The Black Sheep (20 page)

Now I'm the one gasping for breath. How could they have taken that message from the piece? They've been manipulated by Judy, not me.

Defending myself would take too much energy—energy I am going to need to make a classy exit—so I decide to take the high road. Standing to face them, I say, “I know you're upset and I can't really blame you, but it isn't as bad as it looks. I want you to know that I think of you both as second parents. I have nothing but respect for you.”

Judy chortles. “And I have nothing but respect for the way you've learned to shovel it, KB. All that public speaking has paid off. You're celebrity material now.”

“I don't want to be a celebrity,” I say. “I want to be Kendra Bishop, a nobody from New York. And by this time tomorrow, that's what I'll be.”

I start up the stairs, and Judy grabs me by the shirttail. “That's up to America, remember?”

“You can't stop me from getting on a plane,” I tell her.

“You can't get on a plane without a ticket, and if Judy recalls correctly, your credit's dried up.”

I glance at Max and Mona, hoping they want to get rid of me enough to offer the money, but they won't even look at me.

Judy releases my shirt. “I guess you'll have to wait and see what America decides.”

Halfway up the stairs I realize classy exits are overrated. “America can bite me!”

“Hi, Mr. Watson, is Carrie at home?” I ask, when Carrie's dad answers the door.

“Carrie and Calvin are grounded,” he replies, with none of his usual warmth. “I don't think I need to tell you why.”

“Okay, well, I'll just say good-bye, then. I'm going home tomorrow.”

“I wish you well, Kendra, but I can't say we'll miss you,” he says, closing the door gently but firmly in my face.

I suppose asking for a loan to buy a plane ticket is out of the question.

Seated on a swing in the backyard, I dial my parents' home number on Judy's cell phone, which I snatched from the kitchen counter on the way out.

“You've reached Kenneth, Deirdre, and Maya!” a trio chimes in unison. “We can't come to the phone right now because we're out doing something fabulous. Leave a message and we'll call you back!”

I pitch the phone into Mona's marigolds and push off on the swing.

If only I'd ignored that stupid magazine ad. Now, just about everyone I know hates me, including my own parents. What kind of a loser alienates two sets of parents, a good friend, dozens of acquaintances, and a boyfriend all in the space of twenty-four hours?

Of course, this was all part of Judy's master plan. Carrie once said that the show would only accept Maya if Mitch agreed to participate. Now I see why. Judy knew I was too naive to see through him, and I played right into her hands. She got exactly what she wanted—conflict and great ratings. If the kid from New York had to fall under the wheels of the network machine and get her heart crushed in the process, so be it.

Part of me still can't believe that it was all fake, though. Surely I would have seen some signs that Mitch didn't care about me. Surely I am not
that
gullible. If I am, Black Sheepism has some gaping holes I'll have to plug very carefully before I ever date again.
If
I ever date again.

“Hey, slow down,” Mitch says, walking across the yard toward me. “You're going to tip the swings.”

I pump my legs harder to gain some height. “Like you care what happens to me.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

I throw my whole body into the upward swing and enjoy three seconds of relief during the freefall. “Nothing.”

He accepts my answer too easily. “It wasn't as bad at the aquarium as we feared,” he says. “The computers weren't damaged and we didn't lose any research. So Lisa is fine.”

“What a relief,” I say.

He completely misses the sarcasm. “How'd it go here?”

“Just peachy,” I say, driving again toward the sky. Suddenly, one of the supports at the base of the swing set lifts out of its hole and the entire structure rocks violently. I cling to the chains until Mitch steps forward to steady me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I get off the swing and storm over to a lawn chair. “No, I am not okay. I haven't been okay since you abandoned me in jail yesterday.”

“What do you mean, abandoned you?” he asks, following me. “I was locked in the same cell.”

“You spent the whole time comforting Lisa. I could have used some support too.”

“But you were fine,” he says, looking confused. “You didn't seem upset at all.”

“I was IN JAIL,” I shout. “That should have been your first clue I wasn't fine. Didn't it occur to you that I might feel terrible about getting everyone locked up? And this morning, you let your parents think the sit-in was all my fault.”

“That wasn't what I meant,” he says. “I was trying not to take credit for your idea. You know I was all for the sit-in. I still think it was a great idea. It almost worked, too.”

“Well, your parents have a better reason for hating me now anyway.” I meet his eyes for the first time. “Judy got hold of Meadow's camera.”

It takes a moment for this to sink in. When it does, he picks up a garden gnome and hurls it at the fence. “Shit.”

“While you were helping Lisa, I got to sit with your parents as they watched the rough cut.”

“I'm sorry.” He tries to take my hand but I jerk it away.

“Judy put this story together about how you used me to promote your environmental agenda. Meanwhile, you've been involved with Lisa the whole time. She's calling it, ‘Pimping Kendra.'” The last bit is my invention, but it fits.

Mitch laughs. He laughs!

I get out of the deck chair and charge back to the swings again. I don't care if the whole set collapses around me, I have to swing right now. Mitch comes after me and holds on to the chains so I can't move.

“Don't tell me you believe Judy's story,” he says. “You've got to be kidding.”

“If you saw it, you wouldn't waste your time lying about it.”

“You mean I'm convicted without a trial?”

“You missed your court date.” I pry his fingers off the chain one by one and then shove him back so that I can swing. “I am going home tomorrow anyway.”

He anchors the pole so that I don't catapult into the rosebushes. “You're going to leave just like that?”

“On the first plane out.”

“Fine. If you're the type to take off as soon as the going gets tough, I'll drive you to the airport.”

“Don't bother. I'm sure you and Lisa want to get right to work on a new plan for saving the world.”

He snorts. “And obviously you need to hurry home to shop on sparkly Fifth Avenue.”

I try to kick him as I swing past, but he ducks out of the way.

He opens his mouth but I jump off the swing and speak first. “Don't. There's nothing you can say. “

I run out of the yard before the tears come. Mitch has broken my heart and my confidence, and there's no Black Sheep rule to tell me how to mend them.

I shine the flashlight over the marigolds until I find Judy's cell phone. Then I creep back into the house and lock myself in the basement.

Turning up the volume of the TV, I watch as the commercial ends and Harry Queen's face appears on the screen.

“And now,” Harry says, smiling at the camera, “I have a little surprise. Kendra Bishop is on the phone from Monterey. Apparently, she wants to set the record straight about behind-the-scenes shenanigans on her popular show. Let's hear it, Black Sheep.”

“T
ake your seats,” the judge commands, pounding the gavel so hard that her cheap plywood bench wobbles. “Court is in session.”

In other words, we're live. Judy had a last-minute inspiration to shoot the final one-hour season finale of
The Black Sheep: California Edition
live in a courtroom. Since courtrooms are in short supply in Monterey, we had to settle for a TV studio that is normally home to
Nutty's Playhouse
, a children's show featuring a man in a green squirrel suit.

The set decorators worked overnight to create the courtroom, and in typical Reality Network fashion, they cut a few corners. For starters, the American flag hanging over the judge's bench doesn't fully cover the enormous green mural of Nutty. Second, my seat behind the “witness box” consists of an uncomfortable plastic oak tree stump. And last, there are foam peanuts scattered everywhere that squeak when you step on them.

I'm not impressed by the judge, either. As there was no one suitable on such short notice, our very own Judge Judy is presiding, in a voluminous robe adorned with a fuzzy black sheep. She can't even be bothered to look impartial.

To begin the broadcast, Judy introduces herself and all the key players in the courtroom. Then she urges viewers to pick up the phone and vote. Once the polls are officially open, she cuts away to highlights of past episodes and pretaped interviews.

That leaves me with nothing to do but squirm in the witness box while my fate is being decided. After my call to Harry Queen, I'm reasonably confident about the verdict. My eloquent appeal to send me home probably did the trick, but if not, the “Pimping Kendra” episode that aired a few days later surely would have. Viewers couldn't help but realize I've been ill-treated by the Mulligans in general and Mitch in particular, and they'll be eager to return me to the overprotective arms of my parents.

While hundreds of thousands of strangers call in to the panel of producers in the jury box, I sit under the watchful eye of two dozen familiar faces. Rosa, Carrie, and Tia are in the front row of the visitors' gallery alongside Max, Mona, and Meadow. Behind them are Mitch, Lisa, Ted Silver, Sergeant Newman, and Walter, now out on bail. The back two rows are given over to Team 14 members.

Beside the jury box is the defense table, behind which sit my parents and Maya. I haven't been able to bring myself to take a good look at them yet. Oddly enough, I don't feel their eyes on me, either.

Eventually, Judy bangs her gavel and asks, “Has America reached a verdict, Mr. Chairman?”

Aaron approaches the judge's bench, smiling directly at the cameras. His apprenticeship with Judy is obviously coming along nicely. “No, My Lady, we had to do a recount.” He corrects himself. “I mean,
Your Honor
.”

Carrie rolls her eyes at me, and I try to smile back. It means a lot to me that she defied her parents to attend today. She even slipped me a note through Meadow, saying that we're friends forever and that she's sure today will go well.

I need all the support I can get, especially after what happened with Mitch. Mind you, I've adjusted surprisingly quickly to life without him, perhaps because he moved in with Calvin right after our fight. Why the Watsons don't hold him equally accountable for their kids' arrest is beyond me. Maybe what they're really worried about is that emancipation could be contagious. But whatever. My point is that Mitch is welcome to avoid me for the rest of his days. I am
so
over him.

Just the same, I'd hoped he wouldn't appear in court today since I've already got enough to worry about. It helps to see that his looks have really gone downhill in the past week, probably from living in that cave with Calvin. His hair is unkempt, there are circles under his eyes, and he's wearing a ratty T-shirt. I don't know what I saw in him.

Not that I'm in a position to throw stones. My sunburn has taken its natural course, and I am now dropping more flakes than a New York blizzard.

Mona and Max are here not to support me, but to meet their contractual obligations. Although they haven't been openly hostile in the past few days, I know they share my hope that America will send me home. What they will do if I am forced to emancipate myself, I don't know. At one time, they would have welcomed me into their home permanently, but I doubt that's an option now. Maybe they'll let me sleep in the garden shed and forage in the compost for grubs.

Meadow will be the only Mulligan who is sorry to see me go, and even her affection has diminished since Maya arrived in California with my parents. They are staying in a hotel until the show is officially over, but Meadow was allowed one visit and came home with one thing on her mind: Maya's new Manhattan wardrobe.

Fortunately, my association with Logan Waters will help to sustain Meadow's good opinion of me, especially now that he's e-mailing me all the time. Well, twice to be exact. He obviously kept the napkin I gave him with the Team 14 Web site address, because he sent me a note through the site to say he was sorry about what happened at the rally. Naturally, I e-mailed back to thank him for bailing us out. Then he sent another note saying no problem.

I highly doubt Maya made these sorts of connections in New York, which is probably why she looks especially sour today. She is perched between my parents at the defense table, as if she's their attorney. If she thinks that suit she's wearing is disguising the hippie within, she's much mistaken.

My parents are immobile, as if carved from stone. I had hoped that Judy's episode portraying me as the Mulligans' pawn may have softened them, but apparently the fact that I was making out in a tent with Mitch during the same show offset that. I have tried to sneak out to their hotel, but Judy is so annoyed about the
Harry Queen
“stunt” that she's been sticking to me like cheap underwear ever since.

“Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor?” Aaron asks. “America has reached a verdict.”

Judy accepts the envelope he hands her and looks down at me from on high. “The votes are in, KB. Do you have any last words?”

Last words? Am I dying?

“I have full confidence that the voters have made the right decision,” I say. And I do. There's no reason why people would want to break up my family.

She pulls the card from the envelope, and her smile expands to fill the courtroom. That's when my heart starts to pound. She wouldn't look that happy if it were good news for me. “Are you ready to hear the verdict?”

“Just read it already.”

She pauses a little longer for dramatic effect before announcing: “By decree of the fair citizens of the United States of America, you, Kendra Bishop, will emancipate yourself from your parents!”

A commotion erupts in the visitors' gallery. Judy bangs her gavel, but that only adds to the din. I sit in shock, seeing nothing but Judy's teeth. There is only one clear thought in my mind: What am I going to do? There was no backup plan.

After more hammering of the gavel, the clamor subsides enough for the judge to speak. “Give Judy a reaction, KB.”

Bob closes in for a tight shot as I summon my wits. I am aware of dozens of eyes staring at me. Finally I croak out a question. “What was the final tally?”

Judy's features freeze for a second. “Never mind. That's irrelevant.”

“It's relevant to me. I have a right to know.”

I stand up and snatch the card before she can chew it up and swallow the evidence. The letters and numerals swim on the page before finally taking shape:
TO THE QUESTION OF WHETHER KENDRA BISHOP SHOULD EMANCIPATE FROM HER PARENTS, WE THE PEOPLE VOTE: YEA
—453,480;
NAY
—453,443.

My mental calculator is sluggish, but it works. I lost by thirty-seven votes. Thirty-seven! I can only assume that viewers got caught up with the idea of emancipation and wanted to set me loose on the world. Either that, or they really didn't like my parents.

It isn't fair. I never wanted this. All I wanted was a little more time to be with Mitch and enjoy my independence. But I let myself get crushed under Judy's steamroller, and because of that, my life is going to change forever. I will be all alone in the world, with very few allies.

So that is what it really means to be a Black Sheep. All of sudden, the idea has less appeal.

At the moment, however, Black Sheepism is all I've got. Fortunately, it's just enough to help me realize that, while I am down, I am not quite out. According to Nutty's big acorn clock at the back of the studio, there are seventeen minutes left to the show.

I stand in the witness box. “Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor.”

“Denied,” Judy says.

I do it anyway.

Judy makes a slashing gesture at Chili and Bob, but I call, “Keep shooting, guys. You've pretty much destroyed my life. I figure you owe me sixteen and a half minutes.”

They keep the cameras rolling.

“Your Honor, I have a question. Did the people in this courtroom get a chance to vote?”

“Irrelevant,” she repeats. “Sit down.”

“I would argue that it is relevant. Everyone I love in the world is in this courtroom—except my friend Lucy and I guarantee you she already voted ‘no.' In fact, I would argue that the only people qualified to weigh in on my fate are in this room. I insist that they be given a chance to vote.”

“It's over, KB. Give it up.”

“It's not over. We have fifteen minutes left in the show. As I see it, you have two options: I walk out of here right now and you fill the dead air somehow; or I give my closing argument and we let people vote one by one.”

Judy eyes flick around the room as she does a quick head count. Realizing that there are forty-one people in the room, she shakes her head. “No. I'll go with reactions for the rest of the show.”

“Come on, Judy, I'd need thirty-eight votes to break the tie. You know and I know this would make for great TV. Think of the possibilities for conflict.”

At the magic word, her eyes start to glitter. “Maybe you're right.”

Carrie and Meadow applaud wildly in the gallery, and Judy hammers the gavel down. “Silence,” she says. “Although it is highly unorthodox, I will allow the witness to address the courtroom today. Said witness has three minutes to prepare—during this commercial break.”

Aaron offers me a long black robe that immediately makes me feel like a legitimate Black Sheep. I walk across the courtroom and bow first to the defense table, and then to the gallery. Focusing on Carrie to stay calm, I begin.

“Good evening. Being on
The Black Sheep
has been the best experience and the worst experience I ever had, all at the same time. Most of you have been behind the scenes with me, but I bet you were as shocked as I was to see what happens to thousands of hours of raw footage. Editors cut and restructure events into whatever story the producer wants you to see. Although it's a version of reality, it isn't the truth.”

Judy waves her gavel to attract attention. “Blah, blah, blah,” she says. “If we aired every minute of your life, KB, viewers would have tuned out long ago.”

“That was an admission of guilt, in case you didn't recognize it,” I say. “But recognizing the difference between entertaining TV and the truth isn't the only thing I learned this summer. Living with another family has taught me a lot about my own. My parents are numbers people. They're all about rules. They see cause and effect, profit and debt, black and white. The Mulligans have taught me to see shades of gray. They taught me about living with passion and commitment. Yet, I also learned that even the most open-minded parents want their kids to do as they say.”

“KB?” Judy says. “Snoring.”

“It's
my
argument,” I tell her. “I get to be boring if I want.” I continue, addressing the gallery. “Being a teenager means exploring options. We can't always accept what adults tell us at face value. Sometimes we have to figure things out on our own. If parents teach their kids to think for themselves, then those kids should be able to make sound decisions. Some of you think my decisions weren't very sound, but I'm fifteen and I can't get it right all the time. I'm more worried about the decisions that were made
for
me. I never wanted to divorce my parents; I just wanted to spend more time in Monterey. But when the network came up with the idea—” Judy tries to cut in here but I walk back to the bench, seize her gavel, and keep talking. “When the network came up with the idea, I didn't fight hard enough against it. I allowed myself to be railroaded. As a result, I've learned that I have to speak up when I know something is wrong.”

Aaron creeps up behind me and snatches the gavel back, giving me a second to catch my breath before going on.

“It was a hard lesson, especially now that I'm potentially facing life on my own. I don't have a plan yet, but I know I'll survive somehow. That being said, I want to go home. I've realized that my parents have done their best. They've given me a good brain, good values, and some practical rules to live by.”