Showtime Anonymous

He brutally murdered his sister. Driving intoxicated in the waning hours of the night, he recklessly swerves in and out of lanes until he finally loses control and rams his car into a tree. Save for a few cuts and bruises, he escapes unscathed. His sister’s lifeless body is discovered the morning after the crime--or was it a crime? The light knock of the gavel summons the courtroom to its feet; parents, teachers, coaches, spectators and competitors all stand as the single hour that months were spent preparing for commences.

Having not placed in the regional tournament in a decade, Mock Trial was regarded as little more than a team just barely keeping its head above water, far past its glory years when I first joined the school’s organization. The volume of interest and attention it solicited had faded, as had the etchings on the dust plastered trophies. My admiration for the club stretched far beyond simply checking my name off as a member--being content with mediocrity would have no place as long as I was on the team. And so to prevent it from disappearing into oblivion, I began with myself, spending hours learning, polishing and perfecting the skills necessary to succeed. With this, not only did I grow tremendously as an...