He calls me Carrie because he saw my yearbook photo in the newspaper and he says I remind him of the red-haired girl in the movie of the book by Stephen King. I wish I was Carrie; I wish I had telekinesis because then I could cause objects to move with the mere power of my mind.

“Hey, Amber,” he says. “I’ve got to start working harder now. I’ve heard about you.”

My trial date’s been set for September. I think they want to wait for the end of the tourist season ’cause a story of a psycho girl in Canada’s supposedly calmest city would be bad publicity. Mr. Galloway says he’s still wrangling to get my charges formally downgraded.

It’s funny; it’s like a play. There’s a whole list of all the performers who will appear.

Her Majesty the Queen vs. Sara Shaw.

First Act.

The Crown presents their case. Starring: Mackie Hollander, Stanley Smothers, the theater students, Dave Locke, Haywood and Vowell, the Polaroid, photos of Justine’s books and dresses in my bedroom, and my notebook, which they call a Diary. Dirk Wallace’s doctor, his wife, his boss, his mother-in-law, and his mother.

Act Two, my lawyer doesn’t want me to talk and he has no witnesses.

“Nobody?” I ask him. “Doesn’t that look bad?”

“Who else should I add?” he says, chewing on his fancy fountain pen. “Help me.”

“Ivy?”

He sighs. “Her mother doesn’t want her involved.”

Her mother just wants her to write poetry.

“Anyone else?”

Cassie and Amber, China and Heather, Dean Black and Nicholas the Skateboard Star. A sick girl with scabs on her face, a counselor nicknamed Gloria.

But I would never want those people to have to stand up before a crowd. They’d get ripped apart, embarrassed, they’d shred them all, public nuisances, cophaters, a beggar, and a dyke feminist.

Heather alone would be asked about the garden hose episode. ’Cause lawyers find out your reputation. It’s fair game. Nicholas would be asked why I left his apartment and why he never took my virginity. They’ll get China and ask her what she is. Solicitation for what? Speak up louder please. How many times did you OD? Please tell the court clearly as we need to understand you might be a person of bad character. Louder, louder, louder, speak up louder. Tell us how you got on your knees. You did what to Mr. Wallace? Louder, Alice, speak louder please. Tell the court and the whole world that you’re a drug addict and a whore.

Just thinking about it fills me with dread. I’d die before I’d let anyone I loved go before the likes of the lady with the Picasso umbrella.

Loved, I can’t believe I just said that word. Don’t start thinking I’m some corny nature girl hippie.