I look to the left, my mother’s eyes are rimmed red, her hand white-knuckled around Dad’s. My father hasn’t looked away from me once. His jaw is tight, his knee bouncing.
He believes me. They all do, my brothers have been here every day and that’s what’s going to make this worse. We all know the truth, but it’s not going to save me.
The bailiff’s voice cuts through the static in my brain.
“All rise.”
We do.
My legs feel like they’re made of lead.
The judge enters, his robe dragging behind him like some medieval executioner, and he’s mine. The jury files in next, every one of them looking anywhere but at me. That tells me everything I need to know.
My lawyer clears his throat and stands. “Your Honor, before we proceed, may I remind the court once again that the alleged victim, Miss Olivia Banks, has not appeared for questioning at any point during this trial?—”
The judge waves a hand sharply. “Counselor, we’ve been over this.”
“With all due respect, Your Honor, the absence of Miss Banks has severely handicapped our ability to cross-examine. The entire case is hearsay and medical reports?—”
“Miss Banks’s doctor submitted a certified psychological evaluation. She has been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, and her mental health could suffer irreparably if she were forced to face Mr. Crawford in this room.”
I open my mouth. I don’t care what they think about decorum or respect anymore.
“She can destroy my life with a sentence,” I say, voice tight, “but she can’t even look at me while she does it?”
“Mr. Crawford,” the judge warns.
“I didn’t touch her,” I snap. “I didn’t?—”
“Mr. Crawford!” The gavel slams once, echoing like a bullet in the room. My mother flinches.
The judge sighs and leans forward, eyes narrowing like I’m already nothing more than a number in a cell. “The court is satisfied with the evidence presented. Olivia Banks’s testimony is preserved in sworn written statements and confirmed by her attending physicians. That is sufficient.”
Sufficient.
That’s all it takes to end a man’s future. A piece of paper.
The jury foreperson rises. My breath sticks in my throat.
“In the matter of the State versus Hayden Crawford… on the charge of rape in the first degree…” She doesn’t look at me either. “…we find the defendant—” My stomach drops before the words even land. My lungs clamp shut. I already know.
“…guilty.”
My world shatters in a single syllable.
I don’t breathe. I can’t breathe. The blood rushes to my ears, and everything goes red. Red like rage. Red like shame. Red like the future they’ve stolen from me. She’s stolen from me.
My mother’s hand flies to her mouth. My father stands so quickly the bench rocks.
“No, no—” I shake my head, trying to say the words, trying to make them understand. “I didn’t do this. I didn’t do anything.”
A guard steps beside me. His hand’s on my shoulder already.
“I’m going to miss graduation,” I whisper, blinking stupidly. “I was?—”
“Hayden—” my mom’s crying now, reaching across the divide between the gallery and the defense table, but I can’t hear her anymore.
I jerk away from the guard. “I never touched her!”
