“Yeah, in a way . . .”
“And taking that money made you feel powerful. Those weren’t just accounts—they were people. People who you knew would be terrified to see their life savings drained away. And that made you feel good too, didn’t it?”
“No, I never meant—”
“You wanted to show them you were better. Smarter. You wanted to scare them. To hurt them. Innocent, helpless people like Mrs. Potter.” She points to the little old lady, who’s frowning in the front row. “And you succeeded. Because when it’s all said and done, you’re a bully with a computer. A cyberterrorist.”
Justin’s cheeks go bright pink, his eyes shiny with threatening tears.
“I’m sorry!”
“Yes, Mr. Longhorn, you certainly are. They never—”
“I just wanted someone to see me!” Justin yells. Kennedy’s mouth snaps closed. “I just wanted someone to know I was there!”
And he bursts into tears.
He sobs into one hand, his words muffled but heartbreakingly clear.
“No one sees me! I don’t have any friends. I walk down the halls at school, and I’m like a ghost. Like I don’t even exist.”
He gestures to the empty seats behind me, where his parents should be. “My own parents aren’t even here! They don’t care. No one cares.” Another sob breaks through and the entire courtroom watches with stunned eyes.
Including Kennedy.
“I . . . that’s . . .” she stutters, trying to regain her composure, but Justin’s words roll right over her.
“I could go to jail for twenty years, or die tomorrow, and it wouldn’t make any difference to anyone.” He looks at Mrs. Potter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted someone, anyone, to know I’m here.”
The courtroom is silent except for the sound of Justin crying.
Kennedy stares at him, a thousand emotions playing out behind her eyes. And probably a thousand memories.
I hold up my hand. “Recess, Judge?”
“Granted.” He bangs his gavel and the jury is ushered from the room.
I walk past Kennedy, who’s standing stock-still, and meet Justin just outside the jury box. He wipes at his eyes and I tap his back.
“It’s all right, buddy.”
As we head back toward the defense table, Mrs. Potter glares at Kennedy. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Berating this poor sweet boy like that!”
“I . . . I didn’t . . .”
Mrs. Potter pushes forward to hug Justin, patting his back gently. “There, there. Come on now, I have some cookies in my pocketbook. Harold, get this boy a cookie!”
Since Justin looks like he’s in good hands, I take Kennedy’s unresisting arm and pull her out the door.
“Conference?”
I walk her down the hall to one of the small, empty conference rooms. There I gently guide her onto the folding chair at the table.
“Oh my god,” she says, still stunned.
“Breathe, Kennedy.”
“I . . . holy shit . . .”
“Kennedy.” I say it stronger, gaining her attention. “Breathe.”
Her eyes go to my face. “He completely fell apart in there.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s . . . he’s not a criminal . . . he’s just a lonely little boy.”
“I know.”
She rubs her forehead. “Oh my god—and I broke him down.”
I nod. “Yep. You sure did.”
“Because it felt good, Brent.” She pats her chest. “It made me feel good. Strong.”
“Yeah . . . I got that.”
Her breath comes out quick and shocked. “I didn’t want to ever feel weak again. So I went out of my way to rip into him. Because it made me feel powerful to make him feel bad.”
“I know,” I tell her softly.
And her voice rises, with horrible realization. “Brent—I’m the bully!”
Tears are imminent, and I put my hand on her shoulder. “Kennedy, it’s okay.”
Her forehead drops to the table, banging it.
“Hey!” I put my hand on the table so she can’t do it again. “Easy there. I happen to like what’s in that head of yours, so let’s not damage it, okay?”
Guilty, wet eyes gaze up at me.
I sit down across from her. “Okay—look—Justin’s a good kid. A lonely kid, yes, but you didn’t break him. He’ll recover, believe me.” I hesitate, gauging just how freaked out she is. “I realize epiphanies are fucking exhausting—I’ve been there myself. But since we’re kind of under the gun, time-wise, how do you feel about discussing a plea deal now?”
It only takes a moment for Kennedy’s back to straighten and her chin to lift. And Federal Prosecutor K. S. Randolph stares back at me.
“What are you offering?”
“A guilty plea that stays on his juvenile record and won’t follow him to adulthood. And a sentence of two years of probation, to be served under the computer tech division of the FBI or Homeland Security. With an agent who recognizes Justin’s talents and wants him to use them for good.”