The first time I ever had to scrimmage another team in mock trial, I cried. It wasn’t the silent, polite type either. It was ugly, childish sobbing with hiccups and gasps for air. How in the world did a thing like a mock trial cause a high school freshman girl to cry? Simply put, I was impeached by the opposing team’s lawyer, or caught “deviating” from the pre-written witness statements. I was a witness on my team. During my cross-examination, the lawyer caught me over one slight detail that I left out and hammered me with question after question, most of which I didn’t know how to answer. Thus, I entered the competitive world of mock trial, determined to avenge my tears.
Mock trial was one of my school’s few claims to fame and success. By my freshman year, my school’s mock trial teams had won the state competition seven years in a row. It had become a tradition, one my team hoped to keep.
My freshman and sophomore years, we did well enough, advancing from regional competition to state both times. We even made it to the top 10 the second year, taking fifth place. My junior year was the time it really counted. It was the last year for the rest of my team, the Indigo League (we had Pokémon themed team names). I determined it would be my last year as well. I joked that we all had to win for my sake so I wouldn’t feel bad turning down other teams’ offers next year, but we all knew we wanted to win badly. That year we worked even harder, practicing and memorizing almost every day by ourselves and meeting together for at least 15 hours a week. Many nights I stayed up until 2 and had to wake up at 5:30 in the morning for my zero-hour class.
The work seemed to pay off. At the regional competition, we came in first. Of course, our coaches cautioned us to not be too proud, but even they couldn’t help but join us in the jubilation. We were on track to becoming the next state champions. At state, we were even better. We performed, orated, memorized like we had never done before. After the fourth and last round, we thought we were a shoo-in to win. At the awards ceremony, however, we learned we were mistaken. Team after team was called down to get their plaques. We held hands together, waiting, praying we wouldn’t be called too early. By the time they announced fourth place, we knew it. It had to be. We had to have won. But…
“In third place…Indigo League.”
We all stopped. Suddenly my hearing became muffled. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I began to walk the long walk down the staircase to accept the plaque. I knew I was crying. We all were. By the time we got to the bottom of the stairs and had to pose for a picture, I was sobbing. After a quick flash, we ran up the stairs, and by the time we all got to the top, we all collapsed. My boyfriend, who was on another mock trial team at my school, immediately came to me and hugged me tightly, understanding part of my disappointment. But he couldn’t stay. His team was being called for first place. They were going to advance to the final round. As soon as he left, my parents caught me immediately and huddled in towards me, cocooning me and protecting me like I was an egg. When I calmed down, I looked at the rest of my team. Our coaches shook their heads, neither of them understanding how we hadn’t even made it to the final round. One of the guys had his face in his hands. All of the girls were sitting on the floor crying and hugging each other. Giving each of my parents grateful hugs, I went back to my team and cried and hugged with them.
That was probably my greatest heartbreak. I know it was a silly thing to be heartbroken over, but as my parents told me over and over again, it was “a learning experience.” Despite not winning the grand prize, mock trial hadn’t been a complete waste of time. When I had gotten home the night of the state competition, the boys from my team came to my house and gave me and the rest of the girls on the team a bouquet of roses. I made friends, amazing friends, in that team. It still took a few weeks before I stopped crying myself to sleep like a sullen child, but the pain did go away. My friends didn’t.