Legal Murder

chapter:12

The snow fell in heaps around the entrance of the history building. Dixie stomped her Converse out on the rug between the doors and the hallway, and instantly regretted wearing them. Water colder than a reversed global warming seeped through the red, tarnished canvas, and settled uncomfortably between her toes.

Grimacing, she made her way to Mr. Ellis' class. When she swung the door open, all forty-four eyeballs in the room darted to Dixie's presence like they'd been waiting for her to arrive. To Dixie's surprise, that's exactly what they'd been doing.

"Dixie Simmons. Always a pleasure." Mr. Ellis beamed at her awkward jaw slack. She'd never seen him so delighted by her tardiness.

"Good morning," Dixie replied with hesitance, and then went over to the empty desk at the front of the room. She sat, dropped her bag down on the floor, and wiggled her toes to bring blood back to them. "Awfully quiet this morning."

"I presume you haven't seen the second page of Sunday's New York Times?"

A chatter sprang up among the rest of the class, and the red-headed boy, whom Dixie came to know as Benjamin, pulled out a newspaper clipping of Dixie's face.

Her heart thudded in her chest. The New York Times? The suspense was turning into stress. "What is it?"

"Your Unit Four Civil Rights project has made it to the local's page. People are calling you the 'teenage voice of controversy'. Look," Benjamin turned in his seat so he could wave the clipping of the article in Dixie's shocked face, "there's even a bit about Reagan Peters, y'know, the famous movie producer? He says he came to New York as a vacation to see his wife, heard about the lady who runs Little NYC Newspaper, and ended up filming a movie about abortion!"

Dixie's jaw seemed to be permanently down facing. "But the movie's about Lauren..." Her voice trailed off in confusion.

Lidia, the girl who wore sunglasses indoors, gave Dixie a dirty look. "It's not like anyone cares that you're Pro-Life or whatever. And that movie isn't about you, it's about your project. And the project is stupid anyway. I'm doing my project on racism. Nobody likes a racist. My project isn't going to stir up a bunch of hate." She spat out each word like they were meant to hurt Dixie physically.

They didn't.

"Maybe that's why I went with abortion as my topic," Dixie told her calmly, "sometimes stirring up hate is the only way to stir up hope." That shut Lidia up long enough for Mr. Ellis to bring everyone's attention back to the front of the room.

"I'm sure we're all proud of Dixie's accomplishment so far in the project-" A few people snorted their disagreement, but Mr. Ellis continued on, "but it's time to read aloud chapter eleven. Volunteers?"

As the class began to bang their social study textbooks open on their desks, a phone rang on Mr. Ellis' desk. The ringing sound alone made a silence fall over the class.

"Xavier Ellis here."

The class smirked when they heard their teacher's first name for the first time.

Mr. Ellis smiled as he listened for about eight straight minutes to whoever was on the other line. He said a few more things into the receiver that nobody caught, and then slammed the phone down. His eyes lifted to meet Dixie's. "Apparently you're wanted in the front office. A bunch of reporters from all the popular news channels want to interview you."

Dixie blinked and picked up her bag. She walked over to the door without speaking, because she had forgotten, at the moment, how to form a coherent response.

"Oh, and your dad's there too. He says a few minutes after he dropped you off at school this morning, he got a phone call from that lady from the newspaper... Virginia Peters? She needs you downtown to speak at a Pro-Life convention. Everyone's apologizing for interrupting your education." Mr. Ellis smirked, "But I think this is an opportunity that should not be missed."

Dixie nodded and smiled back. "Thanks!" She skipped out the door and ran to the front doors of the history building. Her daze was vanishing as the minutes passed. When she skidded to a stop near the front office, a truckload of people in suits and excited looks greeted her by firing questions in loud voices. Her eyes scanned through the crowd and spotted her dad shoving towards her.

Virginia Peters was hot on his tail. She had a tight smile on her face as she tapped her watch.

"Miss Simmons! Do you regret speaking about abortion so openly?" Dixie heard one of the people in suits yelling towards her.

She swiveled on her heel and stared at the camera that was pointed in her direction. "Absolutely not."

Another reporter stepped forward, almost tripping over someone's foot. "But don't you think it's a woman's choice to do what she wants?"

"Would you be asking me that if we were talking about a mother killing her two year old? Because it's the same kind of situation. Killing is killing."

A skinny man with a thick notepad got right up in Dixie's face. "Do you consider yourself an extremist?"

"Telling the truth isn't extreme." She answered without hesitation.

Before Dixie could suffocate under the herd of reporters, Mr. Simmons grabbed her arm, and pulled her out of the crowd. They made a beeline for his red Fiat Spider, and Virginia trailed behind them. She got into her Cadillac, and led what would appear to an unknowing bystander as a raging parade of cars. Virginia drove towards her Anti-Abortion building on the other side of town, Dixie and her father follow close behind, and the gaggle of reporters in their own cars or taxis sped eagerly in tow.

Dixie kept glancing at the rearview mirror. "Do you think they really care?" It was still dawning on her that her project was currently in a pool of public interest.

"What do you think?" Her dad chuckled with sarcasm, glancing back at the revving of reporters.

There was a silence as they drove over the Brooklyn Bridge. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I screw this up? I mean, I've never had so much attention in all my life."

Mr. Simmons took a sharp brake as they approached a stop light. "Just remember who you're doing this for, Dixie."

When she didn't answer, her dad looked over at her.

"You're doing it for them." He told her, "For the ones without a voice."

How would you feel if you suddenly got a chance to be on the news?