Turbo Pudding

Twelve NeighborsScreenshot Saturday

You’ve been booed, and four other scenes from Harrow

· The Turbo Pudding team · 4 min read

Juror Seven, a young woman with long light brown hair, freckles and wide green eyes, stands on her front porch at night with her mouth in a small surprised O, wearing a sage green hoodie that reads LARK CO-OP, right under a glowing porch light drawn with bright rays; behind her are gray siding, a screen door, a black mailbox, a dark window with a jack-o’-lantern inside and a window box full of red and gold gourds, a small pumpkin on the porch boards, the edge of a white ghost sign reading YOU’VE BEEN BOOED, a porch railing on the left and, far off in the dark, the Harrow water tower with a red light on top

Twelve Neighbors follows Juror Seven through an arson trial in Harrow, a small county seat in the fall. Court takes up the weekdays, but a lot of the story happens around them: on Main Street, at home after dark, in the school library on a half day. This Saturday, five scenes from the town side of the trial, from a homecoming parade to a Monday morning in the courthouse hallway.

The bus with the banner

Thursday night is the homecoming parade, and Main Street doesn’t care that its own jury is in the crowd. The band goes quiet between songs, and into the quiet comes a yellow school bus, at walking speed, with its flashers on.

The kids who ride that bus made the banner themselves, out of bedsheets and poster paint, with letters a foot high: JUSTICE FOR ADDIE. Behind the wheel is Tammy Vogel, who drives the school route and also happens to be Juror Nine. Main Street doesn’t know what to do, so it claps, a little, then all at once, and then nobody knows how to stop.

Juror Seven has one question: can a juror really be driving that? You decide whether she waits for the bus at the end of Main to tell Tammy, or lets it go. Whichever you pick, the talk by the parked bus afterward is one to see for yourself.

A close-up of the homecoming parade on Main Street at night, in warm golden light: four kids in red, blue, yellow and green stand on a float made of hay bales, each waving one arm high, with yellow balloons on strings floating above them and a yellow school bus with SCHOOL BUS written over its windows right behind them, while a long white banner hand-painted in big dark letters, JUSTICE FOR ADDIE, runs along the front of the float above a scatter of confetti; behind them are the pink-and-white striped awning of the Bless Your Hair salon, a dark red OWLS banner with a pair of owl eyes, and the green sign and striped awning of Méndez Hardware, and on the right a spectator seen from behind throws both arms up to cheer
Searched “bedsheet banner ideas.” Letters a foot high, apparently.

Eleven o’clock, and the heater ticks

A week later comes another Thursday night. “Our furnace has opinions in October,” so Grandma Dot sends Juror Seven to Méndez Hardware for a space heater. That night, at home: “Eleven o’clock. The new heater ticks in my room like it’s thinking something over.”

Her room is worth a slow look. String lights run along the top of the wall. An OWLS pennant hangs over a corkboard of pinned photos, and the desk holds a mug of pencils, a lamp and three textbooks with Intro Stats, Business Law and Accounting I on their spines. A Hoff’s apron hangs over the chair. On the nightstand, a blue notebook labeled JUROR NOTES leans next to a glowing phone. A little owl sits against the pillows, a mustard knit hat hangs on the bedpost, and through the window, the red light on the Harrow water tower glows over the dark roofs.

Juror Seven’s bedroom at night, lit mostly by the glow of a phone: on the left a wooden desk with three stacked textbooks labeled Intro Stats, Business Law and Accounting I, a red mug of pencils and a black desk lamp, under a corkboard with four pinned photos and a note and a maroon OWLS pennant; in the middle a wooden chair with a white Hoff’s apron hung over it, an orange vest on a hanger and a window with mustard curtains looking out at a starry sky, dark rooftops and the HARROW water tower with a red light on top; on the right a nightstand with a blue notebook labeled JUROR NOTES and a glowing phone, a white metal bed with a patchwork quilt, a small dark red owl plush against the pillows and a mustard knit hat on the bedpost, and a pair of slippers on a round striped rug in the middle of the floor
Typed “cozy small-town bedroom.” Heater not in frame. Still ticking.

Three knocks downstairs

Then three knocks downstairs. Feet on the porch boards, then on the grass, then gone. Somebody giggles in the dark. On the mat, under the porch light, sits a basket with orange tissue paper, candy corn and a paper ghost with marker eyes and a mouth like an O, plus the classic instructions: “You’ve been booed. Pass it on.”

The game explains the custom in a line. It’s a Halloween thing: you leave a basket on a neighbor’s porch, knock and run, and then they have to boo somebody else. Grandma Dot wants to know who’s booing them at eleven o’clock at night, and she has a reply ready: “Tell them we already got booed. In 1987. We passed it on.” That’s the picture at the top of this post: Juror Seven on the porch in her green Lark Co-op hoodie, under a very bright porch light, with a row of gourds in the window box.

Friday, court breaks at noon

On Friday, court breaks at noon. By one, Juror Seven is in the Lark County High library, “where nothing has moved since I graduated.” The librarian asks if she needs help, and she says she’s just looking, which is true.

At the return cart, in her plum shawl, is Mrs. McAllister: Junior English, Juror Twelve, and a library volunteer on Fridays. In a town this small, the person who taught you English can end up in the same jury room as you. Behind her, the shelves are marked 700, 800 and 900, the arts, literature and history end of a library, which feels like the right corner for an English teacher.

The Lark County High library on a sunny fall afternoon: Mrs. McAllister, Juror Twelve, an older woman with short curly gray hair, purple cat-eye glasses and a thoughtful look, stands in the middle in a plum top with a small gold button, one hand raised to her chin, in front of tall wooden bookshelves packed with colorful books and labeled 700, 800 and 900, with the gray rail of a book cart along the bottom; above the shelves hangs a maroon OWLS pennant, and on the left a big window with a half-raised blind shows yellow, orange and red trees, a red brick wall and fallen orange leaves on the grass
People also ask: does the English teacher also grade the jury?

Monday, a quarter to eight

On Monday in chapter 4, Juror Seven reaches the Lark County Courthouse at a quarter to eight: “Floor wax, radiator heat, and the smell of fifty years of wet coats.” Ray the bailiff has a card table by the stairs with a coffee urn and a sign-in sheet. He’s been here since six. Ray is always here since six.

She signs, “Seven, in the seventh box, in blue pen.” What Ray says first depends on how your weekend went. On a quiet one, it’s “Morning, Seven. Coffee’s from Hoff’s. Don’t tell anybody I said it’s better than mine.” And at the day’s recess there’s a detail only a local would know: the fountain by the stairs runs warm for five seconds before it runs cold, and everybody in Harrow knows to wait it out.

A long courthouse hallway with a red and cream checkered floor, wood paneling, globe lights hanging from the ceiling and a staircase at the far end under an arched window with autumn trees: on the right, Ray the bailiff, a balding older man with gray hair on the sides, in a tan uniform shirt with a gold badge and brown trousers, smiles with his eyes closed and his hands folded in front of him, next to a doorway under a hanging red sign reading JURY ROOM; on the left, Juror Seven, with long light brown hair under a mustard knit hat, an olive coat over a red plaid shirt and a round Juror 7 badge, stands quietly a little in shadow, beside a wooden bench and tall windows, and a small table with a stack of papers sits by a door down the hall
Search history: “courthouse coffee vs. diner coffee.” Don’t tell Ray.

Your week in Harrow

The first three chapters of Twelve Neighbors, with the parade, the porch and the library, are free to play in your browser at twelveneighbors.com. The full game is $9.99, paid once. More on the Twelve Neighbors page.

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