not be allowed into evidence.”

Judge Richter glared at Mr. Anderson, “Mr. Anderson, if this is true, it is a breach of process. The defence must be made aware of the case made against them.”

Mr. Anderson frowned. I thought he was playing innocent. “This document was only recently made available to us. I sent the additional disclosure last week.”

I pointed an accusatory finger at Mr. Anderson, “Sir, I did not receive this document.”

Judge Richter motioned for us to approach the bench. Mr. Anderson produced a mail slip showing that it had, in fact, been sent priority post. I said, “I have not had the opportunity to prepare a defence regarding this document. I never received it.”

Judge Richter said, “A document is considered served once it is sent. The Crown’s burden was relieved when it sent the document. However, based on this, I will allow a recess to let the defence prepare an argument regarding this document. Return here in one hour’s time.”

***

Amélie frowned, “Darren, this really hurts your case. The Crown having that document makes you look like a liar. You should have just come clean and said you lied. Maybe you should now. Just say you lied to the officer and maybe they will go easier on you. I have a feeling with this judge, the more you drag it out the more severe your punishment will be. I mean, we wouldn’t see each other for maybe six months.”

My father nodded in agreement, “You’ve shown yourself to be organized and mature. This is your first offence, too. Just apologize. We are talking about your freedom here, Darren, play it up if you have to.”

My mother said, “I agree, Darren, you need to do this. Tell the judge you are sorry, that you will never do it again.”

Amélie added, “Think about Chloe too. Do you really want her to visit you in a juvenile detention centre? You could also try and make a deal with the Crown. Community service or an outreach program. I can look at the different options.”

I shook my head, “No way. They aren’t going to win playing dirty like that. I bet they had that registration form a month ago, and they were just waiting to blindside us with it. I have a plan. Just trust me on this.”

My parents and Amélie shared worried looks, but they could see in my eyes that I was determined to win. My parents knew that I was stubborn. There would be no convincing me.

***

“Your honour, I am submitting a motion to remove the offending evidence from the record based on its lack of authenticity. The Crown cannot prove that the document is real.”

Mr. Anderson wore a sly subtle smile. I noticed it before it disappeared and seethed internally. He replied, “Your honour, if you allow me to call my first witness, I can prove the veracity of this document. There is no need for a lengthy motion which would require a reply from the Crown and take more public resources.”

“I agree. Miss Lawrence, your motion is dismissed.”

I gritted my teeth. Teenage boys were not the only ones to say things they thought people wanted to hear. Apparently, lawyers did it as well. I thought Judge Richter was too smart to fall for it, but I was wrong.

“The Crown calls Monsieur Martin St-Valentin.” The man in the three piece suit entered the witness box.

Mr. Anderson asked, “Mr. St-Valentin, what do you do for a living?”

He answered in a thick French accent, but his English was very good, “I am the principal of St. Joséphine Notre Mère de Paix secondary school.”

He looked to be in his early forties with a muscular build. He had a kind face, but he might as well have been my worst nightmare at this point. My eyes nearly bugged out of my skull. This was not good.

Mr. Anderson asked, “Is this school registration form valid Mr. St-Valentin?”

He nodded his head slowly, “It is. I can see that it was issued with a student number that matches the one in our database. You can see that here.” He pointed to a print out.

Mr. Anderson nodded and asked, “Have you ever had any problems with false school registration forms?”

He replied, “None whatsoever. The forms are actually issued from a central location. It is secure to my knowledge.”

Mr. Anderson stated, “No further questions.” He looked at me and said, “Your witness.”

I approached the witness box with a grim face. I was about to grill my potential future principal. As long as my emancipation went through, I would never have to see him again. He looked at me evenly, but I could tell he was impressed that a high school student was defending herself in a court of law.

I asked, “Mr. St-Valentin, have you ever seen me before?” He shook his head.

I continued, “On the form, it says that I am a new student. Would a new student not have to register in person? I read this in your employer’s administrative policy guide.”

The witness frowned slightly, “This is usually the way we prefer it. It allows the student and hopefully his or her parents to see the school and meet some of the staff, but it is not the way it always happens. Because students who move into our district may not always visit, we enrol them automatically in respect to the law, Miss Lawrence.”

I frowned. This was not going well. I asked, “You said that you didn’t know of any incidents where people had falsely registered students, but you also said that you don’t supervise the area where the forms are issued. How can you attest that the forms are not falsified?”

He replied, “I guess I can’t. You are right, I don’t work in the central office, but I have never heard of any stories about people trying to falsify forms.” This was a small victory.

I asked, “Where does the central location obtain this information?”

He replied, “I’m not really sure actually. I would assume in your case from the police database, but it is just a guess.”

I nodded, “No further questions.” Mr. St-Valentin stepped down.

A few moment later, Judge Richter stated, “While we cannot absolutely confirm the authenticity of the school registration document, it is the only document that provides Miss Lawrence’s, in fact, Miss Grenier’s, date of birth and the name of her legal guardian. When asked for a birth certificate or health card, Miss Grenier was unable to produce either document.”

He glowered at Amélie, “I would suggest that Miss Grenier’s legal guardian begin the process to obtain these documents immediately at the close of these proceedings.” He softened, “I can understand that losing such documents in a move is a possibility.” The harshness returned as he narrowed his eyes and brow beat Amélie, “However, such behaviour is extremely irresponsible.”

“Absent any other documentation, this court must accept the school registration document as the truth. Miss Grenier, in the eyes of the law, is fifteen years old.”

I heard my mother cry out, but my father hushed her immediately. My head sunk, and I closed my eyes. I was going away for six months, and because of that I would not be emancipated. I would have to attend school in juvie. I covered my face with my hands, trying to hide the fact that tears were starting to form. I thought about throwing myself on the mercy of the court, but I doubted that Judge Richter would look upon such pleas favourably. Amélie saw my downcast state and stood, “Your honour. A brief recess please.” He granted us ten minutes.

As we exited the courtroom, I walked like a man defeated. I looked backward for a moment to see the Crown Prosecutor, Mr. Anderson, following me like a snake silently stalking a hare gently grazing on nearby grass. He looked triumphant as if he was about to swallow me whole.

“Miss Grenier. Do you have a moment?”

He looked at me, and he could see I was crying, but I didn’t see a measure of sympathy in his eyes. Instead, I saw a cold and calculating lawyer, ready to deal the death blow. “You have an impressive knowledge of the law, Miss Grenier. You will make a fine lawyer in ten years. Now, the reason I want to speak with you. The Crown is prepared to offer you three months in a juvenile detention centre. You can choose one closest to your home, so your sister and parents can visit you easily. This offer is ... ”

Amélie interjected, “Get away from her, you vulture.”

Mr. Anderson was unfazed by the accusation, “The offer is off the table once we resume the proceedings.”

Amélie ushered me away, “She’s not interested!”

Amélie brought me into a quiet corner of the courthouse, away from prying eyes. My mother gently rubbed my shoulder. Amélie said, “Darren, you have to snap out of it. You have prepared your defence very well. You only have to show you weren’t ignoring the cop. You can do this. This is only a minor setback.”

I shook my head and wiped my eyes, “I can’t, Amélie. They are eating me alive in there. I am going to apologize, and play the stupid kid card. It was a dumb mistake, I’m sorry, I will never do it again.”

Amélie shook her head, “I know judges like this Darren. They admire strength. I was wrong before. If you fold, he’ll send you away for six months. You will lose your emancipation, and then, when you get back, you will have to attend St. Jo’s. Is that what you want? To be surrounded by kids all day? You’ll have to wear a plaid skirt, and be gawked at by creepy old men on the bus.”

I closed my eyes and slumped my shoulders, “I don’t know, Amélie - it feels like the world is against me. Everything that has happened, it’s too much. I can’t take it anymore.”

She put her hand on my shoulder, “That doesn’t sound like you at all, Darren. Don’t let this beat you. Go in there and show your strength. Oh, and show up that sleazy lawyer and that no-neck cop Patterson.” I could feel my courage returning with Amélie’s words.

“You’ve got this cop, Darren. You told me your arguments, you showed me the evidence. Don’t let him win.”

I narrowed my eyes and stood straight. “Okay, Amélie. I will.” I returned to the courtroom with fire in my belly.
***

I watched as Mr. Anderson questioned Officer Patterson. I checked the notebook pages that I had, ensuring that everything matched up. It did, but I wasn’t surprised. Officer Patterson had told his side of the story exactly how it had happened, in his eyes. It was time to poke gaping holes in the Crown’s case. Amélie smiled at me as I approached the witness box where Officer Patterson was sitting.

He was wearing a black suit with an electric blue dress shirt. The clothing barely contained his massive broad shoulders. The collar strained against his bulging neck. He looked at me with a sneer and with bold glaring eyes. Apparently, he bore a grudge. Mr. Anderson made eye contact with the officer and his expression softened to stone-like neutrality.

I began the questioning, “Officer, you say that I made no attempt whatsoever to stop. How is it then that in your very own police notebook, it states the following: Driver turned onto gravel, nearly lost control but turned back on highway, maintained pursuit.”

The officer narrowed his eyes at me and then cleared his throat. He hated me, and I was loving it. “I did not feel that that was an attempt to stop. Because of the inexperience and the circumstances, I thought that you were nervous. You were already speeding. The fact that you turned onto the gravel shoulder could mean that you were losing control of the vehicle. There were other parts along the highway where you could have stopped safely.”

He was smarter than he looked, or he had been well prepared by Mr. Anderson.

I asked, “If you had been driving in my place, would you have stopped, or would you have waited the minute before turning into the gas station?”

He answered quickly, “I absolutely would have pulled over. I know that I have to follow a police officer’s instructions. When it was clear the officer wanted me to pull over, I would have done so, yes.”

I nodded and returned to my table to retrieve a map. I showed the officer the map and the accompanying pictures I had taken from Google Street View. “This is the exact stretch of road that we travelled along for nearly a kilometre. As you can see, the first stretch has a very narrow shoulder and a guard rail. Are you telling me that you would have stopped there? There is almost no shoulder here at all. The rail continues for almost half a kilometre because of the very steep drop. Are you telling me that if you had your sister and her baby daughter in the car, you would have stopped here, allowing your car to sit halfway on the road?”

Officer Patterson looked uneasy. He looked at his colleagues sitting on the spectator’s benches. He answered, “No, I wouldn’t have stopped there, and as an officer stopping there, it would be very dangerous. That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t stop after the guard ... ”

I interrupted him, “You answered my question Officer Patterson. I didn’t ask for you to play lawyer, that’s Mr. Anderson’s job isn’t it?”

I revelled in this moment. I was getting the same feeling I had when I was first stopped. While I wrote songs about being rebellious, I never acted out. Even as a teenager, I had very few instances of adolescent rebellion. Putting this officer in his place was filling me with energy, boldness, an invincibility almost.

Judge Richter barked, “Miss Grenier, this is not television. I will hold you in contempt for another remark like that. This is not the place to live out some teenage rebellion fantasy, young lady. Now, continue with your questioning.” He looked then at Officer Patterson, “Answer only her questions. No additional comments, Mr. Patterson.”

I continued my questioning, “Returning to your question, Officer Patterson. Why didn’t I stop after the guard rail? As you can see from these images, the shoulder is comprised entirely of gravel from this point on until the gas station where I did stop. While there isn’t a great deal of jurisprudence on the subject, I did manage to locate the police handbooks for a few other provincial police departments. Most police departments suggest that officers not force ‘nervous’ drivers to stop on gravel during pursuits because of the likelihood they will apply too much force to the brakes, causing the car to skid. Your police department suggests the same. Would you classify me as a nervous driver?”

The officer was glaring at me again. He could see the amusement in my eyes, and I had a feeling he knew where I was going. He answered, “Well, I don’t know. I guess.” He was looking at Mr. Anderson, but the prosecutor was frantically taking notes. He hadn’t touched his pen before this moment.

I nodded, “You would. Because that is exactly how you described me in your notebook, Officer Patterson. It says as follows: driver is adolescent female, her driving was erratic once pursuit began very nervous driver.”

“So I had turned onto the gravel once, likely got scared when I nearly skidded, so why would you expect any driver to try and stop on gravel after being scared like that? Especially when it says in your own manual, nervous drivers should be allowed to stop on asphalt surfaces when possible.”

Officer Patterson barked, “That handbook is just advisory, we don’t have to follow it. Those are the recommended procedures for normal situations.”

The officers in the benches shook their heads.

I played coy, “Oh, so this wasn’t a normal pursuit?” My voice raised in volume as I continued. Each word projected with my diaphragm made it seem like I had a microphone. I saw the officer flinch. “Was I a dangerous criminal, a drug runner maybe? Is that why you were in a hurry to stop me?”

Mr. Anderson stood, “Objection. Your honour, argumentative. The defense is harassing my witness.”

I said, “Withdrawn. No further questions. The Defence rests.” I intended to call no witnesses.

I watched Officer Patterson leave the witness box with a subtle smirk painted on my soft features. His massive shoulders were slumped. The officers in the courtroom were snickering. Their colleague had been schooled by a teenage girl.

Since I was self-represented, I could not call myself on the stand, so it was time for closing arguments. Mr. Anderson went first.

“Miss Grenier has admitted to lying. She tried to bring a motion to block a document that caught her in this lie. Her words cannot be believed. She heard the siren behind her and continued driving for a full kilometer. She does not have to force the pursuit to continue for a hundred miles. As it states in Officer Patterson’s notes, she admitted that she continued driving, knowing full well that the police officer behind her wanted her to stop. This amounts to wilful evasion.”

I stood and gave my closing arguments, “The Crown must prove that it was my intent to continue the pursuit. Yes, I continued driving, but, under the same circumstances, what would a reasonable person have done? When faced with the guard rail, would they have placed their car in such a way that it sat halfway onto a very busy highway? When nearly skidding off the road, would they have tried this again, especially with an infant in the car? My intent was to find a safe place to stop, not to evade the police. The evidence of this is that I stopped immediately once it was safe, away from the guard rail and away from gravel shoulder, where I had been unsuccessful in my initial attempt to stop.”
***

Judge Richter returned to read the verdict after only one hour. I had given him my case law. All of the cases involved bank robberies and cases where individuals had reasons other than safety to evade the police. Amélie held my hand. She could see that I was shaking. My mother put her hand on my shoulder gently, and I smiled at her nervously. She whispered, “You did very well, Darren.”

Judge Richter spoke, “This is a very unusual case, not in the details, but in the participants. I have had adolescents represent themselves in front of me before, but never have I had a young person argue a case so thoroughly and with few exceptions, such professionalism. I would be remiss in saying that Miss Grenier’s defence was perfect, but for someone her age, her attempt was exceptional.”

“Mr. Anderson’s last minute trickery with regard to the school registration form is unbecoming of a lawyer representing the interests of this province, especially knowing that the defendant was self-represented. Instead of using such a blatant blindsiding tactic, Mr. Anderson should have offered Miss Grenier the common courtesy of a phone call to ensure she had received the additional disclosure package.”

“As far as the charge of wilful evasion, Miss Grenier’s jurisprudence was the most convincing. In all honestly, the Crown’s case contained very little evidence to indicate that the defendant had any intention of evading the police. Miss Grenier’s reasons for continuing to drive the car are believable based on the circumstance and the road conditions. The images she provided of the guard rail and the gravel road surface helped to determine that it was not safe to stop, especially based on her failed attempt to stop on the gravel.”

“Unlike Officer Patterson, I believe that Miss Grenier did intend to stop when she turned onto the gravel. It is clear that Officer Patterson dislikes the defendant, and that his responses may have been coloured by that. I decided to give less weight to his testimony for this reason, as he was the opposite of a disinterested witness. His classification of the defendant as a nervous driver, but his expectation that she would be able to safely stop on the gravel is a serious inconsistency in the Crown’s case, especially given the fact that Miss Grenier is fifteen years old and would likely have very little driving experience. Expecting her, with the stress of the police sirens, the speed she was travelling, to stop safely anywhere else but the gas station is unreasonable.”

“Therefore, on the charge of wilful evasion of a police officer, I find the defendant not guilty.”

My mother cheered loudly, but my father shushed her immediately. I looked to Amélie, and she was beaming. I felt relief pour over me, like a man dying from thirst drenched with an ocean.

Judge Richter cleared his throat, “However, as this court is different in some respects to an adult court, I have some flexibility with regard to punishment. I feel that a lesson must be learned. In many respects, Miss Grenier is an extraordinary young woman with a bright future in law. However, her penchant for adolescent rebellion is a cause for concern. Her conversation with Officer Patterson, and some of her actions in this courtroom show me that while she is highly intelligent, she lacks self-control, as might be expected for someone her age.”

“This is a slippery slope for adolescents. Her disrespect for the law by initially lying to Officer Patterson, and the flaunting of it by speeding and driving without a licence cannot go unpunished. I am sentencing Miss Grenier to a year of timed-supervision. This essentially means that during school hours, she will be in school. She is also not to leave the house past nine pm. While I suspect that Miss Grenier is already an exemplary student, as part of this she must also report to the School Resource Officer on a regular basis. This is similar to probation, but it is all done in the context of her high school. By doing this, I hope to curb her unruly behaviour.”

He addressed Amélie, “I hope that you see what sort of consequences can arise from allowing an unlicensed driver to drive your car. As the guardian of a teenage girl, I hope you will set a more appropriate example for your charge from this point on. The School Resource Officer will monitor this as part of the timed-supervision. If you are lax in your duties Miss Grenier, there could be severe consequences.”

“Court dismissed.”

Chapter 41

“Miss Grenier, that was extremely impressive. We will be very happy to have you at St. Jo’s come September. I hope there are no hard feelings either, you understand that I was asked to come as a witness? It was not my choice to be here.” My would-be principal extended his hand, and I took it, shaking it as firmly as I could.

Mr. St-Valentin smiled, “This is not usually how I want to meet new students to our area.”

I nodded. I can’t imagine how I must have looked. I had won, but I now had the curfew of a fifth grader. Not that I wanted to stay out during all hours of the night, but it was nice to have the option.

The principal said, “Our School Resource Officer is very nice. I think you will like her, Abigail.”

I nodded again. I was not feeling talkative, especially with someone who I hoped never to see again. My mind, even though it had just been put through a legal gauntlet, was already imagining ways to appeal my probation, or the supervised time as Judge Richter had called it. As if sensing that I was not in the mood for conversation, the principal’s excited tone faded to a polite monotone.

“You can pick your uniform up the week of August twenty-fifth.” The smile returned to his face. “I will be there that week too, if you and your sister want to see the campus. It’s really going to be an exciting year at St. Jo’s.”

He was clearly passionate about his job and his position. I wondered if I was ever that overzealous with my students. Now that I was on the other side, I found the man aggravating because I wanted nothing to do with his school. Ironically, I was like a typical teenager in that respect.

Amélie frowned and said, “Sorry Mr. St-Valentin, Abigail is just kind of moody. She didn’t get the result she was expecting. Thank you for the information.”

***

“Did you have to be so nice to him Amélie? Why even bother humouring him? I’m never going to go to that school anyway. Once I pass the interview with you and Stephanie, I will be able to work at the firm full-time.” We were driving home. My parents had taken their car. We were going to meet at home for a ‘victory’ supper of Chinese food.

Amélie replied, “What if you don’t pass the interview? What then? So you are rude to your future principal, and you get on his bad side. You have to go to that school, and you’ve already made a bad first impression. You have to think about that. It could happen, Darren. You always claim to be forward thinking, well show it.”

I narrowed my eyes at Amélie and said pointedly, “I-will-never-attend-there. No question, no argument. My dad was right about university, they don’t accept GEDs from anyone but mature students, so 25 and older. But I can still take an advanced placement at a community college in town. I can do the paralegal program and be finished in less than two years.”

Amélie shook her head, “I’m not so sure you can, Darren. On the timed-supervision order, it says that you must be supervised from nine am to three-thirty pm. On some days, you might have only one class, and then you’d have nothing to do the rest of the day. Even staying at the college, there are no teachers to supervise you. I don’t know that Judge Richter would agree with that.”

I said, “I don’t need supervision, Amélie. Now let’s just drop this.” It was clear that I did, if I failed to be legally emancipated, but I was not accepting that outcome.

I asked, “When is your interview scheduled with the court official?”

Amélie responded, “First week of August.”

“And do you know what you are going to say?”

Amélie frowned, “I am assuming you want me to say nothing about what happened here today. The order was signed in Ontario, but the judge knows you are from Quebec, Darren. I know that Quebec and Ontario don’t have a history of getting along exactly, but they might share that information with the Quebec lawyers, who in turn will speak to the officials. They will definitely share it with the school you are supposed to be attending. The court officials who interview Stephanie may question her on it. You would be better off coming clean with Stephanie about everything.”

I shook my head rapidly, “No, absolutely not, not when I am this close to being free. Even if Stephanie finds out about it afterward, I will already have the emancipation papers. I don’t have to work there. The fact that I am emancipated would nullify Judge Richter’s order, and I could go to community college, or work in a different firm altogether.”

Amélie sighed heavily, “That is so risky, Darren. Imagine today if you’d come clean, if you’d brought the school registration document. Maybe you wouldn’t have been saddled with that timed supervision order. You had that case from the moment you stepped in the court room. Even a hard ass like Richter could see that Anderson didn’t have a case. That cop wanted to kill you up there. I could see it in his eyes.

“You are digging yourself in deeper and deeper, and you can’t even see it. I’m scared for you, Darren. I’m scared because you can’t see what is happening to your mind. How this is changing you. The Darren Lawrence I know would tell Stephanie the truth, before she finds it out from someone else. He wouldn’t gamble with his future.”

I shook my head, “Yeah, and the Darren Lawrence you know lets people kick shit all over him if it means one more chance for another dead-end opportunity. And isn’t he the same guy who smiles and works hard and gets no reward, while some lucky piece of deadwood just bobs up and down in a public service paradise? I’m sick of it, Amélie. That way of thinking has gotten me nothing.”

Amélie said quietly, “Me.”

I asked loudly, “What?”

Amélie frowned and spoke up, “It got you me. I fell in love with that Darren Lawrence. The one that isn’t a cynical asshole who is pissed off at the world. You used to accept help and advice. You were optimistic without being completely irrational. What you are proposing is completely irrational. Why take an unnecessary chance when the stakes are so high, Darren? Yes, you are close, but I can tell you that Stephanie is not going to speak highly of you to that court official if she finds out you were keeping this secret from her. Tell her now while you still have a chance. It is the mature, adult thing to do.”

I stayed quiet for the rest of the trip home, my arms folded under my chest, and my lip set in a pout. Amélie didn’t make a sound, but I saw a few tears streaming gently down her cheek.

***

It was lunch time on Friday, and Ethan was a veritable bundle of energy. If he had been in an enclosed space, I was certain he would be bouncing off the walls. The next day, he was trying out for the band.

“So, how come you got involved with these guys? You are half the age of this Andrew guy. I mean, it’s not weird or anything. Just different.”

I frowned and shook my head, “Hey, you are holding back. It is weird. Admit it.”

Ethan tilted his head to the side causing his bangs to reveal his eyes. Now they were tipped orange and green. I tried not to stare into his eyes, but it was hard, because then it meant my eyes would go elsewhere- on his body. It would have been clear to anyone watching us that my crush still existed, even if in a more dormant state. I pictured Amélie in one of her past Halloween costumes. It was a dark angel costume, but like many costumes made for women it was very slutty and showed a sea of cleavage. It worked, as it had before.

Normally, such thoughts would make me hard, but since I didn’t have the proper equipment, I felt a little tingle. I was slightly worried that the tingle had been far more pronounced before, but I had a lot on my mind. Between my upcoming emancipation interviews, the band, and my court ordered curfew, my mind had not been on anything of a sexual nature. Not to mention that Amélie and I didn’t even snuggle anymore when we watched television.

Ethan smirked, “OK, so yeah it is a little weird. So are you going to answer my question?”

I nodded, “Andrew is a friend of my sister’s. His wife is my sister’s best friend. The other guy, Steven, is someone we found on Bandmix a little over a year ago. It started with Andrew and me jamming on some songs, and it just progressed from there.”

Ethan was pensive, the smirk replaced by the most serious face I had ever seen him wear. He was usually half smiling most of the time, now he was deadly serious. “Do you really think they are going to want another kid in the band? I mean I understand you because you know Andrew through your sister. It’s just- well it’ll be weird.”

I shook my head, “The guys are great. They can be immature. Sometimes we jam on ridiculous stuff just for fun. They both have good senses of humour. If you act like you do around me, you’ll do fine. They talk about all the same stuff we do, music and sports.”

Ethan’s expression changed quickly. Now he was wearing a goofy grin. “Abigail, you aren’t like any of the other girls I know. You are like a guy. You don’t care about makeup or crappy dance music, or anything stupid like that. You like cool stuff. I’ve talked to other girls before, and I have a hard time, with you it’s easy.”

I appreciated his words. It meant that I wasn’t acting like a typical teenage girl, and that was perfectly fine with me. I would be lying if I hadn’t thought for an instant about joining the gossip girls next to the skate park. I had the odd thought in my head about what those girls, with their tanned skin and short skirts, thought of me, but it passed, quickly forgotten. According to Ethan, the other teens thought I was a massive geek for dressing like I did. This was one of the main reasons I did not want to attend high school again, because even the girls, who were the most mature, were still mostly puerile children.

I nodded, “Yeah man. We can talk, it’s cool. So did you listen to all those tracks I sent you? We won’t expect you to know it all, of course, just a few songs would be good.”

He nodded excitedly, “I got them all. I know your parts. All the lead ones, and the ones you asked me to learn the rhythm. The ones that aren’t drop D, right?”

I blinked. I knew that my guitar parts weren’t complicated, but for him to have learned them so quickly was amazing. I thought about calling him on his potential bullshit, but I was interrupted by a saccharine voice.

“Ethan honey, Ethan!” A young looking woman was walking toward us. She had on a tight skirt, not pencil thin or a micro-mini, but it showed her tanned legs in a way that would have made it very inappropriate for an office setting. To me, she looked like the living incarnation of a Barbie doll, long platinum blonde hair and thin pose-able arms. As she approached, I realized that it must be Ethan’s mother, or his much older sister.

How did I know this? Her lips had collagen injections, and as she got even closer, her cheeks looked permanently pinched, indicating some form of plastic surgery. Her brow was puffy, but it wasn’t fat; it was the tell-tale sign of a recent Botox treatment. Nothing like injecting poison into your face. She looked like one of the Real Housewives mixed with an ugly helping of Jersey Shore. And how did I know this? Unfortunately, Amélie enjoyed the antics of the cast of Jersey Shore, so because of that, I knew of their orange skin, as well as their brutish and utterly insipid existence.

“Ethan honey, did you forget about your doctor’s appointment? I’ve been texting you.” She saw me, and her bee-stung lips formed a wide smile, “Is this the one you’ve been talking about so much Ethan honey, the girl with the band?”

Ethan looked horrified. His mother, clearly someone who enjoyed the sun, or at least tanning beds, was still smiling, but she was looking to Ethan for a response.
“Mom, can we just go? Um, see you later Abigail. I’ll see you tomorrow at your place, right? You guys practice out of there.”

Ethan’s mother frowned, her lips looking like two plump sausages as she moved them together, “Ethan, don’t be rude. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

I wanted to laugh because if it were possible, Ethan would have died of embarrassment at that point. My parents had been embarrassing at times when I was a teenager. My mother answering the door in her rubber gloves, and my dad driving in slippers, but that was nothing compared to Ethan’s mother.

“Mom- this is Abigail. Can we please just go now?”

I cleared my throat, “Um. Nice to meet you ma’am.”

She smiled, “And so polite. Please call me Candice. Why haven’t you brought her to the house? I’m sure your father would like to meet this girl you talk about all the time.”

I couldn’t tell if the woman was doing this on purpose, as some horrible punishment for something her son had done to her. Maybe, he gave her permanent stretch marks, or she never lost the five pounds she desperately wanted to lose. I couldn’t tell, either that or she was completely oblivious, and maybe a little stupid. If Ethan could have crawled under the pavement, he would have done it.

I decided to relieve Ethan’s suffering, “Well I better get back to work. Nice to meet you, uh Candice.” Ethan’s eyes screamed his thanks as he looked back at me, quickly retreating with his mother toward her BMW. I smirked back at him. I was going to have fun with this.

Wait, he talked about me? All the time?

***

Saturday came quickly. Amélie was spending the day at her sister’s, so I was pleased at least that I didn’t have to introduce her to Ethan. I wasn’t sure how I would explain our friendship. I guess I could have gone from the angle that we were having trouble finding anyone and the band was falling apart, but Amélie was shrewd. She would see the magnetism pulling us together. I was still of the mind that the attraction between us would diminish, becoming merely faint tugs here and there. Today would be an excellent test of my resolve. I was thankful at least that Andrew and Steven would be in the room.

The one thing I failed to mention to Ethan was that Andrew was usually half an hour late. I always planned for this, knowing that I had extra time to warm up, but Ethan was right on time. In fact, he was early, so he actually waited across the street, pretending to look at his phone while he waited for one o’clock to strike. I peeked through the curtains at him. I thought it was kind of cute.

The door bell rung, and I realized I was still thinking how cute it was that he waited exactly for one PM. It was an alien thought, or at least it should have been. I was beginning to have grave second thoughts about this, but I was tired of my band's failing. I needed to be a man, and stop thinking about a boy.

Bands are much like relationships. To function everyone needs to be on the same page, and like a relationship, a great deal of time, effort and sacrifice goes into them. I kept telling myself that I could get through this as I opened the door for him. I was going to stomp all over these feelings.

Ethan said, “Hey.” and gave me the up and down. He had never seen me dressed like this, so I allowed him the look for that reason alone. During our lunch hours together, if I caught him staring at my boobs I would reprimand him with a punch to the arm and a quick “Eyes up here.”

Unlike my formal business attire, I had on my band clothing. It was far too hot to play with my green hoodie on, so I wore that same Disturbed t-shirt I had borrowed from Amélie when I went to the dance class. I had kind of stolen all of her band t-shirts. It showed off my soft arms and was tight across my chest. I wore ripped jeans. I really should have worn shorts but I didn’t really want Andrew and Steven seeing my bare legs, and especially not Ethan. I wore my hair down completely. Since I was playing everything drop D, I didn’t really need to see my guitar. My bangs fully covered my eyes. I brushed them away and replied:

“Hey.”

He was staring. He had his guitar case and all-in one guitar tone pedal. “Um, you look different.”

“Yeah, a change of clothes will do that.”

He smirked, “You are as sarcastic as me, Abigail. So where’s this jam room you’ve been telling me about?”

I nodded and took him down to the practice room. It had been the previous owner’s entertainment room, but now it was music central. We entered the French double doors, which acted as a very poor sound barrier, but I kept them because Amélie and I were the opposite of handy. We once assembled an Ikea cabinet incorrectly, and those pieces were like Lego. Anyone was supposed to be able to do it. We put the top on upside down, and then had to remove fifty tiny nails to fix our mistake.

Ethan’s eyes widened, “Woah. This place is sick. Are those from concerts your dad went to when he was our age?” He was indicating the concert posters on the wall. I had the famous Beatles Shea Stadium poster, the iconic black and white Sonic Youth poster that touted Nirvana, the opening act, as a new and up and coming band. Within a year of that show, Nirvana was playing stadiums and Sonic Youth, who are a great band in their own right, were still playing packed amphitheatres and dingy clubs.

I blinked, “How old do you think my dad is?”

Ethan made a weird face. He is eyes went one way and his mouth another. It was kind of- He replied, thankfully breaking my train of thought, “I don’t know. What am I? A math wizard? Like forty something?”

I shook my head, “Never mind. Anyway, I need to warm up in the other room. You can use Andrew’s amp in the corner there. You should be able to dial in a nice tone with your pedal.”

I was hoping that he would soon fill the house with a screeching guitar because my warm up was not something I wanted Ethan to hear. I hated having these feelings, but they were there. I felt embarrassed to remove an imaginary hat during the Alma exercise, and even more so, I cringed at the thought of him seeing me scrunch my nose and scream with bug eyes during the Nyat exercise. Throughout the warm up, I either sounded like an idiot or looked like a deranged mental patient. Probably, both. It was unflattering to say the least.

Halfway through the warm up, I realized that I was allowing my feelings to dominate my actions. I needed to march in there and warm up in front of him. I knew that if I didn’t, then it would be tantamount to admitting I still liked him. I opened the French doors and saw Steven and Andrew looking confused. Andrew was actually early and with my headphones on, I guess I didn’t hear them.

I smiled nervously, “Hey guys. You’re early. I haven’t finished warming up.”

I pointed to Ethan, who was tuning a magnificent looking guitar. It looked like a real Fender Strat with a sunburst body. It was similar to the guitar I had played in my initial dream, but it was smaller. It was such a popular model that I thought nothing of it. “This is Ethan.”

He looked up for a second and nodded before turning back to his guitar. I could see he was thrilled to be here. As I approached him at the door earlier, I thought he was going to burst through it in an attempt to get to the band room, but now, he was trying to act more subdued. My overly excited puppy analogy fit him perfectly, but I hoped he wouldn’t piss on the floor.

Steven and Andrew both offered a quick hello before adopting their usual spots in the room. I noticed that Ethan had set up his gear beside me. He would have known where I stood from the pink guitar sitting next to the mic stand set for a veritable shrimp, but it was the natural place to go, so again, I thought nothing of it.

I put my warm up exercise on the main speakers, and as Steven, Andrew and I sung, I saw Ethan desperately trying not to laugh or crack a joke. He continued to fiddle with his guitar pedal and the amp in the corner.

When we finished, Ethan asked me with amusement in his eyes, “Hey Abigail, how come you did the guy warm up exercise? The teacher, she said that those ones weren’t for girls.”

I had been doing the same warm up CD for nearly five years, so I had thought nothing of it. The instructor did mention that all the falsetto exercises could be skipped, since girls didn’t sing in their falsetto. I shrugged my shoulders, “Uh, force of habit I guess. Been doing this one for five years.”

Ethan laughed, and I noted how different his behaviour was around me, versus how he acted when he addressed Steven and Andrew. It didn’t help that Steven was giving him dirty looks now and then. Steven was the youngest of the original members, only in his mid-twenties, but he was playing Ethan in a very passive aggressive way, offering helpful advice for guitar tone thinly disguised as insults. I wasn’t sure if Ethan understood, but if he did, I doubted that he wanted his guitar to sound like a chicken-pickin’ banjo.

“You were screaming like that when you were ten or eleven? That’s sick man.” The CD was really meant to warm up your voice for scream singing, but it had conventional singing exercises too.

“Yeah, I guess I was.” Stupid. I had forgotten how old I was supposed to be. I could just imagine a ten-year old Abigail scrunching up her face, raising her eyebrows and shouting at the top of her lungs.

A minute later, we began, and Ethan knew the opening song. Again, it wasn’t difficult, but it wasn’t that easy to make out the notes in the recording we had made. The kid had a really good ear. He was doing all my parts, even the feedback that took us into the bridge. It was like all he did when he was at home was play our songs. As we moved into the second and to the third song, a ballad, Steven, Andrew and I had traded a few shocked but happy looks. The kid was good, very good. When he told me that he learned my parts, it was not bullshit.

If anything, the fact that I could focus more on my voice, especially during the verses where I usually wasn’t playing guitar, gave me the opportunity to experiment. By the fourth song, I was singing harmony with Andrew because I no longer had to try and position my fingers or think about cutting my nails at the end of the song. Since all I had to do was use one finger up and down the frets and strum, it was stupidly easy. It didn’t bother me though, because the band sounded amazing.

We took a water break halfway through the set, and the discussion turned to the hockey playoffs. They were finished, but we discussed it year round. Call us fanatics, but compared to baseball or Canadian football, hockey is the ultimate sport, grace, speed and toughness. Football is tough, but it isn't nearly as fast. No football player could run at 40 km/h. Yes, hockey players can skate that fast.

Steven said, “I can’t believe the Bruins won the Cup AGAIN. They cheated their way to it, just like they did against the Canucks.”

I nodded, “Yeah they are a bunch of knuckle-dragging Neanderthal bullies. They skate around like all they want to do is pick fights all the time. I can’t stand them.” I looked at Andrew, “If your stupid Leafs had beaten them in Game 7 and not blown a 4-1 lead in the 3rd, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

I laughed, “I mean who likes the Bruins? They are the dirtiest team in the league.” Andrew and Steven nodded in agreement.

Ethan had been very quiet up to this point. I thought he was too nervous. He had done very well, exceptionally well actually. No player who had come to audition before was as prepared as he was.

Ethan squeaked as quiet as a mouse in a house full of cats, “I like them.”

Steven shook his head, “Same thing with every kid who wears a Penguins hat when they won. You are a band wagoner kid. You probably liked the Kings last year.”

Andrew and I exchanged worried looks. Even though the songs were sounding better, because there wasn’t a guitar mistake every two seconds, Steven looked like he wanted to pick a fight.

Ethan shook his head. I could see the confidence pouring into him. “No way, man. I’ve always liked them.”

I was a little more than surprised. My team, the Canadiens had a heated rivalry with the Bruins. Ethan had never mentioned his preference for the Bruins when we talked hockey before. I planned to call him on it later. We needed to stop playing this game where we would let our feelings surface just enough to adjust our behaviour to avoid embarrassing or uncomfortable moments. It was something you did on a first date. We couldn’t be friends truly, until that happened.

Ethan continued, “I’ve watched the games with my dad for as long as I can remember. Haters on the Bruins,” he smirked, “they are jealous. We’ve got the toughest team in the league, and we just won the Cup, so haters gonna hate, right?”

Steven said, “It’s a fix. They won because one of their players is the son of the commissioner.”

Even I thought this was a ridiculous argument, and as much as I hated the Bruins for their dirty play, Steven’s argument was standing on stilts amidst a sea of beavers.

Ethan laughed, “You call me a kid? That’s an argument Canucks fans use to make themselves feel better. Maybe if the Canucks hadn’t been so soft, they would have won.”

Ethan was treading on dangerous ground. There is a difference between ragging on opposing fans and pushing their face in manure.

I decided to break up the burgeoning argument before it became heated, “Hey guys, let’s get back at it. Still six more to go.” I saw Steven shoot a dirty look at Ethan, but the teen had an impenetrable confidence about him. He just laughed it off.

We continued the set, and with each song Ethan gained more and more confidence. He was improvising more, and in some places, I thought he was doing too much. It sounded busy, like the music was all moving at the same time, but there was too much of it to be really pleasing to the ear. It forced me to stop playing guitar altogether in some parts, which I disliked immensely. Without my guitar, I was like every other girl with a microphone. I didn’t really see myself as a girl, but I figured that is how others saw me. I needed that guitar because it was a link to my previous life. At least, that is what I told myself.

Near the end of the set, I realized that Ethan was a fantastic guitar player, but with that comes confidence, and sometimes a cock-sure attitude. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to show Steven up, but the songs had become progressively faster to the point where I felt less like a singer and more like a rapper, spitting out words at a frenetic pace. I stopped the eighth song when neither Andrew nor I could keep up.

I said, “OK guys.” I looked at Ethan and then Steven, “When you are finished playing with yourselves, maybe we could play the song in the right tempo.” Ethan laughed and even Steven cracked a smile. I meant of course that it was like they were playing two or three completely different songs, the others had clearly taken it to mean something dirty. I guess it was funny coming from someone who at least looked like a teenage girl.

Musicians can be competitive. The ones that cannot play sports or excel in other pursuits can use their musical talents to belittle others. That is what had happened with Ethan and Steven.

We finished the set with Ethan playing less the role of the guitar virtuoso and more the guy who was still trying to be in the band. He played our songs, adding little bits here and there to improve without overshadowing them.

As Ethan was packing up his gear, Andrew said, “Nice jam.”

Ethan nodded, “Yeah man. I love your riffs. Really catchy.” Andrew smiled and nodded.

I walked Ethan to the door. I said, “I’ll see you Monday. Great jam.”

In response, Ethan wore a big goofy grin, “Thanks Abigail. It was a good one. I probably made a lot of mistakes, but I’m still learning the songs. I know I will get better if you guys give me a chance. I love the music. Your voice was amazing. Better than I’ve ever heard it.”

I shuddered with the compliment, almost like a pleasant wind had passed through my entire body in an instant, circumventing my bones and electrifying my nerves. I looked down at the floor, “Um, thanks.” I was glad my band mates had not seen my display.

“Yeah man. For sure. One thing though, you mind if I call you Abby? It just feels more natural, you know? When I use your full name, it’s just kind of weird and fancy. I’m being stupid.” He laughed nervously.

I smirked, “Sorry, fans of the Bruins have to call me Abigail. It’s a rule.”

He laughed and then left with a quick wave. I returned to the jam room to discuss Ethan’s future with the band.

***

When I entered, Steven and Andrew were arguing.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Two teenagers in a band with grown men, it just looks weird. I had a hard enough time explaining to my friends why Darren is in the band.”

Andrew replied to Steven, “I agree that it’s a little odd, but maybe being different like that will give us an edge. If you think about it, our demographic will be a lot wider because of it. I’m sure Ethan has friends that he’d bring, so right there we have a whole new generation listening to us.”

I nodded, “It happened in a previous band I was in. Our guitar player was nineteen, and he used to bring tons of people to our shows. We are talking way more exposure with him in the band.” I narrowed my eyes at Steven, “And what do you mean two teenagers? There’s only one teenager in the band if Ethan joins.”

Steven shrugged his shoulders, “My friends don’t know you are really a grown man, Darren. I am sure you appreciate that I don’t tell them. I know it was hard enough for me to believe. I mean I did believe you, but to come to the realization that it was you in there. It took more than just you singing one of our songs. To my friends, they just see a girl who sings in my band. I mean they are really impressed. My musician friends think you have great tone for your age.”

I shook my head, “I don’t really want them to see me like that.”

Andrew added, “Yeah, but you don’t want to tell the world who you really are. I mean, sure we’d get lots of press, but you’d have the media hounding you day and night. So it’s better they see you that way.”

I frowned, “Can we just talk about Ethan being in the band or not? Please?”

Andrew nodded, “Kid’s really good. The solo he did with the flanger and all the bends. Well no offence Darren, but he is a natural lead player.”

I nodded and smiled, “None taken. When we first started this band, I said I am a straight rhythm player. I got better at solos only because some of the songs really needed them. It doesn’t bother me that he’s better than me. It’s great in fact because crafting an excellent solo is an art form. Anyone can put notes together, but he tells a real story with them.”

Steven nodded begrudgingly, “Yeah, but he’s still a kid. Are we sure he’s going to be committed to us? And what about bars? Is he going to be able to play in them? The Gob was great because the owner is in love with Darren or something, but other owners aren’t going to be like that.”

I replied, “You think having Ethan in the band is going to hurt our chances to play in bars? Well what about me?”

Steven shrugged, “Man, looking like you do, some of the owners will just turn the other way because there’s going to be a hot rock chick in their bar singing. But Ethan, I mean yeah he’s good, but we could find someone better. Bar owners aren’t going to be as cool with him. We can only do all ages shows, and bars hate those. No one buys anything. So we are really limiting the shows. We’d have to play with a bunch of other bands with high school kids.”

Andrew said, “Maybe we would find someone better, but I don’t know if we’d find someone as committed. The kid learned nearly all of our songs, and sure they weren’t perfect, but it was our first jam. I say we give him another shot.”

Steven mulled Andrew’s words and then replied, “Yeah that was good actually. No one who came before him had done that much preparation. OK I admit it was impressive, but how do we deal with the fact that we are cutting the number of shows we can do in half, maybe more?”

I said, “You run the same risk with me in the band. Look, we aren’t going to be able to play any out of town shows anyway. I told you about my curfew. I am appealing it. So I say we play some local shows, one a month and really focus on our net presence. Who cares what we look like or how old we are? Let’s get the music out there. We want to record, and now we have the chance. And we can still play shows. We can go to the Gob again, and play every all ages show we can.”

Andrew frowned, “How did you think mouthing off to a cop would be a good idea, Darren? The way I see it, you are lucky you aren’t in juvie. How are you going to play even a local show and be home by nine pm?”

I shook my head, “I destroyed that cop in court. They had no case, other than the speeding and driving without a licence. And I will ask the judge if my curfew can be extended with adult supervision. He will probably only agree if it is Amélie.”

Steven said, “I guess you’ve got a point, Darren. I am still not in love with this idea, but I am willing to have him come back again.”

I nodded, “I think it’s fair. I think too that I will ask him to bring some original stuff and see how it matches up with our styles.”

We were in agreement that Ethan could come back. I was pleased that the band seemed to be getting back on track, but was I pleased for another reason? My earlier shudder at Ethan’s compliment told me clearly that the feelings still existed. Would a late night writing session become something else? Would an accidental touch as we are moving equipment ignite us? As much as I felt I was helping the band by bringing Ethan on board, I also felt like I was crawling into the lion’s mouth at the same time, potentially being swallowed by unbridled teenage lust.

Chapter 42

“So how’s it going with your boyfriend, Abby?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Chantal. We just hang out and talk.”

Chantal gave me a knowing grin, “Okay, so you hang out every day. And you never do anything else? You never want to do anything else?”

Chantal knew how to push my buttons. I was quickly growing flustered. I could feel my cheeks reddening. “No, we are just friends. That’s it.”

Chantal walked over to my work station, towering over my diminutive form in her stilettos. She put one hand on her hip. “Really Abby? You don’t want him to kiss you? It’s perfectly normal if you do.”

I shook my head vehemently, but the image of Ethan kissing my soft lips entered my mind with relative ease. My mind then went to work fashioning a scenario where it could happen. After band practice with Andrew and Steven both gone, and Ethan and I all alone? As the sequence developed, I realized that if Ethan joined the band, that scenario could play out for real. During our lunch time meetings we were alone, but we still had prying eyes. We'd be alone in the band room.

I replied to Chantal, “Normal? Maybe for you. But then I don’t spread my legs for every guy that smiles at me.” Despite my scathing retort, the fantasy refused to leave my mind.

In the scenario, Ethan approaches me from behind. I still have my guitar slung over my shoulder. He gently brushes the hair from my face. There is no sign of the goofy grin or even that lopsided smirk he wears at times. He cups my cheek in his hand and then moves in, closing his eyes, while I stand there like a marble statue. As soon as his lips touch mine, I awake, the stone becomes flesh and reacts. I am kissing him back.

My eyes widened as my day dream melted away. My boobs felt weird. I got up from my desk and quickly went to the washroom. Chantal laughed as I fled. I knew what she was doing. She was trying to get me to fall for Ethan, so I could become like she had been in high school, boy-crazed. If I was like that, she probably figured I would do my job as poorly as her. I locked myself in a stall and unbuttoned my blouse. Just above my boobs the skin was flushed, and my nipples were pressing hard against my bra. I had felt a tingling there before, but it was nothing like this.

When I returned a few minutes later, Chantal was gone. Stephanie stepped out of her office and frowned, “Abigail, have you seen Chantal? I need that Affidavit she was preparing.”

“I don’t know where she is, but I’ll help you look for it.” Stephanie went to the logical place, which was the official file. I went to the place I figured Chantal would have left it- her pigsty of a desk. I was amazed that Stephanie hadn’t fired Chantal yet, but since I fixed her mistakes, Stephanie and Anthony likely had no idea how incompetent their law clerk really was.

As I ruffled through stacks of papers, I spotted the Affidavit. Stephanie was still looking through the official file. I noticed an obvious spelling mistake. The name of the client who had signed the sworn statement was misspelled throughout the document. It was, in fact, spelled three different ways.

“Here it is.” I handed it to Stephanie, and it took her only a moment to see what I had seen. I saw her soft face harden into a severe frown. Her eyes flashed with anger. I could see Chantal now and so could Stephanie. Because of the open concept of the office and the many windows, we could see Chantal talking on her cell phone outside. She was pacing back and forth. I hid my smile as Stephanie left and made a beeline for Chantal.

I realized that I could have kept the document hidden amongst the unpaid bills and Cosmo magazines until I had the chance to fix the mistakes. To me, it was not really a matter of maturity or immaturity that governed my actions. Yes, I was tired of Chantal treating me like a child, but more importantly, for the firm to succeed in the long term, it was necessary that Chantal either improve her work habits drastically, or be fired. I was hoping for the latter of course. My own work was beginning to suffer because of her daily mistakes. Most of them could have been rectified with a brief proof-read.

The verbal assault that Stephanie had launched on Chantal continued back in the office.

“This is one of our biggest clients, and this is how you prepare the documentation for them? Do you realize that the sworn statement would be completely useless in court with not one, not two, but three different spellings of his name?

“You need to shape up, Chantal. Anthony and I don’t have time for this, and Abigail is very busy with her own workload. If I find anything like this again, I am going to have to let you go. I need to feel I can trust your work, Chantal. You have made little mistakes since we hired you in April, but this is a grievous error and one so easy to fix. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Chantal hung her head and nodded sullenly.

Stephanie said, “And is there a reason why this Affidavit was on your desk instead of the official file? We have had this discussion before, Chantal. If Abigail hadn’t found it, and you had left for the day, what would we have done exactly? How would I have reviewed the file? Answer me.”

Chantal’s expression went from sullen to rage in a matter of seconds. I could see her jaw set firmly, clenching and grinding down on her teeth. The rage quickly ebbed as Stephanie’s glower continued, “Well?”

“I am very sorry, Mrs. Locke. I will check my work very carefully next time. I will put the files in the right place. It won’t happen again.”

Stephanie nodded, “You know what will happen if it does.”

I had a golden opportunity to rid myself of Chantal, but the mature thing to do would be to work out our differences. I had tried to explain to her the importance of completing the work correctly, but she saw me as a kid, and she rarely took my advice. A part of me wanted to get her fired, but I had a feeling that was the same part of me that fantasized about kissing Ethan.

Stephanie went into her office, and Chantal immediately stomped toward my desk.

“Did you give that document to Stephanie knowing that it had errors in it?”

I frowned, “Yes, but she was asking for it. I couldn’t lie to her.”

Chantal shook her head. Her gaze bore into me. I was surprised by the intensity. “I’ll get you for that.”

I threw my hands up in defence, “Hey, look, you just you need to proof-read your work. The firm is really busy these days, and I don’t have the time to spend hours proof-reading your stuff. I don’t want to see you fired either because I think this is a good opportunity for you to show that you can be really good at your job. Without me. You know once I get my emancipation, I will be going to court with Stephanie and Anthony. You’ll be here alone.” I was trying to be the mature one.

I had tried to motivate her, but it had the opposite effect. Her stare never wavered, “I’m not taking advice from some kid.”

I added petulantly, “Then you’ll be fired. Don’t think I will give you a reference either.”

Chantal narrowed her eyes and put her face an inch from mine, “Not if I get you fired first.”

I smirked. It was the type of expression that told her I held all the cards. “Unlike you, I do my work correctly and finish on time. I’ve been carrying you for months, Chantal. Is this really how you want to play this? Because you’ll lose. I do exemplary work. You don’t.”

Chantal removed herself from my personal space and slowly walked back to her desk. Before she sat down she said, “I ruined girls like you in high school, Abby. You don’t want to see what I can do.”

I titled my head to the side and placed my hand underneath my chin, “Oh no, please don’t wreck my cheerleader audition.” I smiled cunningly. “Instead of crafting some juvenile revenge, why not actually do your work? Speaking of which, I need to get back to mine.”

Throughout the rest of the day, Chantal shot dirty looks in my general direction. I just smiled smugly when I caught her. This was going to be stupidly easy. All I had to do was complete my work and stop doing Chantal’s, and she would be fired. I realized that I was tapping into my own juvenile side with these thoughts, but I had tried to help her and she refused. I would let her twist in the wind, hoist on her own petard.

***

The next day, Ethan was late. I was sitting eating my lunch alone for the first time in weeks. I saw a group of girls who usually sat at the table next to the skate park coming my way. There were three of them, and they all looked to be my body’s age, give or take a year. All three of them were dressed in short shorts and tank tops had tanned skin and wore too much makeup.

They walked right up to my table. The tallest of the group, a leggy raven haired girl, spoke to me in French, (So you think you are better than us? )

I laughed right in the young woman’s face. My laugh was musical, but also obnoxious. I closed my eyes and shook my head, answering her in English, “Are you serious? This is a joke, right?”

The girl looked confused. The other two exchanged puzzled looks. Obviously, this was not the reaction they expected.

I smiled haughtily, “Look, let me guess, some lady came and told you this right? She said that I was all self-important and that just because I had this high-paying job that I thought I was better than you. Does that pretty much sum it up?”

The girl responded to me in heavily-accented, but passable English, “Yes, how do you know this? She came yesterday.”

I nodded. I was above these girls, but I didn’t need to express it- my eyes said it all. While they would have to return to school in the fall, forced to abide by school rules and their teacher’s instructions. I would be working as a paralegal.

“She’s making trouble for me because she’s worried she is going to be fired. She’s just using you to get back as me.”

The raven haired girl looked at me with narrowed eyes, “I think you do think you are better than us.”

I replied, “Why do you care so much, kid? Maybe if you did something with your time other than ogling boys and gossiping all day, you’d feel better about yourself.”

The raven haired girl stepped closer to me and uttered, (Connasse! Pute, what’s your name? )

I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I had a feeling she had called me a bitch. The French people I knew swore in English, so I was a little lost regarding the translation.

I replied calmly, “Abigail.”

She put her hand on the table and stood over me, trying to look menacing. I knew that she was taller than me, but then everyone was taller than me. ( What school do you go to? )

I smiled contemptuously, again answering in English, “I don’t. I work here.” I pointed to the law firm.

She replied, “It’s impossible. You have to go to school.”

One of the other girls, a short Latino, said, “Yeah it’s the law. They had a presentation on it last year. You don’t look eighteen.”

“What can I say, girls? I have the law on my side.”

In my body, I felt the same energy, the same sense of pleasure at putting these girls in their place that I did for cross-examining the cop at court. This conversation was feeding my rebellious side. A moment later, I saw Ethan enter my line of sight.

As he arrived, he coolly said, “Oh, hi Véronique.”

So this was the infamous Véronique who had treated Alyssa so poorly. I still felt bad for what I had done to Alyssa. I had checked my email a few weeks ago, and Alyssa had sent me a few. I have no idea why I looked, because it did nothing to alleviate my guilt. An idea popped into my mind how I could both weaken Véronique’s power base at St. Jo’s and help Alyssa.

I raised my head, looking supremely confident. “Oh, so you are THAT Véronique. Alyssa told me about you, and what you do to her.”

Véronique replied, “What do you care about her?”

I shook my head, “I care what you are doing to her. Are you aware that your behaviour could be considered criminal, or at the very least, subject to a civil action? Your slander of Alyssa over Facebook could lead to defamation action against you. As for what you did to her in the locker room, some judges would consider that assault. If I hear that you bothered her again like that I will consider starting action against you myself. I hope your parents are loaded because I will make sure the trial takes a very long time. I know you don’t know what a motion is, but the more of those I bring, the sooner you go to the poor house. Do you and your little clique understand me?”

Cyber-bullying is not a criminal offence in Canada, but I recall, as a teacher, the police getting involved in some acts of very serious bullying. As for Facebook, there is some jurisprudence concerning civil action brought against individuals who wrote slanderous comments that amounted to defamation. So, I was half bluffing, but Véronique didn’t know that and neither did her friends.

Véronique’s eyes widened, “You- you can’t do that. I did nothing to Alyssa, you can’t prove it.”

The Latino girl added, “Yes! You need proof for that.” The little blonde that was with them hadn’t said a word, but seemed to act the angry dog of the bunch, casting vicious sneers my way.

I smirked. I must have looked conceited. “How big was your gym class last year? Based on the fact you did it in the locker room as everyone was changing, well I would have at least a dozen witnesses. As for Facebook, you think your page is private? If the content of your page is needed for an investigation or any court action, I could force disclosure with enough cursory evidence.” I was talking out of my ass, but Véronique and her rabble didn’t know that.

“A good lawyer is about three hundred dollars an hour. So let’s do the math. A defamation case usually takes a week to complete. Plus there is the retainer and the hearing preparation. I am not really a math expert, but I do work in a law office, so that’s probably going to cost your parents over ten thousand dollars. Plus, there’s the motions I will bring. Requests for additional disclosure, things like that.”

Véronique blinked. Her eyes were wide. She was shocked, and I continued to smile. “T-ten thousand?” She switched to French, ( We have to pay that just for a lawyer, what if we lose? )

Ethan watched me silently. He wore a very neutral expression at times, but at others, complete shock. I replied, “Better get used to shopping at Value Village. You won’t be buying any new clothing. Oh and forget university, but a smart girl like you, you will probably have a scholarship right?

“In extreme cases, your parents’ wages could be garnished to help pay the penalty if the defamation is very serious. What were some of those names you called her again?”

Véronique said, (This isn’t over, pute. )

I smiled, “That kind of language could cost you. Are you going to leave my friend alone?”

Véronique glared through me and motioned for her clique to leave.

Ethan sat down next to me looking amazed. He spoke when Véronique had left, “That was incredible, Abby. Like really amazing. Véronique is such a bitch, and I have never seen anyone burn her that badly. She is really mean to Alyssa. The locker room- that was the worst. Like really, really bad. Alyssa missed two days of school after it.”

I frowned, “Did they really put balloons full of shaving cream in her bra and make her walk around like that?”

Ethan nodded, “Yeah that’s what I heard. I guess they found out she was stuffing her bra or whatever. Then they popped the balloons and the shaving cream went all over her. I remember her running out of school crying.”

Anger built up in me. I didn’t consider Alyssa a friend, but she was a nice person, and she didn’t deserve to be bullied like that. “You know Ethan, I was kind of embellishing a bit, but if the school fails to address that bullying and it is proven that it is systemic in the school. They could go after the school at the very least.”

Ethan shrugged, “It happens. It sucks, but it happens. Cops will just make things worse. Alyssa just needs to do what you did and stand up to her. Kids that tell like that, teachers, principals or cops, well you know ‘snitches get stitches’ right? It’s like that at Grande Rivière isn’t it?” Like Alyssa, I had told Ethan that I attended Grande Rivière.

I shook my head, “Ethan, you have no idea how ridiculous that is. You have kids cutting themselves, and even killing themselves, and you are going to apply the so-called rules of the schoolyard to everything? It’s asinine. And dangerous. Of all people, I thought you’d be smarter than that. You don’t exactly go with the crowd.”

Ethan frowned, “It’s a respect thing, Abby.”

He had started calling me Abby. It didn’t really bother me because others did it as well. I had told him he couldn’t, but my reasoning (him being a Bruins fan), didn’t have strong support.

“Why would you need anyone’s respect who adheres to such a ludicrous rule? There are kids killing themselves, and no kid can speak up because they are worried they will lose respect? From who, people like Véronique? Respect is earned, and it goes beyond stupid kid games and sayings. The people who earn my respect are the ones who don’t play by kid rules. The ones who have the strength of character to stand up to people like Véronique when the victims can’t. If we ignore it knowingly, we are just as bad as the bully.”

Ethan sighed, “You sound like a teacher. You hang around the adults all day, you are starting to talk like them.” He laughed, “I don’t even understand some of what you say sometimes, but I just nod along. You really need to meet my friends. I’ve been telling them all about the band and everything. They’d like you.”

He grinned, “As long as you don’t lecture them.”

He was trying to laugh off this serious discussion. To me, this conversation was the perfect reason why I shouldn’t go to St. Jo’s. My mind would turn to mush, hanging out with kids who thought ‘snitches get stitches’ were words to live by.

Ethan excitedly changed the subject, “I have so many ideas for the band. I am so psyched you guys are having me back. I don’t think Steven likes me, but I have a sick riff that he will love, I know it. Oh, and I meant to ask you, how do you know Alyssa?”

I should have been annoyed that Ethan decided to completely derail our previous conversation, but I couldn’t fault him. He was a kid. He didn’t see the bigger picture outside his world, few adolescents did. Most were trapped within a bubble of self-importance where every little bump along the way had the potential to be a crisis.

I nodded, “Yeah, he probably will. And Alyssa worked at a dance studio I went to.”

A big grin appeared on Ethan’s face, “You went to a dance studio? Did you do ballet?

I raised a brow, “Nope. I went there with my sister’s daughter. Just to help out, you know? The kids are cute.”

Ethan said, “Aww, and here I thought you wore a tutu and those flat shoes. Rock chick, ballet dancer and teen lawyer. You should wear a big ‘A’ on your chest. You are like some kind of superhero.”

I smirked, “You are such an ass.”

He nodded and the big goofy grin never left his face, “Yup.”

***

The rest of the week passed without incident. Véronique did not make any other unscheduled stops at my table, and Chantal actually did her work. I stayed true to my threat. I was not going to support Chantal like a shipwrecked survivor trying to swim with a bloated corpse. Eventually, she would sink without me, or she would improve at an astronomical rate. I only checked the documents that were directly related to my files.

It was time for band again. I knew that Ethan felt he had to impress Steven this week. I didn’t want a decision made about a new band member made unless it was unanimous. If Steven still didn’t want Ethan in the band, then Andrew and I would have to respect that. The audition was one thing, but if Steven had serious issues with Ethan, then letting the kid in the band could create a major rift. I asked Ethan to come later, so that we would have time to discuss his potential membership. I didn’t tell him that of course.

I was feeling more confident about allowing Ethan to join the band permanently because of the conversation I had with him where I stood up to his playground ideals. No one would seriously question the ideals and ethics of a would-be girlfriend or boyfriend. I was proud that I did not break under the pressure of his grin or his eyes. I had not had any other awkward dreams about him either.

We played the set, and once again, Ethan impressed. He was even more prepared this week than he had been the last. He had a whole new solo, which replaced one of mine. Again, the way I figured it, if he was concerned about protecting my feelings as a potential mate, he would just play my version at least initially. But no, his solo blew mine out of the water, then it landed on a deserted island filled with only landmines, which proceeded to launch it from one explosive burst to another, until it was obliterated. In other words, it was way better than mine, and pushed the song to new heights.

Ethan also didn’t bite when Andrew attempted to goad him into playing faster. Ethan seemed happy to play what fit the song. He was very good at placing his notes. To me, it sounded like he listened to a lot of Alice in Chains recently, but I wasn’t complaining. I couldn’t do what Jerry Cantrell did, but apparently Ethan could.

After the set, we moved into a jam session on some of Ethan’s material. One of the songs, likely inspired by his tastes contained an extremely catchy lead guitar intro. I couldn’t help it, but I was jealous of his playing ability. One of my goals was to write that type of guitar intro, and while I could easily come up with vocal melody to match any song, I couldn’t do it on guitar. I could never emulate what I had in my head, and even when I had the right notes, I lacked the timing to place them. I started to feel like my guitar playing wasn’t needed at all. I had also made an unusual amount of mistakes on the guitar during the practice.

I said, “Sorry guys. I messed up a lot of the songs today.”

Andrew said, “Some of the cues have changed, it’s understandable. Uh, Abigail.” My friends didn’t usually call me Abigail, so it made sense that Andrew would have difficulty at first.

Ethan nodded, “Your voice still sounded great today.”

I was pleased that, when Ethan paid me the compliment, I didn’t feel anything beyond a slight tingle in my head. From my vantage point, the crush was waning. I had seen Ethan’s childish side, and his inability to have a mature conversation, plus my jealousy over his guitar playing, both of which likely acted as a catalyst, was slowly extinguishing my feelings. I was starting to think that we could succeed in becoming friends only.

Steven walked up to Ethan and reached his hand out to shake it, “Hey man, you’ve got serious guitar skills. I’m sorry I was kind of an ass last week. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in, man. That last riff you did, and combined with Abigail’s vocal in the chorus. It’s our best song, hands down. We are legit now.”

Steven’s words hurt because it meant that even when I didn’t have long fingernails we weren’t a good band. I know I am not the best guitar player in the world, worse now with my fingernails, but he and Andrew had always encouraged me. When I was feeling down after a tough practice, they always told me just to stick to it, and when I said, let’s bring in another player- they always said they didn’t want to risk ruining the chemistry we had. Ethan had swooped in and suddenly we were ready for the big time.

I sighed and swallowed my pride, “Yeah. Good job Ethan. I really like the original stuff you brought. It will work with our styles.”

He smiled, “Thanks Abby.” He beamed, “So does that mean I’m in? Really?”

He was no longer the confident and sometimes cocky guitar player, now he was just a kid wondering if he was in a band. There was excitement in his voice, but a vulnerability in his eyes. Andrew looked at me and nodded his head.

I nodded, “Yeah man, you are in.” I could tell Ethan was trying to decide if he should run up the wall in the practice space or just bounce off them.

His delighted smile turned into a wide grin as he mock bowed “Madame, I graciously accept.”

Chapter 43

It was the first week of August. While we didn’t live in Ottawa, we were close enough to feel the brunt of its weather patterns. You know those people who say, well at least it’s a dry heat? I hate those people because, if anything, in Ottawa, it was a wet heat. Any time I left the house, I immediately started sweating. It literally felt like I was standing permanently next to a sauna. The heat was bad, but the humidity was unbearable. My body, which carried more fat now, was no help. Thankfully, we had central air at work, but we only had two small air conditioners at home- one in the bedroom and one in the family room.

We avoided using the air conditioner except at night, so I wore the least amount of clothing possible while preserving at least some sense of modesty. I had never worn a tank top in my life. They were not my style, and I would feel like a tool always showing off my biceps, like some muscle-bound meathead. Amélie had convinced me to wear some of hers, and once I did, I never looked back. Yes, most of them were pink or some pastel colour, but we were trying to avoid spending any money until I knew for certain I would be working on a full-time permanent basis at the firm.

I was used to wearing women’s clothes now. I no longer moved awkwardly in my skirt, and I didn’t struggle with my hair. In fact, getting ready for work was so routine, that I barely thought about it. I still didn’t wear any makeup or try anything higher than my kitten heels, but, after nearly an entire summer, I was a pro. Should this have frightened me? Logically, it made perfect sense, the more frequently you complete a certain task, the easier it becomes. I was a little concerned that I didn’t really consider skirts or blouses women’s clothes any longer. They were my work clothes. If I turned back, would I still wear them? Hell no, but as far as projecting a professional image, they had their use. It’s not like I was dressing like Véronique or even Chantal. If I did that, I would accept that I had completely lost it and check myself into the nearest psychiatric hospital.

The court official planned to interview Amélie that week during her lunch hour. We had spoken briefly about it, and I had come to the conclusion that she would give her approval regarding the emancipation. The evening after the interview, I was nervous when I heard Amélie come through the door. She had texted me to say it had gone well, but I wanted the juicy details.

Chloe, who was now able to climb the steps, quickly ambled up them and beamed at me, “Alee!” I smiled back at her and gave her a hug. I pointed at myself, as I had done a hundred times before, “Daddy. I’m daddy.”

Chloe shook her head and laughed loudly, “Alee! Alee!” Apparently, she thought I was playing a game, because she pointed at her herself and said, “Cat!” Despite her unwillingness to call me the name I desired, I had to laugh at her antics. Even if she didn’t call me ‘daddy’, I was just happy that I could see her grow up. I loved her more than anything, and I realized that she might be my only child, if I couldn’t turn back. The fact that I could get pregnant didn’t even cross my mind.

I then turned my attention to Amélie, “So, how did it go? Do you think that I passed the interview? You didn’t tell them about the car and the tickets, did you?”

Amélie sat down to dinner. I had warmed up the leftovers from yesterday, a stuffed pepper casserole that the whole family ate with gusto. “We’ll know next week if you passed. I think it went well. Your court appearance didn’t come up at all, and I didn’t make an effort to discuss it.”

Her face tightened into a frown, “I did have to tell them about that guy you met. From the internet.”

I spit out the food I was chewing and nearly choked on some I was in the process of swallowing, “Y-you what? Why?” Chloe proceeded to spit out the food in her mouth and then laughed like the cutest maniac. She was mimicking almost everything we did these days.

“Because they asked. The woman asked if there was any event that I could remember where you didn’t make a smart adult decision. I didn’t want to make it seem like you were perfect, so I picked the event least likely to harm your chances of passing.”

I sighed, “I guess that makes sense. I know you don’t like lying, and those officials are probably trained to notice that. So what else did they ask?”

Amélie replied “Well they asked if you were responsible, and they asked for different scenarios. I told them about how you get up with the baby sometimes. How you take care of her like a secondary caregiver. Oh and how you are going to watch Chloe this weekend. The woman seemed impressed by that. I guess she figured someone your age would want to throw a party with all the adults gone.

“She showed me how they score them. It is quite a transparent process. The fact that you are still planning on living with me increased your score.”

I smirked, “Well there goes my plan to live in a loft on the Upper East Side.”

Amélie grinned, “It’s good to see you in a better mood Darren. I was getting a bit worried about you after you got stuck with that curfew. Did you get an answer from the judge whether my being there can extend the curfew?”

I nodded, “Yeah, it can, but midnight is the very latest. Apparently, that’s when the world turns upside down and all the thieves, rapists and murderers come calling.”

I tried to mock Judge Richter’s authoritative tone, “Young lady, if your sister does not see fit to bring a fifteen year old girl home by midnight, I would consider her a very poor guardian indeed.”

Amélie laughed, “You sound like Cookie Monster swallowed helium.”

I raised a brow, “Uh thanks.”

Amélie said, “The first time I heard your new voice, I just couldn’t believe it was you. It’s just so-“

I interrupted, “Young sounding? Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Can we talk about something else?”

Amélie nodded, “I know things haven’t been easy for you, Darren. I want to say how impressed I am that you haven’t given up looking for a cure. I have to admit that I don’t look as often as I used to. I love you, and I am still hopeful that we can find a way to change you back, but if we can’t-“

I stopped her, “I am never going to stop looking Amélie. I owe that to you, to Chloe, and to my family.”

***

Chloe was completely obsessed with going to the park, so I wasn’t surprised when she asked me to go Saturday afternoon. She didn’t so much as ask, as demand it, pointing enthusiastically in the direction of the park and pulling on my leg. “Alee, Alee, Alee! Park!” After a few minutes of applying sunscreen to a squirming toddler, we left.

The park was only a few houses down. The play structure was plastic, and it had actual activity centres where kids could put on a puppet show, turn wheels or do a giant puzzle. It was nothing like the splinter-giving wooden monstrosities of my youth, with their metal slides and poles. Along with the splinters, I remember burning my legs on the slide during scorching hot days, so maybe these plastic structures were an improvement. The park was full of kids and the accompanying parents. I was hoping that it would be empty, but it was less hot today, so parents weren’t likely as concerned about letting their kids play for half an hour in the sun. To the parents there, I looked like a babysitter or a teenage mother, but as I didn’t look anything like Chloe, I was probably the dutiful babysitter.

I took Chloe on a swing. For some reason, Chloe didn’t like going alone, but I guess she was still too young to hold on confidently. She wanted me to do everything with her from the swings to the slides. She was still too young to be on the playground unaccompanied because some of the slides were too fast and there were some sections of the play structure where she could have easily fallen off. We spent twenty minutes going back and forth, until she found something she really liked- a simple ride-on motorcycle. I held her there and made vroom-vroom noises, and she pretended she was driving. When I stopped, she immediately gave the sign for ‘again’ followed by, “Again Daddy, again!”

I looked at her with surprise, and she looked at me with the expectation that I was going to continue playing with her. She repeated, “Daddy, again!” It had been five months since she called me that. I stared at her, and she quickly grew frustrated. She bucked back and forth on the motorcycle, trying to get the toy to move the same way I had made it move but she had little success. I snapped out of it and moved the toy from side to side, pretending that the motorcycle was turning. Chloe shouted, “Again, Daddy!”

I was joyfully shocked by her outburst in general, but I dutifully complied. An older woman, likely the grandmother of one of the kids at the park, approached us “You are really good with her, young lady. Are you her babysitter?”

I shook my head, “No, she’s my niece actually.”

The woman smiled, “So nice to see a mature and responsible teenager. Not like those hooligans that did that.” She pointed at the overturned porta-potty.

She added, “I noticed she calls you daddy. Does her father bring her here often?” I knew that the woman was just curious, but to me, she was being nosy.

I nodded, “I guess so.”

We made small talk for a few moments with the woman asking me all manner of questions. She was highly impressed that I was working in a law office. As I left the park a few minutes later, I thought about the possible reasons for why Chloe had suddenly started calling me Daddy. I had always referred to myself that way, and Amélie did the same, unless we were in public. I still acted the same way with her, pretending to be a monster, making pterodactyl noises, picking her up and throwing her on the bed- through all of that, I still called myself Daddy too. Had she come to the realization that I was her father simply by the way I acted toward her?

She was starting to notice the difference between things. She understood the difference between a big girl and a baby- a cat and a dog. Had she been looking at the kids around her, noticing how they were changing, becoming taller, getting more hair? I wonder if she thought that all daddies went through a similar metamorphosis. When we arrived home, Chloe zipped up the stairs and ran into the kitchen, she pronounced, “Daddy, chee! Chee!” I knew this meant cheese.

I conducted a test to see if she was still playing the game from earlier. I pointed at myself and said “Daddy”. She then pointed at me and said “Daddy!” I felt my emotions swell within. My daughter was calling me daddy again! I hugged her tight as a little tear dribbled down my cheek. She continued to request cheese until I gave it to her.

***

It was mid-August, a week since Amélie’s interview, and I had to admit, I was getting nervous about my emancipation. After my run-in with Véronique, I doubted that she would welcome me with open arms at St. Jo’s, and neither would her teenage gang. I hoped that my legal threats would keep Véronique from harassing Alyssa any further. On Tuesday, Amélie brought home incredible news. I had passed her part of my emancipation interview with flying colours. It wasn’t a cure, but it was still the best news I had had in a long time.

On Wednesday morning, I went into work in high spirits. Unfortunately, Chantal was in a foul mood. I guess her boyfriend had broken up with her or something. I didn’t really care.

Because I was no longer correcting her work, she had to stay after hours to fix the mistakes that Stephanie and Anthony found. They were small ones, but that didn’t stop Stephanie from chewing her out, much to my delight. I noticed that her work was improving, as she was clearly putting more effort into it, knowing that for a grievous error, she could be fired.

I had just finished a particularly challenging case, which we won, involving a very prestigious client, Mr. Sanderson. I had worked on it with Anthony. Despite the fact that I couldn’t actually tell Mr. Sanderson I had come up with the winning argument, I was still proud of my efforts. Stephanie’s interview was to take place this week, but I wasn’t sure on what day. In spite of the win, both Stephanie and Anthony were cool toward me for the rest of the week.

Friday afternoon, Stephanie called me into her office. When I entered, I saw that Anthony was already sitting next to his wife. Both of them wore expressions that told me their news wasn’t good. Had I failed the interview? Anthony’s expression was grim, a tight frown combined with sad eyes. Stephanie’s was slightly more controlled, but her eyes matched her husband’s.

“Abigail, there’s not an easy way for us to say this. We aren’t going to be able to hire you here on a full-time basis.” Stephanie said the words evenly, trying to suck all the emotion from them, but it was clear that it pained her to say this. My head dropped as if a hundred pound weight was suddenly attached to my chin.

I blurted out, “But why? Haven’t I done a good job here? Haven’t I prepared the cases for you correctly? You didn’t tell me anything to the contrary.”

Anthony sighed, “You have, Abigail. Absolutely. I really wish there was another way. You are a remarkable young lady with a penchant for the law, and a constant hunger to know more about it. But we’ve been- you see-.”

He was unable to get the words out. He fumbled with them and then Stephanie rescued her husband, “We’ve been speaking to our colleagues, and all of them have spoken out against hiring a fifteen year old girl on a full-time basis. You understand that this is business, Abigail. A law firm cannot be seen as an oddity, especially a small one like ours that is still very much in the red. We owe a lot of money, and hiring you, in the long term, could be seen as a very serious risk.”

I shook my head, “But Anthony said that I could go to court with him and everything. He agreed with me that having a teenage paralegal who emancipated herself would be seen as a highly impressive feat. It would be something the firm could be- wait? Fifteen?”

Anthony spoke up, “Some papers were left on my desk. We know you lied to us about your age and how you have been keeping your run-in with the law a secret.”

Stephanie nodded, “We don’t fault you for it Abigail. That information did not factor heavily in our decision.”

I was shocked, but I was stubborn enough not to capitulate. “I don’t think that the firm would be seen as an oddity. You would be seen as a trailblazer. A firm that respects the talent of their employees, no matter what their age.”

Anthony replied, “Honestly Abigail, we looked at the different ways that it could be spun, but all of the advice we received suggested that we keep you as a summer student and only that. This was not an easy decision. We couldn’t see any scenario where we could be seen as professional and competitive if you became a full-time employee. Yes, we would gain clients who lauded us as innovators, but just as many would look elsewhere. This is a cut throat business. There are so many law firms that we just worried that we would be seen as-“

I lashed back, “What- a circus sideshow? Why did you ever consider it in the first place? Were you ever intending to hire me?” I posed the question to Stephanie.

Stephanie sighed, “No Abigail, I never had the intention.”

Anthony said gently, “I am sorry that we got your hopes up.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You signed a legal document stating your intention to hire me. You realize that this amounts to breach of contract, right?”

Anthony smiled, but his eyes still bore sadness, “Yes, we do. I suppose you could take us to court over this. But would you? What would you have to gain?”

I sneered, “My freedom from the hormone infested, immature wasteland known as high school. You realize that because of you, I am going to have to go back there? I don’t belong there. I’ll make you honour that document.”

Stephanie pulled out a document from her drawer, “I knew that I was going to need this.” She pushed it toward me. It was a collection of case law with highlighted portions. I read it over with a scowl.

Stephanie said, “Based on that, we can terminate your employment at any juncture if we feel that you have fallen below the standards established by the test. That would void your emancipation. I am sorry Abigail, but we have to choose the firm over you. We could use the fact that you lied about your age as one strike. The knowledge that you drove without a licence, potentially endangering an infant, as another. But as I said, WE don’t want to do this.”

Anthony nodded, “Don’t make us do this, Abigail.”

I shook my head vehemently, “I’ll just go to another firm. I think you two are just worried that I will outshine you. I will find another firm that respects my talents.”

Stephanie tried to put her hand on mine, but I pulled away. She shook her head and shared a worried look with Anthony, “I suppose you could. I didn’t tell the court official who interviewed me about any of this, so it is my belief you will pass. Despite your skill and your knowledge, I just don’t think another firm will hire you Abigail.

I was stewing, my eyes moving from side to side as I considered my next move. Stephanie broke what was becoming an uncomfortable silence, “Why do you hate school so much? Do the kids pick on you for being smart? They did that to me.”

No Stephanie, they don’t pick on me. I hate high school because I used to teach it; I don’t want to wear a plaid skirt every day and be gawked at by horny boys; Oh, and I am a thirty-two year old man. Of course, if I had told her that, she wouldn’t have believed me, and she would have probably tried to mother me even more.

I said, “Not exactly. I just feel like I am beyond that place. You know I successfully acted as your paralegal for almost an entire summer. How can I even think about going back to a place where the most intelligent conversation I will have with my peers is what boy is cute or what YouTube video is worth watching? I want to have adult conversations and be challenged every day. This job gives me that. How dare you take that away from me after dangling it in front of me all summer.”

Stephanie replied, “The adult world is never going to accept you, Abigail. Never. Not until you grow up. I’m sorry to say, but that’s how it is. This is especially the case in law because people pay a lot of money for services rendered. Do you think they are going to pay a dime for the services of a fifteen year old girl?”

I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to say anything.

Stephanie again broke the silence, “You say you hate your peers, but you spend an awful lot of time staring out the window at them. And you spend a lot of time with that boy who is in your band. I think a part of you wants to go and join them, instead of working in a stuffy law office.”

Anthony said, “You can still do that and work here. Stephanie and I talked it over, and we’d be comfortable having you come in every second weekend to do research. We would pay you a part-time clerk salary.”

I shot back angrily, “I don’t want your charity. And frankly Stephanie, you know nothing about me. I don’t stare out the window like that at all.”

Stephanie frowned, “You do. How do I know? Well your work has suffered. Your production is down with regard to the memos you usually write. You seem more distracted. I just think there’s a girl inside you that wants to come out and join your friends. The longer you deny that side of you, the more your work will suffer.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “So what, you are psychologist now?”

Anthony jumped in, “Abigail, we just want what’s best for you. We can see a longing in your eyes. We just thought we could give you this opportunity to work for us part-time on the weekend and still have fun with your friends.”

I shook my head, “Right, so you can hide me away and your clients will never see me.”

Anthony sighed heavily, “Not exactly.”

I nodded, “Oh okay, so if they see me, then I’m still supposed to play copy monkey. Is that it? Do you know how frustrating it is to know that you have done all this work for someone, and it can't be acknowledged?”

Stephanie replied, “That is part of our decision too. We don’t think it is fair to you to put you in a situation where you have to lie constantly.”

I said angrily, “There’s still something you aren’t telling me. You had Chantal and me lie to clients all summer.”

Anthony said, “A few weeks ago, Stephanie had a meeting here with opposing counsel, a Mr. Everett Hughes.”

I nodded, “Yeah, he was really nice. He asked me about what I was doing, and what sort of law I was into.”

Stephanie nodded, “We’ve been cutting into his business a lot recently, and his firm is trying to buy ours. Well here’s the problem. You told him way more than you should have, Abigail. He thinks we’ve hired a fifteen year old paralegal. He has threatened to go to the law society with this information and- the press. So in return for his silence, we will send him some clients of ours, and he will back off on the takeover.”

I looked at both them with wide, unbelieving eyes. Here were two fantastic lawyers, allowing themselves to be controlled by a jackal. I blurted out, “But that’s blackmail! You have a case against him. You should go to the law society and have him disbarred.”

Anthony nodded, “And then he would go to the press. No matter what way we looked at things, if this got out, we’d be ruined. We could win against him in court, but his firm is massive. They could absorb any penalty with relative ease.”

They had assembled a strong case against hiring me on a full-time basis. It was hard to argue against their logic. Even if the clients saw me as a copy girl, opposing lawyers like Mr. Hughes would see me as way to damage the firm. I still considered opposing lawyers the same way I had seen other teachers, as colleagues more than foes, but, while both are professionals, lawyers do not share common goals except for the annihilation of their opponent.

Stephanie said, “We want you to finish out the summer with us, but you can understand why we can’t act as a reference for you except in the capacity of the student job description.”

I nodded feebly and exited Stephanie’s office. Chantal was smiling like a cat that had cornered a mouse and was simply toying with it, prolonging its life but torturing it all the same.

“So how did your meeting go? You know Abby, you say you are the smart one, but I don’t think a smart person would leave important papers at the photocopier. A smart person would probably hide them. Wouldn’t they?” My eyes widened as I realized that I had left my school registration document and my appeal package for my timed supervision at the photocopier, and Chantal had taken full advantage of that.

I balled my hands into fists. Chantal thought that she had sabotaged me, but her attempt had been mostly unsuccessful. Still, she had tried, and I was furious because my entire life was coming apart at the seams, so she was a convenient target. Just then, Mr. Sanderson entered the office.

“Hi girls! Is Anthony here? I wanted to thank him for the excellent job he did.”

Chantal said sweetly, “But don’t you want to thank Abby too? She photocopied the documents and put them in the binders. Then she put them in Mr. Locke’s briefcase. She’s been really helpful around the office. We will be sad to see her go when school starts back up in two weeks. Right, Abby?”

I wanted to do incomprehensible things to Chantal at that moment. Acts that would have placed me among the vilest killers of all time. The images in my mind involved a hammer, battery acid and a vice.

Mr. Sanderson looked at me with sudden shock and hurriedly said, “Well yes, uh thank you Abby- the binders were very well organized.” He must have seen the veritable mass of hatred pooling on my features, but he mistakenly thought it was for him.

“Please get Anthony for me, Chantal, I- I do need to speak to him.” I suppose a murderous look on a teenage girl’s face can be unsettling. I had no idea what I looked like, but from Mr. Sanderson’s reaction, it must have been frightening.

Logic and common sense dictated that I swallow the bitter medicine Chantal had fed me, but something inside me snapped and logic and thought process were thrown out. I was sick of being treated like a child by everyone around me, especially Chantal, and now most recently, Stephanie and Anthony.

I thought nothing of the repercussions for myself or the firm as I blurted out, “Mr. Sanderson, do you know who researched all the jurisprudence for your appeal? Who painstakingly went over every page of the transcript and formulated the arguments. Do you know who wrote the motion to introduce the evidence that was not previously available?”

Mr. Sanderson turned back in my direction, surprise still painted on his features. He remained quiet.

I walked over to Mr. Sanderson, just as Anthony and Stephanie were exiting Stephanie’s office. I said loudly, “I did it all. I basically prepared your entire case. Yes, I did the photocopying, but I also determined that the judge who ruled against you in the review had made a grievous error of law. I put your entire appeal together! Everything- Mr. Sanderson. Everything was me. And like a talented actor, Anthony took my work and played lawyer with it.”

Anthony shouted, “Abigail, that’s quite enough! I assure you Mr. Sanderson, we-“

Mr. Sanderson did not get to be owner of a very successful chain of men’s clothing stores without being a shrewd business man, but I also knew that he was friends with Anthony, so this had to hurt doubly. His entire appeal prepared by a mere girl. He turned his gaze to Anthony and said evenly, but with clear hurt in his eyes, “Is this true Anthony? You let her do this? Tell me the truth- and no lawyer talk. Did you let this girl prepare my entire case?”

Anthony frowned, “Well you see I was busy preparing for a human rights case that had a lot of-“

Mr. Sanderson raised his voice, “Tell me!” A half second later, I could tell he regretted his outburst and calmly said, “Tell me, please.”

Anthony nodded his head sadly. “Please Bruce, you can’t tell anyone. Hughes is already threatening to go to the press about it.”

If this were a movie from the early 90s, it would have been called, “Teen Lawyer”. Like other movies of this time period, “Rookie of the Year” and “Little Big League”, the kids in the movies showed their mettle and garnered respect from adults, but in their case, it was the world of professional baseball. In the movie, Mr. Sanderson would have come up to me and offered me a job on his legal team, then a montage of me winning case after case would play over the final credits.

It didn’t play out like that at all. Anthony offered to reduce his retainer, and Mr. Sanderson rejected the offer soundly and left looking wounded. Clearly, it hurt to have someone he considered a friend keep such information from him.

Stephanie looked at me angrily at first. Chantal wore a smug smirk in the corner, and Anthony just looked sad, slumped in a chair with his head lowered.

Stephanie took a breath and then tried to say as calmly as possible, “Abigail, you are- fired.” She wavered on the word ‘fired’, but she managed to spit it out with a measure of conviction.

I gathered my things, just as the weight of my actions came crashing down on my mind and body. My shoulders felt like they were made of lead. I had left Stephanie’s office feeling like they were treating me like a child. What did I do immediately after? I acted like one. Instead of biding my time, gaining more experience and thanking Stephanie and Anthony for the opportunity, and ultimately accepting the logic of their decision, I had vindictively lashed out. Would it have been worse if it was Hughes who I told everything to? No, because in that case I would have only damaged the firm. Here, I had knowingly damaged a friendship as well as the firm.

I needed to be away from everyone, so I went outside behind the building, planning on crying my eyes out, but what I faced was a self-assured Chantal, “I told you I would get you, Abby. But, it’s funny, you kind of got yourself didn’t you? You could have kept your mouth shut.”

I completely lost it and charged at her, launching myself at her. I managed to knock her down, in the process ripping her skirt, but she quickly gained the upper hand. In the case of Brad, it wasn’t surprising that he managed to hold me down, but Chantal, who did Pilates and the odd weight class at the gym? That was a shocker. She managed to trip me and then basically sat on me. I lacked the upper body strength to push her off me and my little fists, attached to short arms, couldn’t reach her face. I could punch her knees and mid-section, but when I did, she pulled my hair, and I was surprised by how much that hurt, so I stopped abruptly.

Chantal looked down at me with satisfaction, “You’re just a stupid little bitch, Abby. You think you are so smart, and you looked down your nose at me all summer. Well look who still has her job, and look who’s going back to school.” She tugged my hair again, and I let out a high-pitched yelp.

She continued, “Why don’t you just go and do what you’ve wanted to do all summer? Go fuck that kid with the leather jacket. You stare at him enough. You know you want to. Trust me, boys his age, they are just looking for an excuse.”

I almost laughed because Chantal had basically admitted to being a slut in high school, but I didn’t want her to pull my hair again. Goddamn, it hurt.

From my vantage point, and from what part of the sky wasn’t blocked by Chantal’s hateful face, I could see dark clouds overhead. I felt the first few drops of rain on my face, and then a few seconds later, I heard a shout, “Hey, come back here with that!” It sounded like the hot dog vendor I had bought from a few times over the summer.

When Chantal felt the rain, she quickly got off me and moved against the back wall of the building, the narrow awning providing some protection from the rain. As I was slowly getting up, I saw red and yellow streams fly over my head followed by surprised shrieks from Chantal. She looked menacingly at her attacker, and I turned my head to see Ethan brandishing ketchup and mustard bottles.

“Get away from her, you bitch. Or you’ll get it again.”

He had got her in the face and neck, but he was aiming at her blouse now. A small tear in her skirt was one thing, but large stains on her blouse would mean she would have to go home early and explain that she was fighting with two kids outside the office.

Chantal gritted her teeth and said, “Oh look Abby, your boyfriend's come to save you.”

She gingerly stepped around Ethan, trying to avoid getting soaked by the rain, which was falling more heavily. I wasn’t so lucky because when I tried to stand, I fell back down from the sudden pain in my ankle. I guess I had twisted it when I launched awkwardly at Chantal. I was trying to crawl underneath the awning, but in the process, I was getting absolutely soaked.

Chantal slowly manoeuvred her way to the front of the building. She turned around one last time, “Enjoy the 10th grade Abby.”

Just as she was leaving, Ethan squirted her right in the ass with both bottles. Chantal turned back to him and proceeded to make an attempt to grab at the bottles, but he was too fast, and she got squirted on the arm. Ethan kept dancing around her awkward attempts to steal the bottles, squirting her in the face and in the chest. At this point, I had managed to drag myself so that I was positioned under the awning, but I was thoroughly soaked.

Chantal let out an exasperated cry and finally managed to grab the ketchup bottle, but when she went to squirt it, she found it empty. Ethan threw the mustard bottle down and then ran toward me. He leaned down, obviously intending to give me a piggy back ride, and considering I wanted to be away from a half-crazy Chantal, I readily accepted. He lifted me with a slight grunt and then took off. I looked back at Chantal, but at that point, the hot dog vendor had retrieved his bottles and was trying to keep Chantal from chasing us. I could smell the rain on Ethan’s leather jacket, and his deodorant, that Axe body spray I used to hate. The way my boobs were tightly pressed against his back, the smells, coupled with my firing and beat down by Chantal, when Ethan slowed down, realizing that he wasn’t being chased, all of this combined, acted as a catalyst and I gently rested my head on his shoulder.

It was still raining heavily, and showed no sign of stopping. Ethan carried me to a nearby kid's play park. He deposited me in a long orange plastic tube that joined one part of the play structure to the other. The tube was made for children to crawl through, so there was little space between us. During the fight with Chantal, my hair had come loose and now dangled slickly across my back. My bangs were in my eyes, since the hair clip had either fallen or tugged out by Chantal.

He said, “We can hide in here. I don’t think they saw us crawl in. So what the hell was that about? I mean I know that you hate that girl, but I didn’t think you’d fight her like that.”

I shrugged my shoulders, unsure of what to say.

I noticed Ethan was looking at me strangely. Every few seconds, his eyes would dip down to my chest and then shoot back to my eyes. I knew that my blouse was wet through, but as I looked down, I realized why he was staring. It looked like I had entered a wet t-shirt contest for office workers. You could clearly see my bra through the blouse. Not only that, but during the fight with Chantal, the top two buttons of my blouse had ripped off, so now I had an unprofessional amount of cleavage showing.

Ethan was desperately trying not to look. He took off his jacket and handed it to me, “Um. Dude, here you can wear this.”

I snatched the jacket from him rapidly, but I felt my cheeks redden. From my vantage point, Ethan was experiencing something similar. I put it on and sighed gently. I told Ethan the whole story, not my transformation, but my attempt to gain legal emancipation and my firing.

He said, “So, you’ll have to go back to school if you can’t find another job that pays about the same?” Ethan’s voice in the orange tube had a different timbre to it. There was a strange resonance inside the structure that gave it a more powerful tone.

I nodded sadly, “Yeah.”

Ethan smiled, “Hey man, if you hate your school so much, then you should come to St. Jo’s with me. Alyssa goes there too. And who cares about that stupid job? You did all the work, and they took all the credit. That’s weak man. Really weak. You should talk to your sister about changing schools.

“Oh! And the band could play at the coffee house. It’s a sick event. They get a sound guy from a local music store. It’s really pro, you know?”

I shrugged my shoulders, but Ethan wasn’t deterred. “Now you’ve got two weeks to just relax. Isn’t that sweet? I mean yeah it sucks you got fired, but now you can meet my friends. We can hang out. They all go to St. Jo’s too, so if you can change schools, you’ll know a bunch of people.”

I shook my head, “You don’t understand. It’s…complicated. I don’t belong in high school. I should be working in a firm. I’m ready.”

Ethan replied, “Yeah, but the way that Stephanie lady made it seem is you will have trouble. She’s a bitch for making you think that you’d have the job though. Maybe she needs the ketchup and mustard treatment?” He grinned, and in spite and what had happened, I let a little smile creep onto my face.

Ethan laughed and pointed at my face, “Got you, Abby.”

I shook my head and resumed my frown, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ethan. Plus, as I explained, logically it makes sense why they couldn’t keep me- it’s just. Well it’s not fair…”

Ethan nodded, “I know but that’s what it’s like. Are you surprised by that, Abby? You know that amazing weekend I had planned, go to Montreal and check out some shows, sleep in a car, you know that one?” I nodded.

“Well my parents decided suddenly to actually be my parents and they won’t let me go. They let me do lots of other stuff. They didn’t even give me a reason other than, hey it’s too dangerous or some bullshit like that. We would have been fine. So yeah, it’s not fair and it sucks, but parents suck either way, so whatever.”

I was amazed how little teenagers had changed since I was one. I know that at fifteen or sixteen there was no way my mother was going to let me go out of town and sleep in a car overnight.

I asked, “Do your parents know the guys you were going with?”

Ethan blinked, likely surprised that I didn’t just accept his ‘whatever logic’, “Uh, well yeah. Not the driver though, like I said, he’s the older brother of one of my friends.”

I said, “Well look at it this way, your parents have never met the older brother, and he’s the driver. So that is a cause for concern. If you want to do stuff like that in future, you should probably get your parents to meet the driver beforehand, you know get them to trust him. Then they are likely to allow you to go, or at least think about it.”

Ethan stared at me, clearly flabbergasted, “Uh, yeah I guess that makes sense. How do you know stuff like that, Abby? I would have never thought about it. I just thought they were being assholes that weekend. I guess I just tuned them out when they said no. Maybe they said something like that. I’m not sure.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “It’s just common sense.”

Ethan laughed off my semi-insult, “You know that’s funny because my parents say, and especially my dad, that I don’t have any common sense sometimes. Like this one time, me and some guys got this idea to take all the signs off the lawns during the stupid election. So we put them all on one guy’s lawn, and it actually got in the paper! I guess we were kind of dumb and posted it on Facebook. When my dad found it, he was like, you have no respect for the democratic process or something, and no common sense. We had to put all the signs back and give a stupid apology.”

I had actually seen it in the paper. I nodded “Well, that was pretty stupid. You guys could have gotten in more trouble than that. It might be considered vandalism, and you could have been charged for it under the Elections Canada Act.”

Ethan laughed, “Oh my god, Abby, you don’t work in a law office anymore, you don’t need to play lawyer. Kids don’t like that you know. It makes you seem like a know-it-all. I mean it was funny what you did to Véronique, but please don’t talk that way in front of my friends.”

My eyes flashed with anger and Ethan quickly back-pedalled, “Hey, hey! Okay, I didn’t mean it! You can talk like that all you want.” He grew more serious, “It’s just ... well don’t you want to fit in? I don’t hear you talk about anyone else our age except Alyssa, and it’s pretty rare. Do you have any friends other than me? Because you know, it might be the way you talk.”

I shrugged, “I like being different. And like I said, I don’t get along with uh, other kids my age.”

Ethan replied, “But you get along with me.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Despite our slight disagreement, I noticed that Ethan was edging closer to me. I guess after rescuing me with ketchup and mustard bottles, he gained a fair bit of confidence. While I wasn’t aware of it immediately, as we were talking, I subtly licked my lips, just as I had with Jeremy, and I pushed the bangs out of my eyes. I also had that feeling of butterflies mixed with nausea, but as he inched closer to me, only the butterflies remained. I consciously realized that I was giving him signs that I liked him still, and he was acting on it.

I cleared my throat in an unladylike manner and then pulled my phone out of the pocket of my black bag. I looked at the time. “Hey, I am supposed to meet my sister somewhere. I, um- have to go catch the bus.” I was actually supposed to meet Amélie at her sister’s place because my in-laws were in town. Ethan was momentarily disappointed, but he shrugged it off.

“Cool, I’ll wait with you. Oh, and you can keep the jacket. I’ll get it from you at band tomorrow.”

The band was progressing at a rapid pace. Last weekend, we had written three new songs, all based on Ethan’s lead riffs. We had talked about heading back to the Gob potentially, but we wanted to get some recording done. It was difficult because the songs were changing as we were playing them, Ethan adding his parts and the rest of us altering our parts to fit the song. I had to admit, we were a better band with him. A much better band.

I tested my ankle, and while it was a little sore, I could limp on it. This had happened to me before, so a simple tensor bandage would help. Amélie’s sister knew first aid, so I would have her look it over. I thought about getting Ethan to give me a piggy back to the house to change, but I didn’t really want my boobs pressing up against his back because I could only imagine what that was doing to him up front.

We went across the street to the bus stop. Thankfully, there was a shelter, so we quickly ducked inside to escape the rain. Again, Ethan sat close enough to me on the bench that our hips brushed. I looked down, and I could see his hand fidgeting. Was he going to try and hold my hand? I told him expressly that I didn’t want to be anything more than friends, but I was still sending him signals. I couldn’t help it, but I really liked the way his drenched hair sat on his head, the bangs obscuring his eyes. I also couldn’t get the smell of him out of my nose. The smell, like a sort of clean musk coupled with the warm summer rain was driving me crazy. I had fought it while we were in the tube, but now our even closer proximity on the small bench was making it impossible.

I realized I was staring at his hair, at his eyes, at his body. His t-shirt was obviously soaked, so I could see his chest, which was almost concave, and his biceps as easily as he could see my bra, before he had given me his jacket. I though he looked a little like he would if he were exiting the shower. I squirmed in my seat constantly, and like him, fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing my legs. We tried to talk about the band, but there was clearly something in our brains causing us to react this way. Without a word, Ethan put his hand on my thigh, then with his other hand, he brushed back my hair from my eyes. Then he kissed me, full on the lips. It was magic, fireworks, sparks, and a burning flame. Like the old ring the bell carnival game, the feeling shot through me like a strongman striking down on the target and soundly ringing the bell. My head buzzed, my lips relaxed, and for an instant, I kissed him back.

My mind came spiralling back as I regained the ability for conscious thought. I told myself, I am married, I love my wife, and we have a beautiful daughter together. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my wedding band and broke the kiss. Mercifully, the bus chose this moment to arrive. I quickly removed Ethan’s jacket and hobbled toward the bus.

He looked shocked and hurt. “Abby, wait! I- I’m sorry.”

I didn’t look back at him as I boarded the bus. I must have looked distraught because the bus driver didn’t even ask me for my pass or a ticket. I limped to the back of the bus, pleased that there were still seats available. I was less pleased when a group of skeezy looking teenage boys leered at me. My bra was now fully visible because I had given the jacket back. I noticed more than just the boys, grown men were looking at me too, some of them married. A woman Amélie’s age saw what was happening and quickly changed seats to sit next to me.

She asked, “Are you okay sweetie?”

Tears were already brimming at my eyes. The woman put her rain coat over my shoulders and then buttoned just the top two buttons. This hid my bra and my cleavage. I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. My phone vibrated, indicating a text message, and then it vibrated again, and again. I ignored it. The woman gently rubbed my back as I cried.