Part Four

Lane's mother wouldn't even look her in the eye when she walked out of that stupid building.

"They need a parent signature, Mom," Lane spat through the rolled-down driver's seat window.

Mrs. Martin finally glanced back at her daughter, who was holding out a stapled set of pages and a black ink pen.

She reluctantly took the papers from Lane and scribbled her name in cursive across the bottom. "I can't believe this," she breathed. "I can't believe this!"

"Seeing is believing," Lane trilled haphazardly as her mother handed back her official acknowledgement that she and her daughter were to attend an institutional hearing the following morning.

Mrs. Martin crossed her arms as Lane turned to walk back inside EdgeWay's main school building. Cutting right after entering, Lane strutted to the front office, where Vice Principal Turner stood waiting for her.

"Here," Lane stuck the papers in her face. "My mom signed it."

Vice Principal Turner sighed and took the pages. "Yes, well, I'm assuming you at least skimmed the stipulations. You are to report to the auditorium tomorrow morning—"

"At eight o'clock sharp. Yeah, I know." Lane rolled her eyes. "I can actually read, you know." She turned, placed her hand firmly on her hip, and strode for the door.

Lane stepped into the hallway, looked left then right, saw that shrine to Ruby still standing lifelessly next to the tacky bulletin boards pinned into the wall. What a joke, she thought to herself. This school is such a freaking joke.

She turned back to the left, flipped her hair's golden strands over her shoulder, and sashayed to the double doors that led out of the building. Pushing both doors open, she pranced out onto the sidewalk, then to her mother's car.

****

At six-thirty in the morning, Lane rose to the sound of her dainty buzzing alarm clock. She slipped her feet into the pink-and-white slippers beside her bed and dragged herself nonchalantly into the bathroom.

She grabbed her toothbrush from beside the mirror and squeezed way more than a pea-sized amount onto the tiny bristles. As she scrubbed her teeth, she glanced at her unzipped makeup bag, some of its contents sitting neatly beside her creamy silk lotion while others were scattered all around the bright white facebowl.

Should I really wear makeup today? she thought to herself.

On the one hand, she knew her mother would definitely be caking her face with enough blush to make any sensible human being...well, blush. And Vice Principal Turner probably would be too—after all, you must look your best when you're falsely accusing a seventh-grader who was just trying to defend herself from a total perv.

But on the other hand, why should she have to try to impress the horde of buffoons otherwise known as EdgeWay's 'Academic and Christian Character Council?' So what if her mom wore the entire Mall of America on her face, and so what if Vice Principal Turner did the same?

It doesn't matter, Lane affirmed within her own mind. None of those losers matter.

She paused as she stood, lowered her hand slowly to grasp her foundation brush as she contemplated.

Still, I'm prettier than every single one of them. And if they think wearing mounds of facepaint makes them more attractive, it's time to show everyone what it looks like to do a lot with a little.

Lane smiled at the mirror and pursed her lips together, watching the angles of her face illuminate in her reflection. The cheekbones, she whispered in her mind. It's all about the cheekbones.

****

The morning air was gentle and cool, subtly bending the trees to its will as Lane and her mother stepped out of their car. Mrs. Martin wore an unfaltering scowl, while Lane sported an indifferent frown as she grabbed a compact mirror from her purse and inspected for loose locks in her hair's blond waves.

"Put that mirror away, Lane," her mother ordered as they walked through the doors to EdgeWay and kept straight.

When they made it inside the auditorium, the first thing Lane noticed was how different it all looked. Foldable desks and wooden seats had been replaced by a long, cream-colored, glass-topped marble table and a surrounding set of garish leathered seats in which members of the Council sat. A thick black curtain was drawn across the entirety of the stage at the front of the room, and a single dark brown podium stood solitarily, imposingly, in front of the curtain.

Similar black curtains had been suspended in front of the windows and blinds, casting the room into a sort of artificial distance from the outside sun and sky, with only the most minimal of brightness coming from the dim plastic lights overhead.

Lane rolled her eyes as Principal Rodley motioned for her and her mother to take seats at the marble table's right corner.

They sat in silence for several moments, and Lane began to draw the eyes of those around her as she pursed her lips indifferently and pulled out her compact mirror again.

"Lane," her mother whispered tensely, "what did I tell you!?"

But Lane ignored her this time, focusing only on her own reflection. She widened her eyes, stretched her lips—those pretty pink lips!—and marveled at the beauty of her hair. White gold, vanilla blond, creamy champagne—my hair is beautiful! she exclaimed inside her head.

She was sure her mother was fuming, and it vaguely occurred to her that the entire Council was likely staring. But when she finally pried her eyes from her own appearance, it was neither her mother nor the assembly of asinine naysayers who glared directly in her face—it was the Reverend Marcus Hall himself, gazing upon Lane with eyes hard as stone.

"Thank you all for attending," he spoke to the Council, though his eyes never left Lane. He walked to the stage and took his place behind the podium. "As you are aware, you have been requested to preside over the hearing of Lane Alexandria Martin, in accordance with EdgeWay Academy's Charter and the church's Christian-character policy. Each one of you has been selected as a result of your leadership within the community, and we implore you to judge fairly and decently the case that will be presented before you."

Lane crossed her arms and looked around at the people sitting at the table with her. Mrs. Portolini, the bookkeeper, was there, as were Dorian's mom and... Mr. Clather!?

Lane's eyes grew wide. You have to be kidding me. "Mom!" Lane scream-whispered as Pastor Hall continued his melodramatic interlude.  "What is he doing here?" She pointed at Mr. Clather.

"Lane, what do you mean? He's on the Academic and Christian Character Council."

"I saw him drag Ruby Densett out of the bathroom and force her down a hallway—"

"Lane, will you come off it already!?"

"Mom, I'm serious! What if—?"

"Ladies, please," Pastor Hall interrupted, addressing Lane and her mother. "The time to present your case will come. But until then, we ask that all conversation be kept to a minimum."

Lane huffed and re-crossed her arms, glancing again at Mr. Clather. But this time, he was glancing back. And not just glancing...he was smiling.

"And if there are no further questions," Pastor Hall continued, "we will hear the primary allegation. Ms. Harraway, if you please." He motioned to a red-headed woman sitting at the front of the marble table.

The lady stood to her feet, holding a stack of papers sheltered inside an embossed folder. "Good morning, everyone. My name is Marissa Harraway, and I have the distinct honor of presenting you this case today." She flipped to the first page. "Lane Martin has attended EdgeWay Academy since kindergarten. She completed six years of primary school and is currently enrolled in her seventh. The following is the case against her: Though she has never failed a grade or repeated a year, her academic record is, at best, sub par. She is frequently known to act out, both within and beyond the classroom. Within the past month, she took part in a scheme to bribe a high-schooler, one Megan Zanierre, for the purpose of illegally pilfering pharmaceuticals. These chemicals were later used to hospitalize Lane's mother Elizabeth. Perhaps the most startling development of this incident was the fact that Lane weaved this intricate plan all for the purpose of attending EdgeWay's first basketball game of the season."

Lane's mother glared at her, and Lane sank down in her chair.

What the heck does any of this have to do with Jay attacking me in the hallway?

"Regretfully, Lane's disgraceful treatment of her mother was not an isolated occurrence. Numerous students and teachers alike have reported being disrespected, mocked, ridiculed, and otherwise targeted by the seventh-grade girl sitting before you today." Marissa flipped the page. "But in what might be Miss Martin's most heinous and barbaric act of cruelty, she recently assaulted fellow EdgeWay student Jay Clabber: Stairway video cameras show Lane as she strikes Jay viciously with the palm of her hand before kicking him down the stairs." Marissa turned to face the stage. "Pastor Hall, if you would please roll the video."

Lifting a remote from the podium, Pastor Hall pressed Play, and all attending immediately shifted their attention to the television screen hanging from the auditorium's back wall.

As the clip began, Jay's figure and form came into focus, as did the image of a thin and petite hand that smacked across his face. As Jay stumbled backward, his entire body now visible, Lane also came into view swinging her leg into his hip and propelling him over the stairs' edge. Jay tumbled and fell down the winding steps, Pastor Hall stopping the video before its bloody climax.

"As you can see," Marissa continued, "there is little doubt that Miss Martin is responsible for the assault on Jay Clabber. He fell into a coma forty-eight hours subsequent to this horrendous incident." She flipped over the second page and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. "Now, I will read to you a statement from the Clabber family regarding this incident:

"To the esteemed members of EdgeWay Church of Christ:

It is likely that you have heard the news of our son's grave misfortune. We would like to thank those of you kind enough to send cards and well wishes, but we also want to make it known that sentiment alone is not adequate consolation. Our son was brutally attacked while in school, a place of learning, growth, and ostensible safety for all students. Because of the actions of one girl, however, we may never see our son alive again. We may never hear him laugh, never watch him drive his first car, never share in all the joys and delights that a family should. And it is with this in mind that we are giving you a choice: You can expel Lane Martin and turn her over to the justice system, or we will take action into our own hands. We are not afraid to contact the police. We are not afraid to reach out to the media with this story. We are not afraid to seek justice for our son, and we hope that you are not afraid of justice either. What Lane did to our Jay was inexcusable, and we demand that a price be paid.

Yours in Christ,

Berton and Stella Clabber."

Marissa refolded the page.

Lane shifted in her seat, her gaze hardening at the wave of judgmental eyes washing toward her.

"And now," Marissa continued, "at the request of Lane's mother Elizabeth, I will deliver a few words in Lane's defense." She retrieved a page from the folder in her hand. "The Martins claim that Lane was acting out of self-preservation, that the stairway camera is positioned at such an angle as to obscure the part of the hallway in which Lane alleges that Jay attempted to force her into intimacy with him. This explanation might be more believable if not for the fact that Mrs. Alvin, Lane's biology teacher, reported that she had thrown Lane out of class and that Lane was on the way to the principal's office when she attacked Jay Clabber. It is Mrs. Alvin's belief that Lane may have struck Jay out of rage—"

"AS IF!" Lane screamed, springing from her chair. "You can call me a bully or whatever else you want, but do you honestly think I care about getting sent to the principal's office!? I don't even have enough fingers to count the number of office referrals I've gotten. And yet somehow, when that walking Halloween costume also known as Mrs. Alvin decided to send me to the office, I got so angry that I just snapped and tried to attack someone? Is that really what you're going with?"

"Miss Martin!" Pastor Hall's eyebrows arched, lips hardening to an angry scowl. "Some decorum, please! At least have the decency to wait your turn before speaking—"

"I've waited my turn, but this is bullcrap! I didn't attack Jay—he attacked me! And you know what else? I know what happened to Ruby." She pointed her nail-polished finger across the table at Mr. Clather. "He kidnapped her! I saw him the night of EdgeWay's first game, and he was pushing her down the—"

"Lane, stop this nonsense," her mother ordered with a labored breath.

"Can it, Mom! You may not believe me, but someone has to!" Lane turned back to Pastor Hall. "Mr. Clather was there—I swear it! And Ruby was wearing this really hideous hoodie, and she was crying, and, and—"

"That's enough!" Pastor Hall thundered. "Miss Martin, I am appalled. I never expected even you to stoop so low. You dare call into question the character of one of the Council's founding members?"

Lane put her right hand on her hip. "I'm calling into question the character of all of this council's members!"

A chorus of gasps erupted.

"Are you people really so dumb that you think I'd walk right in front of an actively recording camera and kick someone down the stairs? And why would I attack a basketball player, for crying out loud!? Do I look like I have a death wish? That freak ran at me faster than Vilmer from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and now that he's Matthew McComatose, his family decides to come after me? Is this a freaking joke?"

"I think we've heard enough from you, Miss Martin," Pastor Hall continued as if Lane had said nothing. "Take your seat. Now."

Lane leaned her head to the side. "I don't think so." She smiled. "And you know what else, I've heard enough from you. And I'm done wasting my Saturday trying to beg for forgiveness. I don't need your forgiveness, or anyone else's."

Lane's mother sat still, afraid to speak, afraid to move—not that it mattered to Lane. She sauntered slowly, defiantly, past that stupid marble table and the fools who populated it. When she made it to the double doors, she turned to face her begrudged audience once more, fixating her attention on the pathetic 'reverend' still standing on stage.

"Oh, and Pastor," she called, "a little piece of advice. If I were you, I'd take that five-dollar suit you're wearing back to the Wal-Mart rejects pile. Cheap's only cute when birds do it. Toodles." She grinned the widest she had all day, forcing her teeth together to the point of pain, then waved her fingers and sauntered out the auditorium.

****

"Well, GiGi, it's official," Lane said to her best friend through the phone, her voice twisting with disdain. "I'm no longer a student at EdgeWay."

GiGi was silent on the other end.

"Can't say I'm surprised," Lane added, letting out a sigh. "Or that I care."

"Well...I care," GiGi finally spoke. "I'll never get to see you at school again. Who's gonna eat lunch with me? Or talk to me, or..."

"GiGi," Lane cut in. "Everybody'll want to talk to you. You're so pretty—plus, you're still my best friend. I promise the guys won't be able to stay away from you."

"You're lying," GiGi pouted on the other end. "Plus, it won't be any fun without you around. So what if boys talk to me?"

Lane sighed. "GiGi, come on. Don't be so melaholic—sadness really doesn't suit you."

"Melaholic?" GiGi asked incredulously. "Seriously, Lane?"

"What?"

"The word is melancholic."

"Oh, you know what I mean. It's a big word from English class...and I thought it might cheer you up—"

"I'm not that big of a nerd, Lane."

"Are you kidding me? You made a ninety-seven on that taxonomy test. A ninety-seven!"

"Yeah, whatever," GiGi mumbled. "Look, Lane, I'm just really scared—for me and for you. I mean, what's gonna happen to you now that you're not in school?"

"Well, apparently Jay's parents wanted me thrown in juvie, but Pastor Hall and the Council were 'generous' enough to register me at Molding the Way."

"The church's delinquency rehab center? Lane, isn't that place for like druggies and meth addicts?"

"Yeah, well, apparently it's for girls who try to defend themselves too."

"Well...then I can't let you do this alone."

Lane shot up both eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to visit you—every day after school. It's a promise. And I don't care if my grades go down. I'm spending every day with you until we get you out of there. No way do you deserve to be locked up like some pothead just because a council of old kooks thinks you're a problem child."

"GiGi, stop—you can't sacrifice school for me. Your mom would kill us both if you got kicked out too. Plus, Irina would be devastated."

GiGi sniffled on the other end. "Well, I'm devastated, Lane."

Is she crying? "GiGi, please..."

More sniffling, more heavy and tearful breaths.

"Okay, GiGi. Okay," Lane relented. "You can visit me. But not all day. And you have to promise me you won't stop studying." She paused, eyes falling to the floor. "Besides, not caring about school is my job. We both know you're gonna get some platinum scholarship to Harvard or something."

"Well, I won't go unless you come with me. Whatever they give me, they'll have to give you too."

"GiGi, that's stupid..."

"What is? Wanting to be with my best friend?"

"No," Lane paused, then giggled through the phone. "Acting like I'd ever step foot in Harvard. I'm defs gonna be a supermodel by then." She stared off into space, smiling at the prospect. "I'll still come with you to Boston though. The weather may be chilly, but I hear the boys are smokin' hot."

GiGi laughed on the other end, a laughter Lane could feel in her heart.

"I love you, GiGi," Lane said after a moment's pause. "You're the smartest girl in the entire world. And don't you ever forget that."

"Aw, Lane," GiGi gushed. "I love you too! I love you so much."

Lane put her hand to her chest, sobs creeping up her throat as she batted her eyes, as she fought off the torrent of encroaching tears.

She looked up from the house phone and glanced outside, staring for a moment at the decorative shrubs that peeked in through the window closest to her. The leftmost seemed to stick out above the others, though its dark green color still blended into the night. Lane stared ahead as the light cast by the moon illuminated the miniature rounded edges of the shrub's tiny leaves and shone oddly off a single strand of whitely golden hair spread across one of its branches.

Wait...whose hair is that? Lane thought to herself. I came through the back door. There's no way I left—

...Creeeeeeak...

Lane spun around in under a second, casting her gaze immediately to the foyer, the source of that spooky, chirring screech. "GiGi," Lane whispered, "stay on the phone with me. I think someone...I think maybe somebody's in the house."

GiGi gasped. "What!? Should I call the p—?"

"Shh!" Lane whispered. She tiptoed to the foyer, her eyes wide and her brain on high alert, and swung the front door wide open!—but there was no one. A light breeze came and blew through Lane's hair, tangling the blond ends as they swayed in the darkness.

Someone was here, she thought. I heard the door creak. Someone was inside my house. She walked out on the lawn, looked in both directions and then straight across the street.

Nothing.

She listened for footsteps, breathing maybe. But all she heard was the rustling of the shrubs, the whistle of the air as it crawled its way through the miniature trees.

Without another word and after a few more fearful glances, Lane allowed herself to turn and walk back inside, locking the door behind her. She flicked off the porch light seconds later, stealing the shadow of her house from the grass and sidewalk—and from the tall green shrub that hid a second wary blond girl silently behind its leaves.