Kiss Me Captain (Emily and Maddie) novel Chapter 56

[Maddie’s POV]

The hearing room is smaller than I expected. Not the grand courtroom from TV dramas but a cramped conference room with fluorescent lights that buzz like angry wasps and cheap paneling that probably hasn’t been updated since the eighties.

The whole setup screams “budget cuts” and “administrative efficiency,” which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the justice-dispensing capabilities of the institution.

Jenna, Carol, and Sophie sit at a table across from us, flanked by a lawyer in an expensive suit that probably costs more than my tuition. The three of them look like they’re attending a particularly boring lecture—bored, annoyed, vaguely put out by the inconvenience of having to answer for their actions.

The lawyer’s got that sharp, predatory look that makes my stomach clench. This is the guy who’s going to try to make us look like the villains.

Emily and I sit at our own table, parents arranged in chairs behind us like some kind of moral support squad.

My father’s hand rests briefly on my shoulder as we sit, a silent gesture of solidarity that makes my throat tight. My mother’s expression is unreadable, her lips pressed into a thin line that could mean determination or disapproval. I can’t tell which.

The panel consists of three administrators—two men and one woman—who introduce themselves with titles I immediately forget because my heart is hammering too loud in my ears to process anything beyond “Dean” and “Associate Dean” and a bunch of other words that mean “people who hold your entire future in their hands.”

They explain the process in that monotone administrative voice that makes everything sound equally important and unimportant. Evidence will be presented, testimony will be given, cross-examination is permitted.

We’re not to interrupt—standard procedure. My hands are sweating against the table surface and I have to resist the urge to wipe them on my dress pants.

Jenna’s lawyer stands first, his movement fluid and practiced. He’s done this before—torn apart teenagers’ credibility for a living. “My clients are being unfairly targeted,” he begins.

His voice is smooth as oil and twice as slippery. “These allegations are nothing more than exaggerated reactions to normal competitive dynamics. Young athletes competing for positions, for coach’s attention. Some friction is inevitable. What we’re seeing here is an attempt to criminalize standard team interactions.”

I want to stand up and scream that sabotaging equipment isn’t “standard team interaction,” but Emily’s hand finds mine under the table, squeezing once in warning. Stay calm. Don’t give him ammunition.

The panel calls Emily first. She stands with a composure I can only admire, walking to the witness chair like she’s heading to the ice for a performance. Her voice is steady as she describes the parking lot confrontation, the comments about us being “too close,” the jacket incident where they destroyed her property.

She’s methodical, laying out facts like she’s reading from a textbook. No emotion, just data.

The lawyer approaches her with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Miss Harper, in any of these incidents, did you perhaps provoke your teammates in some way? Say something that might have been taken as confrontational?”

“No,” Emily says simply, her voice flat and final.

“Did you and Miss Reyes display behavior that made your teammates uncomfortable?” He tilts his head, faux-concern written across his features. “Behavior that crossed boundaries of normal teammate interaction?”

Emily doesn’t miss a beat. “Coach Marquette paired us for a skating routine. We had to work together closely. That’s how pair skating works. If being assigned to work with a partner makes people uncomfortable, that’s a problem with their professionalism, not ours.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify