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I clutch my case binder to my chest as we move, trying to be calm. “Just be honest when they ask you questions,” I tell him. “Only use yes or no. Any open-ended questions you leave to me.”

Theo narrows his eyes at me. “What is this? No need to keep up the act.”

“Just listen to me,” I snap, wishing we had more time to talk, to reconcile before all this.

My throat is painfully dry as we reach the auditorium. Maybe it’s because Theo is so popular, the auditorium is filled more than it ever has been. Chatter and anticipation fill the air and the floor vibrates under my feet as we move through the large wooden doors.

The stage, clear just this morning, has become a courtroom. A simple wooden bench occupies the center, flanked by two chairs mimicking the opposing sides of a trial. The dim lighting casts shadowy corners, but the dramatically bright lights above the judge’s seat, the dean, make his skin extra white, and the shadows under his dark eyes make it seem like there are holes under them. In the far corner, one of the Law Society members sits with a laptop, the court reporter in charge of noting everything said tonight.

The dean, sitting in a black suit, twists his gavel in his hand. As we near, Ms. Cortez and Mr. Moore take the smaller, less-lit seats beside him.

The room is buzzing with energy. If this were any other trial, I would feed off it. Use the audience’s presence to make the opposing counsel nervous. Instead, it’s betraying my usual nerves of steel.

This case holds more meaning to me than any before it.

When we make it onto the stage, Theo takes his seat as a defendant, and Jake and I stand at opposite sides.

The dean, his gray hair perfectly gelled to the side, revealing his stony and defined features, clears his throat. He rarely shows his face anywhere, so the noise he makes, no matter how quiet, settles everyone into a silence.

“Today we are here to deliberate the case of Theo Hudson, accused of vandalism against the original founder of Bell-Haven—a charge that carries significant weight in our academic community. I expect respect from all participants and silence from the audience. Let the proceedings begin.”

Though my hands are slick against my binder and my heart shudders against my rib cage so violently it feels as if it may burst, I take a fortifying breath. Theo on the stand or not, the courthouse is my territory. I own it. I command it and the room.

“Your Honor,” I begin toward the dean, “I stand before you today just as disturbed by the distasteful vandalism to our founder. Because I feel as strong as you, no, all of us, about this slight to our esteemed academy, I want to ensure the perpetrator be brought to justice. They deserve it. Which is why, to ensure said justice, I ask you to see that my client Theo is not guilty of the charges against him.”

Jake steps up, confidence in every step as he speaks to the audience rather than the dean. Mistake one. The dean is who you need to impress. “Your Honor, this case is cut-and dried. All we need to do is consider the facts—facts that point directly to Theo’s guilt. On the day in question, several eyewitnesses reported seeing Theo near the statue just before it was defaced.”

“Objection,” I say. “There aren’t ‘several’ eyewitnesses, none that were accepted. There are two remaining eyewitnesses, one of whom is a janitor, and the other only saw the defendant in the parking lot—nowhere near the statue. Let the record show there are only two witnesses that place Theo at the scene.”

“Sustained,” the dean says. “Byrne, please keep your statements factual to the case.”

“Correct, Mr. Deaver has testified he saw Hudson staying late after school,” Jake says. “Seeing as Bell-Haven only hires staff with the utmost integrity, to claim this testimony is false is a direct offense to the school itself.”

“Mr. Deaver, though a respectable man, is a faulty witness,” I say. I remove a sheet from my binder and place it in front of the dean. “Cameras catch Mr. Deaver the day of the incident without his glasses—broken the week before. With a vision of minus five, Mr. Deaver wouldn’t be able to see anything not directly in front of him. Blurred vision and shrouded in the darkness of the night, all Mr. Deaver could have seen were silhouettes, heights, but nothing concrete to identity Mr. Hudson.”

“In addition to seeing him,” Jake says, “Mr. Deaver also says he heard a male voice.”

“Good news,” I say. “A male voice; we narrowed it down to half of Bell-Haven’s population.” There are a few laughs from the audience at that.

Jake smiles and faces the dean. “Permission to question the defendant?”

“Granted.”

Jake approaches Theo with a smirk on his face. “Theo, can you tell us where you were the night of the vandalism?”

Theo frowns. “First, I was home—”

“A lie,” Jake interrupts. “You and Jamie Foster both stated on record you were at the school. Cameras show you arriving just a half hour before the crime. If you can’t tell the truth about that, why should we listen to what else you have to say?”

“Your Honor, please.” I try not to roll my eyes. “Mr. Hudson was home at first, then went to the school. If the opposing council could let my client speak.”

“Mr. Hudson,” the dean says, “please answer the questions succinctly to prevent miscommunication.”

Theo frowns but nods. Sometimes, with things I think are obvious or deserving of acknowledgment, the dean doesn’t see my way. It’s push and pull trying to get him on my side, but not letting him think I’m tricking him.

“So,” Jake continues, “Ms. Lopez claims Mr. Deaver’s testimony is faulty, and yet he pointed out Theo, and not Jamie or any other student. And Theo was, in fact, at the scene of the crime.”

I step in. “Had Mr. Deaver seen Theo picking up Jamie at any point, then later when asked who he saw around the time of the incident, it’s possible he was confused, making connections with one of the friendly faces he knows.”