The Diamonds (6 page)

Anderson laughed again, but this time it was a tough, gritty chuckle.

“Sorry,” I said, my heart pumping a mile a minute. “I didn't mean to—”

“Don't apologize. I just meant it'd be a great time to work on the project.”

The project. Of course. “Oh, well, that sounds fine.”

“Cool,” Anderson said. We stood still for a moment, silence filling the space between us, before he turned. “I'm gonna finish running,” he told me. “See you later, Marni.”

“Bye,” I called after him.

I took a deep breath. In a little while I would have to go inside, where I'd make dinner and feed it to my mom because she couldn't use her hands, and we'd watch a
Gilmore Girls
rerun, waiting for my dad to come home from work. I'd probably call Clarissa—maybe even Lili and Priya—to dish about JeDarcy and Townsen and mock trial. I wouldn't tell them about Anderson, though. And definitely
not
about Friday night.

Anderson retreated into the twilight, the sky a dark kind of blue, the sun drifting off to sleep in sparks of orange and pink. Suddenly, breaking up with Jed didn't feel like the worst thing in the entire world.

T
HE
B
ENNINGTON
P
RESS

The New Face of Justice

By: TOMMY PAYNE

September 28—
Lady Liberty received a face-lift yesterday afternoon when four Bennington seniors—Clarissa von Dyke, Priya Ramnani, Lili Chan-Mohego, and Marni Valentine—chose the jury for the newly envisioned student court, affectionately nicknamed The Diamond Court by students.

With the addition of the popular seniors to the team, the club's mission has changed from reenacting famous trials of the past to holding modern-day trials involving issues that affect Bennington students themselves.

“It's more or less peer mediation,” says Mr. Townsen, AP Government teacher and faculty advisor for the team. “An alternative for students who want to settle their problems fairly and stay out of trouble.”

But is this new version of the mock trial team really
fair?
“Of course it is,” says Clarissa von Dyke. “It's more than fair. It's perfection.”

Only time will tell. But one thing is for sure: even Capitol Hill has yet to see such beautiful lawmakers.

•
EXHIBIT D
•

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated …

—The Fourth Amendment
to the United States Constitution

Walking down the hall next to Clarissa was unreal. The way she moved was fluid and quick. People
dove
when they saw her. I'm talking leap-out-of-the-way, throw-yourself-against-the-wall dives where nothing mattered except getting out of her way. No one pushed her between classes or dared even to brush up against her. Once, sophomore year, Danielle Grazaldo was juggling a bunch of books and accidentally spilled some of her Poland Spring on Clarissa's skirt en route to the library. Two weeks later, she transferred. And that was just
water
.

I'd always wondered what it would be like if people were scared of me like they were of Clarissa. It wasn't the most admirable thing to aspire to—instilling fear in others—but ever since I'd become one of the
Diamonds, my life had been in a happy sort of limbo I couldn't seem to escape from. I was popular, yes, and people thought I was pretty and had expensive clothes (I mostly borrowed Priya's), and while that was certainly nice, I didn't stand out in any way whatsoever. I didn't sparkle. Clarissa was the gorgeous one, Priya was the fun one, Lili was the smart one, and I was, well, along for the ride. While a large part of me was satisfied simply to have friends who liked me, a smaller part of me wondered what it would be like for everyone to move out of the way for
me
—not for who I was standing next to.

I guess that was why I was so eager to join mock trial: because Clarissa wanted to. Because before I'd come to Bennington, I'd had nothing. Public school had been a disaster. I didn't wear the right clothes or have the right friends, or any friends at all, really. I was invisible. But then I enrolled at Bennington and Clarissa plucked me from a sea of nothingness and turned me into
something
, into someone. I still wasn't particularly special, but that didn't matter anymore. I owed her. I was a Diamond. I was not about to lose that for anything.

“Move,” Clarissa said.

It was sixth period—time for lunch—and Scott Kirkpatrick was blocking my locker. Exactly one week had passed since we'd chosen a jury.

Scott, who had a squishy nose and a triangle of
pimples on his forehead, was so startled that he dropped one of his books and accidentally smacked his elbow on the locker next to him. I could tell by the look on his face that it hurt.

“Hi, Clarissa,” he said. In what seemed like an afterthought, he said hello to me, too.

“Scott. You look so handsome today,” Clarissa said. She was wearing a pink cashmere cardigan and a gray skirt. “Did you get a haircut?”

“Uh, no,” he said, turning red.

“Really? Well, you look stunning. Like an Adonis.” Clarissa arched her back and va-va-voomed her boobs. “Bye, now.”

“Uh, bye,” he said, scurrying away.

“You're cruel,” I said, grabbing two binders and checking my hair in the mirror I had put up. “He probably thinks you like him now.”

“That wasn't cruel,” she said, reaching into her purse and applying lip gloss with her pinky. When she was done, she grabbed my arm and we began walking toward the cafeteria. “That was community service.”

There were two cafeterias at Bennington, creatively named A and B. They were pretty much identical, except that A had tackier colors and
didn't
have a soda machine. B was only for seniors, with a few exceptions. (The Diamonds, for instance, had eaten in B since freshman year. We had our own table in the back corner, right next to a window overlooking one of the courtyards. We referred to it as Café Bennington,
which, if you ask me, had a much nicer ring to it than “Cafeteria B.”)

Usually people chose
not
to sit near us at lunch—admiring from afar, I'm sure—but that day Café Bennington seemed especially empty; all I saw were white walls, long tables, and about twenty or so pink lunch trays. A few recognizable faces stuffed their mouths with sandwiches, and Yolanda, an overweight lunch lady, stomped past us, her ginormous breasts threatening to flop out of her uniform.

Jed had lunch sixth period, too. At the beginning of school, he'd sat at our table (as a rule, boyfriends were only allowed to eat lunch with us after three consecutive weeks of dating), but he'd disappeared completely after dumping me. Over the past few days, I had spotted him in the courtyard with Darcy, and the thought of them together made me sick. And sad. At least he was smart enough to stay outside.

“What took you so long?” Clarissa asked, drumming her nails on the table as Lili sat down.

Lili motioned to the far end of Café Bennington, where there was a wooden box to leave suggestions for better cafeteria food (the most basic oxymoron ever).

“You did it?” Clarissa asked, flashing a smile. She turned to me. “I asked Lili to have student government approve turning the suggestion box into a place where people can file applications to have their cases heard at mock trial.”

“Oh,” I said. “Cool.”

“So
cool,” said Priya, eating yogurt, something sixty
calories and blueberry, dipping her plastic spoon into the cup the way you'd dip your toe into a freshly drawn bath. Lili had taken out a crinkled paper bag and removed a sandwich—withery lettuce, sliced tomatoes, and what looked like turkey. Clarissa and I both had platefuls from the salad bar.

“This week was fine for just starting,” Clarissa said, biting into a tomato, “but we really need to spice things up. This box is perfect. We can go through the applications and pick which ones we want to bring to trial.”

“Everyone in student government thought it was a
great
idea,” Lili added. “I just hope people actually use it.”

“They will,” Clarissa said with confidence. “Did you make the flyer?”

Lili nodded, reaching into her bag and pulling out a thin sheet of paper. “I haven't made copies yet, though.”

I glanced over Clarissa's shoulder. It read:

Did your BFF trash-talk you behind your back and ruin your favorite dress?

Did your girlfriend cheat on you with the entire football team?

Fill out an application to have your case heard by the newly improved mock trial team! Put your best friend (or your worst
enemy) on trial and have them get what they deserve: justice!

All trials held in the chorus room after school.

Clarissa von Dyke
Priya Ramnani
Lili Chan-Mohego
Marni Valentine

•
EXHIBIT E
•

“Perfect,” Clarissa said.

We sat for a few moments in silence, eating slowly, until Priya finished her yogurt and burped. “Today in the bathroom,” she said, “I heard Nicole Reynolds and Stephanie Grier talking about the Snow Ball.”

“Oh God,” Clarissa said, shaking her head.

Fact: Bennington's annual Snow Ball is like every single dance rolled into one; it's homecoming times a million and practically more important than prom. Every year, ten seniors (five boys, five girls) are nominated to the Snow Court as Ice Princes and Princesses. On the day of the dance, an Ice King and Queen are chosen. There's a huge pep rally in the gym and everything. Aside from winning a popularity contest, the people chosen as king and queen automatically become heads of the committee that organizes prom; they get to pick the location, theme, DJ, decorations. The whole nine yards.

The catch was that both faculty and students chose the nominees. Being well-liked didn't necessarily guarantee a spot on the Snow Court. Things like academic prowess and community service played pivotal roles in securing a nomination, which for the Diamonds—except Lili, of course—meant potential trouble.

“People are already thinking about that?” I asked. “They don't even announce the court for, like, another month or two, and the dance isn't until December.”

Clarissa dropped her fork, shocked. Her two older sisters, Missy and Bronwyn, had been Bennington Ice Queens in their day; I knew she felt pressure to live up to their legacy, but it was silly, I thought, to take anything called the Snow Ball so seriously.

“It's
never
too early to discuss the Snow Ball,” she said. “Honestly, Marni.”

I sighed.

“It's easy for you to be so cavalier. This whole Jed thing couldn't have worked out better. You'll totally get the sympathy vote. It's
so
unfair.”

Yeah
, I wanted to say.
It's really unfair that my boyfriend cheated on me with some mannish girl who thought a black trench coat was appropriate to wear to school
.

“Sometimes,” Priya said, “I have nightmares that Jenny Murphy gets nominated and I don't. Once, I woke up and my entire bed was wet. I thought I, like, peed in my sleep or something, but then I realized the sheets were soaked
with my own tears.”

“Tragic,” said Clarissa.

“Don't worry,” Lili said, nudging Clarissa. “You've done community service, right?”

Clarissa shrugged. “I totally adopted two puppies from the North Shore Animal League, if that's what you mean.”

“I thought you gave those away,” Priya said, tilting her head.

“So? I still adopted them. I don't see
you
taking in any abused animals.”

“I haven't worn real fur in
three
years—”

“Mock trial is a good start,” I interjected. “I'm sure Townsen will put in a good word for you.”

“True,” Clarissa said, biting her lip, “but we need something bigger. Something that will be sure to impress the Snow Ball council. Well? Any ideas?”

“
I
know,” Priya said, taking the straw from her drink and chewing on the end. “Okay, like,
I'm
really fashionable and
you're
really fashionable”—she pointed to Clarissa—“and
Lili's
really fashionable and Marni has a megaphone.” It was true. I did have a megaphone. “So what if we stood outside and, like, made a booth or whatever, and we could all announce to people what doesn't work about their outfits, but not in
an American Idol
way, or wait—like, yeah, in an
American Idol
way but none of us would be Simon. We'd all be Paula, or like, Marni, you could be Randy and say ‘dawg’ or whatever—but we'd all be really nice and it'd be like we're
helping
people with their
fashion
. Community service. Right?”

“I mean,
Priya,”
Clarissa managed to get out. “No. That was retarded.” She turned to me. “We
should
use your megaphone, though. I totally forgot about that. Lili, what do you think?”