Page 11 of Rejection Overruled

I must admit that we had fun while it lasted, until Grandma told me to control my wild friend. We were kids, around eleven years old at the time. We didn’t know better. As adults, we would never do such a thing to an animal – pinky swear.

Brooke must have really liked Jamal. I always wondered why she didn’t confront him for what he did to her. It didn’t make much sense. When Steven McConnell called her Miss Piggy, she punched him in the gut. She’d never do it while in school, so she waited until one Saturday when he was riding his bike near the park.

When Steven reported the matter to his parents, that’s when we all knew that Brooke was going to be lawyer. Steven’s mother had come huffing over to Brooke’s house.

Here’s what happened…

“Steven told us that Brooke punched him in the stomach, you should control your child,” Steven’s mother told Mrs. Sylvia Owens.

Mrs. Owens, a soft-spoken kindhearted woman, offered the boy’s mother a seat in her living room while she listened quietly to the complaint against Brooke. When the woman had vented, Mrs. Owens called her daughter.

“Brooke. Get in here, sweetheart.”

A moment later, Brooke came in, her glasses on her nose and a book in her hand. You could always count on her nose in a book. Brooke was twelve years old at that time and she was a hellfire even then. Of course, to every adult who knew her, she was the sweet little girl with the straight A’s who wouldn’t hurt a fly. All the other kids knew better.

“Yes Mommy?” she entered the living room with a smile. “Hello Mrs. McConnell.”

Brooke was sweet and polite to the woman, who looked flustered at her. Perhaps she was confused that Brooke didn’t seem to know what was going on.

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Owens said. “Did you hit Steven?”

Then the lawyer came out – asking a question in answer to a question. “Did he say I hit him?”

Mrs. McConnell replied, “Yes, you punched him.”

“Ma’am, are you accusing me of punching him or are you asking me if I punched him?”

“What?” the woman was confused.

“You said, ‘yes, you punched him’, which implies that you are accusing me.”

“My Steven said you did.”

“Were you there?” Brooke asked.

“No, but....”

“Then it’s unfair for you to assume that I punched him without evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“You need to prove this alleged assault or I may be forced to take legal action for slander.”

“Huh?”

Mrs. Owens took Brooke’s hand. “Honey, where did you learn these things?”

“Mom, I read a lot,” she replied, then turned back to the Steven’s mother. “Ma’am, you need to provide a witness who saw me do it. How did I punch him, which hand did I use? Did I say anything while I punched him and most important – what was my motive?”

“I-I-I-well---,” the woman was clearly stunned. “I’ll be going,” she said after a few minutes of silence. Nothing further was heard of the matter.

That was in junior high. Brooke remained the same – correction – Brooke got even more lawyer-like in high school. She always knew how to argue her way out of anything. She was also a problem solver and good investigator. Even though we went to different high schools, we shared everything. The day she heard what Jamal said about her, I was the one who held her while she cried and swore to get back at him.

“It’s not that he doesn’t like me back, Soph,” she’d sobbed, shortening my name the way she always did. “It’s that fact that he used me for bet … I was his punishment!”

“Forget him, you’re graduating and heading to university, you don’t need a jerk like him.”

Wiping her tears, she nodded. “You’re right. He can kiss my fat ass.”

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