“Nope.”
He gestured for me to follow. “Just take your place at the defendant’s table, and when the judge asks where your attorney is, tell him he’s MIA. You’re better off with no attorney than not appearing.”
Great.This judge didn’t like me to begin with. The last time I was in front of him, my attorney had told me the max I could get as a repeat juvey was two-hundred hours of community service, but that he’d never had anyone get more than eighty. I got the full two hundred, along with a twenty-minute lecture. But what could I do now?
I made my way into the courtroom. Marla took a seat in the spectator section, while I pushed the swinging wooden half-door to get to the other side. The court officer stood in front of the judge’s bench and called out a bunch of numbers, along with my name. I glanced behind me, hoping the buffoon of an attorney I had would show at the last second, but no such luck. I wiped my sweaty palms on the dress pants I’d borrowed from Marla’s dad’s closet after he left for work today.
Judge Hanover pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose.
“Mr. Langston, where is your counsel?”
“I don’t know, your honor. He was here an hour ago. We were waiting in the hall and—”
“Stop.” He held up his hand and turned to the ADA. She was kind of hot for a woman who could get me locked up. “Ms. Atkins,” he said, “is the State prepared to hear the Court’s sentencing?”
She nodded. “We are, your honor.”
The judge’s eyes slid back to me. “Mr. Langston, this is your second time in my courtroom and your fourth time in this courthouse for various arrests. The State submitted your school records to show that you are not only out causing a ruckus, but you’re also often truant.”
“Your honor, I—”
He again put his hand up. “I’ll give you an inch of leeway because your counsel is not here at the moment. But you do not speak while I’m speaking. Is that understood?”
Fuck.I hung my head. “Yes, your honor.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose again. “As I was saying, the State submitted your school records to show that you’re a terrible student. But do you want to know what I noticed?”
I looked at the judge, unsure if he actually wanted me to respond.
He sighed. “I asked you a question, so you may speak now, Mr. Langston.”
“Yeah, I want to know.”
“The word isyes, not yeah. And what I discovered on your record is—contrary to what your actions may lead one to believe—you are not dumb.” He picked up a paper and pointed to the top corner. “Did you have an SAT tutor?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you take a review course?”
“No, sir.”
He shook his head. “I’ve spent five grand on private tutors to try to get my son to a number that is a hundred points less than your score. Did you cheat on the exam, Mr. Langston?”
My eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Then you’re on your way to becoming what I like to call a Machiavellian Master. Do you know who that is?”
I nodded.
The judge frowned again. “Of course you do. You could probably write a whole paper on it even though you were absent the day the teacher taught about Niccolò Machiavelli.” He shook his head yet again. “Normally, I would throw the book at someone who has been arrested four times in a year. Your little Class D felony has a sentencing guideline of one to seven years. But today is your lucky day. I’m going to give you two options and letyoudecide your own fate, since you’re so smart. How does that sound?”
“Uh, I guess it depends on what my two options are.”
Judge Hanover’s mouth twisted to a sneer, and he wagged a finger. “See? Youaresmart. That’s why I’m giving you the choice of two islands.”
The courtroom door behind me burst open, and I turned to find my dumbass lawyer rushing in. Leonard took one look at me standing alone and the judge’s annoyed face and swallowed. “I’m sorry, your honor. I was down the hall for what was supposed to be a two-minute calendar call and got held up.”
“You joined us just in time, Mr. Adams. I was about to tell your client what was behind doors A and B.”
