“I hear the crack of his skull before the spattering of blood reaches me.” I know what you’re wondering. Yes, that is the first line to my all-time favorite book. Yes, I am acutely aware of how morbid that single line is. Yes, the rest of the book is equally as morbid. That was the first line to Verity by Colleen Hoover. Verity follows the story of a struggling writer while she tries to remain afloat financially by the name of Lowen Ashleigh. Lowen is hired by Jeremy Crawford, the husband of esteemed author Verity Crawford, to finish writing his wife’s books. Upon agreement, Lowen is to move into the Crawford’s home in order to go through the books Verity has already written for the series, as well as any notes she may have about the direction of the books. While in her pursuit to finish Verity’s books, Lowen comes across her manuscript detailing her life instead. According to the public, Lowen would just be a co-author on the remaining books in the series. In reality, she would be writing the remaining books in the series by herself because Verity is paralyzed and unable to speak. Or so she was supposed to be. Without any spoilers, I can say that Verity is immensely disturbing. That statement is coming from someone who grew up watching the Investigation Discovery Channel and a plethora of true crime documentaries. Somehow Hoover is able to make Verity’s chilling story seem real. There is one question bogging down readers of Verity everywhere: Is it possible for someone, even if it’s just a character, to write a manuscript so specific and troubling and have it all be a work of fiction? My answer, in Verity’s case, is a firm no. I am on “Team Manuscript”.

I was exactly two hours and sixteen minutes off from being a Saint Patrick’s Day baby. I was late by a measly two hours. But really that was still quite early. I wasn’t born prematurely or anything. I just happened to be born less than two weeks after my mom turned sixteen. Don’t get me wrong, I do know who my father is. But he and my mom split up before I had even turned one. When I was little I would go to his mother’s house every Sunday at 11 a.m. After a while, it wasn’t what it was supposed to be. I found myself spending six hours with my grandmother just for my father to show up right around five o’clock when I was on my way out the door. Every time it was the same thing. “I had to work” or “I had hockey”. I understand having commitments, but the day to schedule what he considered his most important commitments shouldn’t be on the one day out of the week you get to see your daughter. I stopped going every week because I had commitments of my own and the reason I was even going in the first place couldn’t make the time to show up. Now I see him once or twice a year, if that. I’m supposed to spend Christmas Eve with him, but he didn’t bother asking to see me the past two years. At this point, I’m lucky if he even remembers to text me to say “Happy birthday” - we’ll see next week about that one. The thing about it was that my mom managed to take care of me, finish high school, work multiple jobs, and even complete nursing school by the time I was in the second grade. My father, on the other hand, didn’t even try. He has a wife and a new baby now, but I wouldn’t consider that man my father since he had no part in raising me. All in all, I got lucky. I know, I know. How does someone go on and on about how their father put no effort into being a part of their lives and then call themselves lucky? Despite my lack of a real father figure, I have my mom. She worked immensely hard to get herself through school to become a nurse and provide for us. She taught me what it means to genuinely show up for someone. To be there for someone. To love someone unconditionally. You don’t need two parents to have a happy home and a full heart. Growing up with a single parent teaches you to value the people around you instead of material things or money. That right there is why I’ve always known that I couldn’t waste my time going to school for something I’m not passionate about just because that’s where the money is. Single teen parents, like drug addicts, are likely to have their children end up in foster care. People who go into foster care are more likely to be abused. Because they’re abused, they deal with more trauma and are more likely to act out. This means they’re more likely to become involved in gangs, prostitution, or other crimes. These are the people that aren’t given a fair chance. They have no one to look out for them or guide them. Then the courts show no mercy because no one is there to stand up for them. But I want to. I’m going to go into criminal defense and I’m going to be there to stand up for them.

They say I’m uptight. Annoying. Rightfully self-conscious. Bound to fail. They say I’ll crash and burn eventually. A daughter of a single teen mom that won’t make it anywhere. Unintelligent. Failure. Weak. I am not the hateful words people have spewed at me. I am what I believe myself to be. I am whatever I want to be. Intelligent. Hard-working. Courageous. Brave. Confident. Book lover. Proud daughter of a single teen mom that struggled at times. Destined for success. Strong. Determined. Other people can’t define me. Only I can define myself. I refuse to let anyone tear me down; furthermore, I wholeheartedly believe I am unapologetically myself.

Uptight. There’s no way you did that by yourself. You’re smart for a girl. Not a leader. You must cheat to get those grades. Maybe you should try something easier. Annoying. Not as smart as you act. Give up before you crash and burn. You’re going to make a mistake. Maybe I should do it instead just in case. These are all things I’ve been hearing from people since I was only in elementary school. That’s what you get for being a determined young woman in a world designed for men. I was almost a Saint Patrick’s Day baby in 2004. I missed the mark by two hours. Either way I was only born a measly two weeks after my mom turned sixteen. So I’ve always been that person. The one who people gawk at when they find out how old my mom is. People assume my mom is my sister. Being that person has come with something else: constant comments about how I’ll get pregnant before I graduate high school and how there’s no way I’ll ever succeed at anything. I was supposed to be doomed from the start. Instead it just made me work that much harder. I was determined to prove everyone wrong. I was determined to show myself that I could do anything I put my mind to. I’ve been taking on more than I should for years. That’s probably what got me voted “Most Involved” in my school's senior superlatives. It started out as compensating for the things people said about me. I had to do more. I had to be more for anyone to acknowledge my intelligence. I’ve taken all of the most difficult classes my small school offers each year. I’ve taken Honors Chemistry and AP Biology at the same time. I’ve taken AP Statistics and AP Calculus at the same time. I juggle my classes on top of everything else. I am the Senior Class Secretary. I’ve been in the National Honor Society since the beginning of my sophomore year and now I’m the Treasurer. I ran for Student Council Co-President and ended up as Secretary instead. That was a hard loss, but I took the job I didn’t originally want and ran with it. It turned into attempting to be the best Secretary Student Council has ever had. I directed two short plays and one full-length eleven scene play. I even earned my spot as Secretary of my school's Thespian Society Troupe. I’ve earned high honors every term of my high school career. Compensation turned into getting out of the town that tore me down. I wholeheartedly believe my determination is what got me into my dream school (go eagles!). I can’t stop at getting into my top choice for college though. My determination is going to get me into law school. It’ll get me through law school. It’ll get me into a courtroom so I can advocate for people who have been wrongfully accused, wrongfully convicted, and given unfair sentences. It’ll allow me to fight for teenagers who are going in and out of juvy. I’ll be able to help mentally ill people who can’t advocate for themselves. My determination will make a difference for the people who the justice system is failing. My determination might even inspire the people I help. Most importantly, my determination has built my confidence and will continuously encourage me to learn and grow. The root of my determination stemmed from insecurity, but it turned into something more. It’s pure drive, hard work, and the desire to impress myself.

I’ve lived in a four square mile town all my life. Everyone knows everyone in this town, which is the upside of it. Knowing everyone around you makes it easier to get involved, help out different people, and make a difference. Everyone says it’s better to start small. There’s nothing smaller than a tiny town in Massachusetts to start in when you’re looking to make a difference. Because the high school I attend is so small, there aren’t necessarily an abundance of opportunities. We don’t have a lot of clubs or ways to do good for the community, but I’ve done everything I could. I joined the student council to do some sort of good for the school community. I’ll admit that we don’t have the most high-spirited school. After a year of working with my peers to try to plan fun, morale-boosting events, I ran for Secretary. Now I’m the right-hand woman to the student council advisor. Whenever she needs help putting things together, I’m there. Whenever one of the Co-Presidents isn’t at a meeting, I run the meeting while keeping track of the minutes. Additionally, we have the National Honor Society. I’ve been a member since the beginning of my sophomore year. I’ve helped with fundraising, planning activities, and blood drives. At the beginning of my senior year, I became the NHS Treasurer and started the Mental Health Awareness Committee. I work every week with my small committee of five to plan activities that will promote taking care of yourself and your mind. We also made the decision to put helpline numbers on one of the bulletin boards that people frequently pass by. Aside from that I’ve helped out at bake sales, showed parents around during parent-teacher conferences, and run games at an elementary school field day.

Although you wouldn’t find him in a history book right now, I have never admired anyone more than I do Bryan Stevenson. Stevenson is a regular man; nevertheless, he is the kind of person I strive to be. He is just like any other public interest lawyer, but he chose to dedicate his career to “helping the poor, the incarcerated, and the condemned”. Stevenson fought tooth and nail in order to open an organization on his own. After one failure, he successfully became the founder and Executive Director of the Equal Justice Initiative, a human rights organization in Montgomery, Alabama. In between arguing and winning multiple cases at the United States Supreme Court, he worked to eliminate excessive and unfair sentencing, exonerate innocent death row inmates, confront abuse of the incarcerated and the mentally ill, and aid children prosecuted as adults. He helped to protect condemned prisoners who suffer from dementia, as well as assisted in getting mandatory life imprisonment without the possibility of parole sentences banned for children seventeen and younger. Everyone always says you’ll end up going into a profession similar to that of your parents. I only grew up with my mom who has been a nurse since I was in elementary school. I knew from a young age that the medical field wasn’t for me. By thirteen, I was one hundred percent sure that I wanted to go into law. I didn’t know a single person that was in law or in school for law. After reading Just Mercy, Stevenson easily morphed into that field of law role model that I aspired to be like. Because of him I know that law school will undoubtedly be worth it for me when I can become a criminal defense attorney.

“I hear the crack of his skull before the spattering of blood reaches me.” I know what you’re wondering. Yes, that is the first line to my all-time favorite book. Yes, I am acutely aware of how morbid that single line is. Yes, the rest of the book is equally as morbid. That was the first line to Verity by Colleen Hoover. Verity follows the story of a struggling writer while she tries to remain afloat financially by the name of Lowen Ashleigh. Lowen is hired by Jeremy Crawford, the husband of esteemed author Verity Crawford, to finish writing his wife’s books. Upon agreement, Lowen is to move into the Crawford’s home in order to go through the books Verity has already written for the series, as well as any notes she may have about the direction of the books. While in her pursuit to finish Verity’s books, Lowen comes across her manuscript detailing her life instead. According to the public, Lowen would just be a co-author on the remaining books in the series. In reality, she would be writing the remaining books in the series by herself because Verity is paralyzed and unable to speak. Or so she was supposed to be. Without any spoilers, I can say that Verity is immensely disturbing. That statement is coming from someone who grew up watching the Investigation Discovery Channel and a plethora of true crime documentaries. Somehow Hoover is able to make Verity’s chilling story seem real. There is one question bogging down readers of Verity everywhere: Is it possible for someone, even if it’s just a character, to write a manuscript so specific and troubling and have it all be a work of fiction? My answer, in Verity’s case, is a firm no. I am on “Team Manuscript”.

Some individuals may not have been given the death penalty, but in so many situations, people are given life sentences where they are undeservingly sent to wither away in a cell. The way I see it, the United States justice system is the most consequential issue facing the world right now. Imagine you are walking home at night and accused of stealing a backpack with valuable goods inside, but you can’t afford bail or a skilled defense attorney. Instead you spend over one thousand days on Rikers Island without being convicted of a crime. That was Kalief Browder. Imagine you were a successful businessman until you had an affair with a white woman in the South and were targeted by police when a murder was committed because of it. You spent six years on Alabama’s death row for a crime you didn’t commit. That was Walter McMillian. Imagine you are suffering from PTSD after serving in the war. You’re mentally disabled, but that isn’t taken into account during your trial after you accidentally kill a young girl with a homemade bomb. You come to your end in an electric chair. That was Herbert Richardson. Imagine you watch your mom get abused by her boyfriend and one day you think he killed her. You shoot him while he sleeps because you think your mom is lying dead in the kitchen and you are fearing for your own life. At fourteen years old, you’re tried as an adult for capital murder. That was a young boy named Charlie. Our justice system is broken. We need attorneys that truly care about their clients and aren’t overworked to take cases like these. These people need someone to help them. I am determined to be someone that can help people like McMillian and Richardson.

My life changed the moment I learned about the Exonerated Five, Kalief Browder, and Walter McMillian. The Exonerated Five, formerly known as the Central Park Five, were the five teenage boys picked by police out of the plethora of boys running around Central Park on the night a white woman happened to be raped in 1989. While these young men had done nothing wrong, they were ultimately coerced by law enforcement to point blame at one another while saying they played a minor part. After their false confessions and expectations of going home, the opposite happened. All five of these innocent boys were convicted and imprisoned. It wasn’t until 2002 that they were exonerated. By this point, each of them had spent between five and eleven years in prison for a crime they hadn’t committed. Kalief Browder was only 16 when he was stopped in the Bronx while walking home and accused of stealing a backpack with valuable goods inside. Since his family wasn’t able to make bail, he was wrongfully sent to Rikers Island where he spent over 1000 days. During his time on Rikers Island, Browder spent around 700 of those days in solitary confinement while his young brain was still developing. He had over 30 court dates before his case was ultimately dismissed, but he wrongfully spent almost three years being beaten, attacked, and starved. Browder attempted suicide multiple times while on the island; although these attempts were unsuccessful, he ended up hanging himself in his home due to his distressed mental state after being released. Walter McMillian was a respected man in his community of Monroeville, Alabama due to his success as a self-made businessman. The respect the white people in the community had for him dissipated when word got out that he was having an affair with a white woman by the name of Karen Kelly. The people in Monroeville had yet to accept interracial relationships so when there was a murder committed, McMillian was the perfect target for police and investigators. Ultimately McMillian wrongfully spent years of his life on death row before Bryan Stevenson was able to make everyone see the clear evidence that McMillian was, in fact, innocent. It’s been years since these cases came to a close, but the fact that it happened at all still haunts me. The worst part is that it didn’t stop with these men. People are still getting wrongly accused and convicted of crimes that they had no part in. People who are suffering from mental illnesses aren’t having their illnesses taken into account when they’re on trial. People who can’t afford a skilled lawyer that cares about their case are getting stuck with overworked public defenders. Our justice system was built for rich white men. If you aren’t white, there’s more likely to be a racial bias against you while on trial. If you aren’t rich, you can’t afford the most attentive and dedicated counsel. People rely on our justice system to put away the Bundy’s and the Gacy’s of our world, but seem to turn a blind eye when an innocent man of color who is living in poverty is on trial. It’s hard for people to admit that our justice system doesn’t deliver true justice most of the time. Our justice system denies the people who truly deserve mercy. I know I’m only one person and I can’t change the world; nevertheless, I am determined to put in the work to alter the lives of some of the victims of our justice system in a positive way.