Res Judicata (11 page)

“Yeah, sure, okay,” I went. “What else do you want to look up?” I was proud of myself. I hardly sounded like a cartoon character at all.

Shannondoah rifled through her pile of papers and found the one she was looking for.

“Okay, let's see. How about we start with Power Powder?”

I walked her through the process again. The Power Powder site was down—the company had apparently gone
out of business—but there were a number of other articles on the stuff. Shannondoah didn't even know how to double click, so I stayed with her while she printed a few pages out. By the second time she did it, she seemed to know her way around. I didn't know why she thought she was dumb. She picked up the computer stuff faster than Andy, and Andy uses a computer every day.

“Why, isn't this fabulous!” she said. “It's not hard at all. It's
way
easier than rooting around through a bunch of old books. Now let me do one all by myself, okay? What do I have next on my list? Let's see...P-a-t-e-n-t. Space. P-r-o-t-e-c-t-i-o-n. Patent protection. Sounds like something you do to your shoes, doesn't it? Then just hit ‘I feel lucky' and—voila!”

A legal site came on the screen. Shannondoah threw her hands up in the air. She went, “You're a genius!”

Then she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

I don't know what I looked like from the outside, but inside I was definitely doing the whole bug-just-slammed-into-windshield thing. I think Shannondoah must have seen that too. She let out another one of those big laughs.

She went, “You're cute!” and wiped her lipstick off my face with her thumb. “There. All gone! Don't want your girlfriend getting jealous of an old widow-lady like me!”

I sort of stumbled back to my corner. None of the guys at school were ever going to believe that Miss Gingivitis USA kissed me. Those posters they had up all over the reading room were right.
Libraries can be fun
!

I tried to concentrate on my project, but my mind (and my eyes) kept wandering. I mean, you really never know about people. For starters, who'd have thought Shannondoah Sanderson would think someone like me was cute?

And, for seconds, who'd have thought someone who looked like her would spend her time in a library? I'd been all ready to write her off as some blond bimbo when I saw her on TV, but here she was again, doing research—and it wasn't on nail polish or hair color or some celebrity's love life or anything. She was looking up Power Powder. Unless I was wrong, that was the cleaning stuff Chuck threw on the fire.

I wondered what she was up to. Was she thinking of appealing the case or something? It wouldn't be that surprising. I mean, lots of cases get appealed. If lawyers can find one tiny thing the judge did wrong or one little itty-bitty legal loophole, they'll try and get another trial—and hopefully this time a verdict they like too.

It dawned on me that I should probably tell Andy about what Shannondoah was doing and give her a chance to get prepared. That's what a good son would do.

I thought about it for a couple of seconds. My choice: Betray my mother. Or betray Miss Gingivitis Or betray Miss Gingivitis
USA
. The answer was clear. I guess I wasn't a good son.

I put a CD in the computer and copied the footage I needed for my project.

Shannondoah stuck her hand up and waved. “Yoo-hoo! I'm going now! Thanks again!”

I smiled and waved back.

I waited for the tingling in my spine to calm down and then I tried to focus on my project again. Was there anything else I needed? I printed off some still shots that I could maybe use for a poster. Ms. Cavanaugh hadn't asked for a poster, but there could be some extra points there for me. I copied a few things on the trial too. Then I got up to go.

The fastest way out of the library was straight past the returns desk, but, I don't know why (okay, that's a lie), I went the long way, past Shannondoah's seat. Maybe this is what they mean when they say criminals always return to the scene of the crime.

I tried to make it look natural, like it was no big deal, like I just had a bad sense of direction or something.

I sort of glanced down at her desk as I went past. I guess I was half hoping to see her face reflected in the screen, smiling back at me, blowing a kiss, doing that “You're cute” thing again.

No such luck. But there was something even better there. Shannondoah had left one of her papers behind.

I picked it up and bolted out of the library.

Eviction
Ousting a tenant who has breached the
terms of a lease or rental agreement.

Iran up and down the street a couple of times, but Shannondoah was long gone. I was sort of hoping I'd at least find a glass slipper or something, but the nearest I came was a grubby gray gym sock all balled up and perched on the ground like a big outie bellybutton. (I didn't think it was hers.) After a while, I just stopped, kicked a couple of pebbles in disgust and then stuffed the piece of paper into my pocket.

Who was I kidding? What difference would it have made if I caught up to her? I was totally dreaming. Gus the Mouse didn't get Cinderellie. The Prince did.

Back to reality. Back to this stupid project. I checked my watch: 7:45
PM
. The media arts lab at school was open until nine. If I booted it, I figured I could at least throw
something
together tonight. Better than nothing.

Mr. Yurchesyn, the technician, wasn't thrilled to see me showing up so late, but I squeezed past him.

I sat down next to this kid everyone calls Fitzmo who was even further behind than me. I loved sitting by that guy. He always made me look good.

I turned on the computer. I got this sudden brain wave. Maybe I wasn't in as much trouble as I thought I was. Maybe I'd saved my project onto the hard drive here. I keyed in my password. There it was!
Chuck and Andy
. It looked like something was finally going right for me.

I clicked it open.

I let out a big sigh and clunked my head on the computer. It wasn't what I was hoping for. It was just some footage from that dinner we'd had after Andy won the case. That wasn't good for anything.

Okay. Fine. Forget it. I closed the file, put my
CD
in the computer and started editing my project from scratch. I was in the worst mood. That whole Shannondoah thing had kind of taken my mind off Andy for a while, but there was nothing distracting me now. Just looking at the footage made me mad. Andy was the reason I had to do the project over again. The malicious prosecution suit was the reason we were getting those orange envelopes from the power company. Chuck was the reason I could barely stand going home anymore.

Chuck.

More like Upchuck.

I couldn't stand the guy.

I really wished I was a better person. Honestly. I wished I could look at people and see what's good about them and not just kind of zoom in on their faults. The man I would someday like to be wouldn't even notice if someone was a know-it-all or a mooch or a little short on teeth.

But I'm still a kid. Call me shallow, but I find it hard to remember that somebody tried to save a person's life when he's spitting all over my dinner. I find it hard to be crazy about somebody who's making me miserable.

That part in the video where Eva Jackson “from the award-winning
CJCH
news team” talks about Chuck came on the screen. She said something about “the timid, uneducated man at the center of the case.” I almost screamed. Timid? Please. Some investigative journalist. Eva obviously never talked to the guy. I couldn't believe she fell for that big act of his.

I stuck my hands in my pockets to keep from punching the screen. I took a couple of big breaths. I was being stupid. Why work myself up over something like this now?

I felt Shannondoah's paper in my pocket. There was one sort of nice thing in my life anyway.

I decided to give myself a little break.

I took the paper out and opened it up. Shannondoah had the kind of handwriting girls practice on their binders. All kind of neat and curlicue. I bet she'd spent hours perfecting it when she was a kid.

I was sort of hoping the note would say something like
Call me sometime, Big Boy
, but I wasn't even close.
Avenues to Explore
was written in big letters at the top of the page. Underneath was just a bunch of almost-questions.

Flammability of Lice
?

Location of Fire Extinguishers
?

Assistants
?

Traffic Court
?

Phone/E-mail Records
?

Patent Protection
?

Appeals
?

I breezed through the list. None of it made much sense to me, but that
Appeals
thing stopped me cold.

I was right. Shannondoah must have been thinking of trying to overturn the verdict. She wanted a new trial.

My stomach clenched in that chicken-and-mashed-potatoes-left-out-in-a-warm-hall sort of way.

I wasn't blinded by her green eyes anymore. I could see what this really meant now. Andy would do the appeal on contingency too. How long could we go without money coming in? She was spending too much time already on Chuck's malicious prosecution suit. Was she doing anything for her paying clients these days? Was any money coming in? I could feel everything starting to slip away.

Andy doesn't mind when money gets tight, but I've always hated it. It's scary. Food starts getting scarce. The landlord starts pushing madder and madder letters under the door. We stop answering the phone because we don't want to talk to the guy from the power company or the collection agency or even Atula, who's wondering how she's going to pay the office expenses on her own.

Then the phone gets cut off and at least we don't have to worry about the calls anymore. The hard part then is coming up with excuses. Other kids just don't get it. They don't even know you can lose your phone service. They don't understand why we don't answer the door anymore. It's like they live in a fantasy world or something.

It's stupid, but I could feel my eyes start to sting. It didn't matter how pretty Shannondoah was or that she'd actually kissed me. Thinking about her couldn't make me forget those orange envelopes.

Mr. Yurchesyn said, “Okay, guys. Lab closes in half an hour. Start winding things up. Get focused.”

Right. Get focused. Forget about feeling sorry for yourself. Do your work. I stuffed the note back in my pocket. I shook my head until things straightened up inside.

I just had to attack my project one step at a time.

1. Put in the credits.

From Louse to Lousy Rich: The Life and Death of Ernest Sanderson
.

Conceived, written, directed, videotaped and edited by Cyril F. MacIntyre

Should I mention that I did the voice and soundtrack too? I considered it for a second, then decided against it. If I added that, I'd have to make my name smaller.

2. Arrange to take some before and after shots of kids' teeth the next day. Ask Fitzmo. His are so gray they're almost green. He's a prime Gleamoccino candidate.

3. Cut out a bit of the footage of Sanderson's early years. It doesn't add much to the story—except the idea that even hopeless nerds can some day make a lot of money and end up with Miss Gingivitis
USA
.

4. On second thought, don't cut it after all. We all need hope.

Mr. Yurchesyn gave the twenty-minute warning.

5. Tighten up the sequence in the lab.

That whole scene was way too long and had hardly anything at all to do with Gleamoccino. I should have just focused on Sanderson and Reith, but I couldn't resist keeping
Disco ‘Stache in there. I figured I owed it to the guy. My life really, really sucked at the moment, but he made me laugh. He'd made Andy laugh. If he wanted fame, I'd give it to him.

I couldn't resist. I knew I didn't have much more than fifteen minutes left, but I hit Rewind and watched him weasel his way into the frame again. The guy was about as smooth as Mr. Bean and just as out of it.

I was looking at the footage for, like, the hundredth time, just sort of fast-forwarding through it, when I practically fell off my chair.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. For a second there, I thought I was just imagining it. Like maybe I was tired or had spent too much time in front of the computer or something. I mean, how could I not have noticed this before?

I scrolled back and watched him do it again.

No, I wasn't losing my mind. I saw what I saw, and I knew right away where I'd seen it before.

Disco ‘Stache licked his middle finger and pushed his glasses up his nose.

Dolus malus
(Latin)
Fraud. A false representation of fact that is intended
to deceive another so that the individual will
act upon it to her or his legal injury.

Why was I scared? What was there to be scared of? I didn't know, but something was making my heart go crazy. It was like a sumo wrestler was stomping the yard in my chest or something. It was making my teeth vibrate.

Mr. Y went, “Fifteen minutes, people!”

I had to act fast. I printed off a still photo of Disco ‘Stache. I stared at it. What was I thinking? The guy was young and skinny and had a full set of teeth. So he licked his middle finger before he pushed his glasses up.

Big deal.

I bet he and Chuck weren't the only guys to do that. It's not that unusual. Other people must do it too. (It wouldn't have surprised me if they had their own website. You know, www.fingerlickingdudes.com or something.) This was just a coincidence. That skinny guy didn't look anything like Chuck.

I rolled my eyes at myself. I was getting all worried about nothing. Like I needed to waste the twelve and a half minutes I had left over stuff like this?

I took my pen and just sort of scribbled over Disco ‘Stache's face in disgust. I pushed it out of the way and turned back to the screen. Finish your project! Would you just get to work?