1
RAINA PETREE,
:
IN THE COURT OF
:
COMMON DECENCY OF
Plaintiff,
:
CAMBRIA COUNTY
:
v.
:
CIVIL ACTION-LAW
:
BRANDON ROTH,
:
Docket No. 2020CIVIL0908
:
:
JURY TRIAL
Defendant
:
DEMANDED
JANUARY 4: COMPLAINT
Everything was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
Everything was great, actually, until Brandon had to go and ruin my life.
School was back in session from winter break, and I was ready to live it up in my final semester at Steelton High. I’d killed it as Katherine Minola in the Stackhouse Players’ winter production of Taming of the Shrew. (Everyone said so, including the reviewers in This Town: Steeltown and the Tribune Republican. And nothing usually impresses those people. Nothing.) The admissions department at Carnegie Mellon had caught wind of my performance and everyone said they’d be fighting NYU and even Juilliard for me, even if I hadn’t applied to Juilliard. My evenings were filled with talks with my best friend, Megan, about theater craft and Brandon and college and Brandon and method and Brandon. (Brandon and theater were kind of tied together for me, since he’d been the one to encourage me to audition for my first play in elementary school, way before we were even going out.) At the end of last year, I’d just been elected Drama Club president to replace Cate Berry, who got cast in a movie and moved to LA. I’d narrowly edged out the awful Claire Fowler by two votes. She’d been my chief rival since she won the lead at fifth-grade summer camp (and every blasted summer after that), but I’d finally triumphed over her. Life had hit perfection by New Year’s Eve, and it was only going to get better.
Or it would have, had it not all come crashing down because of dick Brandon.
I came back to school on day one of the new term ready to persuade Mr. Cooper that we should ditch Almost, Maine (which we had done for the spring production two years in a row) and perform Radium Girls instead. I had notes and a USB-saved PowerPoint. We had a full hour for clubs and sport meetings right after lunch, thank you, Football Boosters, so I planned to corner Mr. Cooper before he got an earful from Claire about Arsenic and Old Lace or, God help me, fucking Our Town.
I practiced my pitch on Megan between bites of my sandwich.
“Almost, Maine sucks!” said Megan. “Isn’t Arsenic and Old Lace done everywhere? We need something different.”
“Well, Radium Girls is super popular, too, but we’ve never done it here,” I said. “And I want it for my portfolio.”
“Yes. Heaven forbid we not have something in our portfolio,” said Megan.
(She might have been hearing about said portfolio since Claire first bested me at aforementioned camp.)
“You need to show diversity—”
Megan held up her hands. “Yes, yes. For Carnegie Mellon’s competitive drama department. I know, I know. You’ve convinced me. Down with John Cariani. Ring in the reign of D.W. Gregory to Steelton High’s spring production.”
“Yes,” I said, but I was pleased she had been listening to my presentation. The PowerPoint had crashed her laptop.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” said Megan as the bell rang.
I strode out of the cafeteria and down the hall with a purpose. This was my year. We were going to do the play I wanted, and everyone would thank me for it. Even Claire. I rounded the corner by the guidance office to hit up my locker before my date with Mr. Cooper. I practically exploded with joy to see Brandon standing there.
“Hey!” I said, rushing over to him. Before he could say anything, I threw my arms around him and pressed my mouth to his. That was not allowed in our sacred hallways of learning, but if you were fast the teachers didn’t say anything.
The asshole even kissed me back.
“I thought you were doing some fancy extra chem lab today?” I said.
“Oh yeah. Mr. Bower is out sick, and the sub didn’t want any active flames. Something bad happened in his past involving eyebrows. I don’t know. I’m going to stop in to Mock Trial. New session is upon us. We have so many members this year, we might have a whole crew dedicated to researching for the competition team.”
“Awesome,” I said.
I meant it. Brandon had wanted to be a lawyer ever since we started going out in eighth grade. He was the only kid I knew who read Supreme Court decisions for fun. His passion for law stuff kept me going in theater, even when I wanted to try something else like debate or Mock Trial myself. But Brandon said it was better to stick with one thing. He always said it’d distract him if I branched into his activities. I respected that. I could be incredibly distracting. Though I always thought I’d kill it up there in front of a real judge.
“I’m going to convince Mr. Cooper that we can’t have yet another year of Almost, Maine—”
“Listen, Raina?” he said, putting up his hands. “Can I just stop you right there? I actually need to talk to you.” He looked at the floor. He dug the toe of his loafer into a gray hole in the dirty hallway linoleum.
“Uh. Sure. You okay?” I said. Oh God, did his grandma die? She’d been sick since shortly after her ninetieth birthday party. Brandon’s mom was stressed about it every time I ate dinner over at his house. “Is it your grandma?”
“No, no. Nan is fine. It’s just … well, you know how I went to Model UN camp this last week?”
“Yes,” I said. He hadn’t been home for New Year’s Eve, but I’d made the best of it with Megan.
“Well, some stuff happened there I didn’t tell you about. Because I didn’t think it mattered and because of your Stackhouse show and everything. But now…” He trailed off.
Dig went his shoe. Dig, dig.
“Stuff? What stuff?”
“Ruby Carol and I hooked up.”
His dialogue came out all wrong. Rushed. Forced. No emotional connection at all. I didn’t believe it.
“Ruby Carol. From Model UN,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You hooked up,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“But you were happy to see me. You were really happy to see me just this Sunday,” I said. I hadn’t been ready to sleep with him until this year. But once we got started, woooo boy. Brandon’s parents both worked late on Sundays, so we had his house to ourselves and believe me—I always got a great start to the week over there.
“We were safe. I would never…”
“You were safe?” I said. My voice bounced off the silver lockers and the diversity mural and the skylight outside the auditorium. “You had sex with her?”
“That’s what I said.” He glanced around. “Maybe you should lower your voice…”
“No, you … there are a lot of meanings to ‘hooked up.’ And you can shove my loud voice up your ass.” I stepped toward him, forcing him to back up against my locker. “Why are you telling me this shit in the hallway? Between classes? Before drama period?” I said.