“Your Honor, the defense objects to any theatrics.”
“So do I,” Judge Warren said. “Let’s avoid them.”
The laughter died completely.
For the first time that morning, I felt my mother breathe.
I slid the first paper toward her and whispered, “Read the top line.”
Her hands shook as she picked it up. I placed my palm lightly over hers, not to stop the shaking, but to remind her she was not alone.
She nodded.
“My name is Lydia Moore,” she began, voice thin at first. “I worked in the cafeteria at Crestwood Preparatory for six years. I was dismissed on March second for what the school called repeated insubordination.” She paused and looked at me.
“Keep going,” I whispered.
