Chapter 19.
19.
Legal Loophole (n., phrase)
a gap or ambiguity in the wording or application of a law or rule that allows individuals to exploit it to their advantage
not a crime, technically
T hirty minutes after I’ve retired to my room for the evening, after I’ve changed into sweats, washed my face, and gone through my skincare routine, I sit at the edge of the bed riddled with worry. So far, Margot has been made out to be a scorned wife in a marriage for show, a difficult teen who disappeared for a week, a cutthroat business partner, a gold digger who married her way into luxury, and a mildly unhinged closet-hiding wafer binger. The woman described in that courtroom is so very different from the one I’ve watched over seven seasons of AMOM , and I can’t help but wonder which is the true version. It’s certainly made me realize that I might not know as much about Margot as I thought I did. I’m itching to get into that deliberation room and lead discussions.
A shuffling sound at my door catches my attention, and I look over in time to see a sheet of folded paper sliding under it. For some reason, I instantly think of the handwritten note I received in the eighth grade from Jared Moore, handed to me in our junior high hallway between English and lab. Damon was the only person to have ever written me a physical note up to that point. I opened it anxiously, some small bit of me daring to think it could be a declaration of romantic interest, only to find it read, Is it true your dad is sleeping with Ms. Paige? It would turn out my father had a thing for teachers.I was no longer invisible; tagged instead. After I told Damon what happened, he got his revenge on Jared Moore that afternoon at a particularly aggressive lacrosse practice.
I know who this note is from: the same person whose notes fill that Tiffany-blue shoebox in my closet. My heart thuds with anticipation as I unfold the note and begin reading.
SYDNEY,
IF YOU COULD BINGE-WATCH ANY SHOW RIGHT NOW, WHICH WOULD IT BE? MINE WOULD BE TED LASSO BECAUSE I’LL NEED A LONG-TERM brEAK FROM DRAMA AFTER THIS TRIAL. AND IF YOU SAY THE NEW SEASON OF AUTHENTIC MOMS OF MALIBU AFTER ALL THIS, I MAY HAVE TO RETHINK OUR FRIENDSHIP.
SINCERELY,
DESPERATELY BORED DAMON
I reread the note still standing in the doorway, the smile invading my lips unavoidable. He’s so solidly reserved most of the time, but there have been a handful of moments where he has popped open to me, and I find myself honored each time he does.
Better on paper. More comfortable with written words, certainly.
I’m immediately taken back to my teenage years, lying in bed, smiling because of his words. The paper was always worn, like he had folded it and carried it around in his pocket all day, unfolded and refolded several times before delivery.
I plop down on my bed, grab a book to place under the note, and scrawl my response, thinking this is a much better option than sneaking around the hotel. We are technically abiding by the rules, remaining in our rooms and not discussing the case.
Desperately Bored Damon,
I think I need to go back to our old favorite, The Princess Bride , on repeat. Nothing could get me out of this trial funk like Westley’s mask coming off on his roll down that hill, revealing his true identity to Princess Buttercup. And no, I think I’ll have to take a hiatus from AMOM. Maybe from reality TV altogether.
Sincerely,
Sadly Seeking Shows Sydney
Without thinking, I bend the paper along its existing fold lines, open my door, and peek around. When I see the hallway empty, I stride past Cam’s room and slide the sheet under Damon’s door.
When safely back in my room, I lie on the bed and open my current read to the bookmarked page. I read the page. I reread the same page. I sit up. The adrenaline rush I feel at something as childlike as passing notes with Damon makes me almost embarrassed.
When I’ve read the same page four times over, I hear the swipe of paper against the bottom of the doorframe.
SAD SYDNEY,
I’M SORRY TO HEAR THAT YOU’LL HAVE TO FIND SOMETHING TO FILL YOUR AMOM VOID AFTER THIS. I CAN THINK OF A FEW OPTIONS. I PLAN TO START WITH FOOD NOT WRAPPED IN PAPER OR OFF A BUFFET.
DESPERATELY HUNGRY DAMON
P.S. I CAN STILL RECITE PRINCESS BUTTERCUP’S ENTIRE SPEECH TO PRINCE HUMPERDINCK (THE SLIMIEST WEAKLING EVER TO CRAWL THE EARTH).
I draft my response.
Desperately Hungry Damon,
I was so annoying reciting that speech so loudly you could never hear the TV! And please share said food options? I, for one, plan to never eat a sandwich again. The first thing I want is Thai food. Or Sushi Gen, of course. Or maybe Indian. Anything with flavor. Great, now I’m hungry again.
Starving Sydney
His next note takes a bit longer. I stare up at the ceiling particle foam until I hear the swoosh again. SYD , it begins. My eyes catch and can’t seem to move past the first three letters on the page. Damon calling me Syd is one thing, but writing it in the same way he addressed every letter and note he ever gave me softens my defenses against him further still.
I’M HEADED STRAIGHT TO DIN TAI FUNG, GORGING MYSELF ON SPICY NOODLES AND CUCUMBER SALAD UNTIL THEY HAVE TO CARRY ME OUT.
I stop reading and stare at the back of my door as if he’s standing just on the other side, reading his note to me from the hallway. I love Din Tai Fung. I picture sitting across from Damon in a booth, bamboo steamers between us, his sexy gaze on me as he positions his chopsticks.
I’ve been only once, a birthday surprise from Mel. It’s the type of place meant for sharing. I wonder briefly who Damon may have shared a booth with.
BESIDES FOOD WITH FLAVOR, I’VE ALSO BEEN THINKING A LOT ABOUT KARA.
And then the note just ends. It’s as if he sat and stared at the page, contemplating what else to write, and eventually gave up.
I stare at my own page, unsure what to say back. I consider several chest-splitting opening lines:
My heart aches for you.
I’ve always worried my parents don’t love me.
I have a sister who is just a baby, yet I’ve somehow managed to resent her.
I’ve felt sorry for myself until this moment.
But I chicken out before drafting any of them. Instead, I write:
Because you care about her. And that doesn’t just go away. I’m sorry seeing me has brought it all up again.
My pen hovers over the paper, ready to chicken out again. This time, I force the thought into ink. I add:
But I’m so grateful to be near you again.
I step into the hallway again, and just as I am propping my door open with the doorstop, Cam’s door opens beside me.
“Hey,” he whispers, backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” I whisper back, hoping my face doesn’t give away how incredibly caught I feel.
“What’s that?” he asks. He glances over his shoulder toward the elevator where George sits around the corner and then points at the sheet of folded paper in my hand.
Instinctively, I scrunch the paper into a ball in my palm. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
He eyes me with a playful grin.
“Where are you going?” I ask, desperate to shift his focus.
He repositions the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, then eyes my closed fist, paper inside.
I nod. Right. I’ll ignore whatever bad decision he’s making, and he’ll ignore mine. I’m okay with that. More than okay. And while I certainly don’t want Cam to cause a mistrial with his antics, his sneaking off does give me a bit of comfort that it’s not just Damon and me rocking the judicial boat. It seems more than one of us is willing to push court-appointed boundaries for our own reasons.
Cam takes off down the hallway, and I slide the note under Damon’s door before scurrying back to my room.