Over the next five minutes, the number of people entering the room slows and then the bailiff asks us all to rise as the judge enters. The Honorable Melissa Carrizosa. She’s older, probably in her fifties, with graying hair and a friendly face. She reminds me of a young grandmother, not a judge. It immediately makes me feel more at ease. She radiates an air of baking cookies and bandaging scraped knees, not sentencing innocent guys to decades of jail time.
She and the lawyers talk, using legal terms I don’t understand. Then she focuses on Logan. “The charges against you are felony hit and run and Class 1 misdemeanor for possession of marijuana. Do you understand these charges?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nods. “The purpose of today’s hearing is to consider and potentially negotiate a plea bargain. Am I correct, Mr. Needleham and Ms. Aronson?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the say in unison.
“Very well. Mr. Needleham, the floor is yours.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. The terms Ms. Aronson and I originally discussed were dropping the felony hit and run charges to a Class 1 misdemeanor, punishable by suspension of Mr. Evans’s driver’s license for one year, six months of community service, a thousand-dollar fine, and finishing his high school education at a military boarding school.”
“Are these the terms you’re still seeking?”
Mr. Needleham leans down and whispers something in Logan’s ear. Logan rotates in his seat, scans the benches behind us, focuses on a blond girl with too much makeup in the row behind me, and seems to share unspoken words with her. After a few seconds, he turns back around and nods to his lawyer.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he replies with a sigh.
“Ms. Aronson, are these terms agreeable to you?”
The prosecutor is scanning a print out, marked with yellow highlights. She holds up a finger, flips the page, continues reading, then says, “No, they are not. Mr. Evans has gotten himself into more trouble. Two weeks ago, he was found by the dean of his boarding school while driving with a suspended license.”
My stomach instantly tightens up. It feels like before Thanksgiving all over again.
“Actually, Your Honor,” Mr. Needleham says, “he was not found. No one witnessed this alleged behavior.”
“He admitted to it!”
“Will you be filing a formal charge?”
She huffs. “No, of course not. Law enforcement was not involved in the incident, but it does show how nothing has changed during his time at Wallingford.”
“Do you have alternative terms to offer?” the judge asks the prosecutor.
“Six months incarceration and a twenty-five-hundred-dollar fine.”
“That’s excessive!” Mr. Needleham says. “Mr. Evans has no prior record. He’s still in high school. He needs to graduate, not be locked up!”
“He’s eighteen. He understood the severity of his original offense, yet he committed another major driving violation. I believe it’s in society’s best interest to ensure he’s kept off the roads over the next six months.”
“Allegedly committed,” Mr. Needleham says, raising a finger. “Your Honor, may I call a witness to the stand?”
“We’re not at trial,” Ms. Aronson says, lowering her glasses as she focuses on Mr. Needleham.
“Given the terms you’re proposing, I have a few witnesses the court needs to hear from. They will attest to what is in society’s best interest.”
“We don’t have all day,” the judge says. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”
Looking at his watch, he nods and stands. “Ms. Durant, please come forward.”
Finally. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for four days.
I walk through the gate, and the judge motions for me to take the chair to her left. A woman who has been sitting next to the judge hands me a Bible and asks me to put my left hand on it while she swears me in.
“You may be seated,” the judge says with a warm smile when I’m done.
“Please state your name and relationship to Mr. Evans for the court,” Mr. Needleham says.
“Paige Durant. I’m Mr. Evans’s peer mentor at Wallingford Academy.”
“What is a peer mentor?”
“I served as a positive role model and helped him learn the rules of Wallingford.”
“How would you say he performed at Wallingford Academy?”
“Exceptionally well. It’s a very strict school, and those who are not there by choice often struggle. From an academic perspective, Mr. Evans shined from day one.”
“Would you say you saw changes in his personality while he was there?”
“Yes, sir. Initially, he was argumentative and lacked motivation. In a matter of weeks, he began to respect authority and set goals for himself, including deciding to run a half marathon in April. And he’s been tutoring a sophomore in algebra. That student’s grade has gone from a C to an A-minus. He also joined the Wallingford jazz band. He’s an amazing guitar player. And he was volunteering at local charities for two hours every Saturday.”
“Do you feel he’s a risk to society?”
“No, sir.”
“Wh—”
He’s interrupted by the door swinging opening. It draws everyone’s attention to the back of the room where Alex marches in.
I blink my eyes a couple of times, sure I’m hallucinating.
But no matter how many times I blink, Alex is still there, looking deadly serious and commanding as usual in his uniform.
I stand at attention.
Then Noah enters. And Leah. And Richard. And Jason. And Sydney. Soon, the room is overflowing with Wallingford uniforms. The last person to walk through the door is the dean. They all take a seat in the back row.
“What’s going on?” the judge says as her eyes drift over at least a third of the Alpha Battalion.
Alex stands. “We learned one of our cadets was being treated unfairly and felt we needed to set the record straight.”
“Mr. Needleham,” she says, “surely you don’t plan on calling each of these students up as a witness?”
“No, Your Honor, but I thought the court should understand how well-respected Mr. Evans is at Wallingford Academy. This is a world-renowned boarding school where over half of the students go on to attend prestigious universities. Not one of these students believes Mr. Evans is a risk to society.”
She nods. “Very well. Do you have any further questions for the current witness?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Aronson, would you like to cross-examine the witness?”
She shakes her head.
“You may step down,” she says to me with her grandmother smile again.
I return to my seat, wishing I could have said more about Logan. I’ve been thinking about my testimony for the past four days. I had example after example prepared to show how well he’s been doing, but then again, having a large contingent of his battalion show up on his behalf may be equally persuasive.
I still can’t believe Alex. I look in his direction and smile at him. He gives me a subtle nod. When push came to shove, he did the right thing, even more than I was hoping for. This, right here, is my best friend Alex, not the guy from the last few months.