"Some kid is defending his brother," she whispered back. "And he is winning."
Earlier that morning, outside the courthouse, Elijah had stood near the cracked sidewalk with his brother's former lawyer, Dwayne Carter, a few feet from the rusted bicycle rack. Carter had looked down at him like he was trying to solve a mathematics problem he had never studied.
"You cannot do this, kid," Carter had said. "Court is not some school project."
"I know," Elijah answered calmly. "But you do not believe my brother, and I do."
"Belief does not win trials."
"No, but the truth might."
Carter had shaken his head, muttered something about Elijah watching too many movies, and walked away.
Now, inside the courtroom, Elijah made good on every hour he had spent studying alone. He remembered the late nights at the Camilla Public Library, listening to recorded legal lectures through a cracked phone, watching old trials online, and reading from stacks of used law books he had bought for five dollars each at a secondhand shop in Albany.
He did not have a degree, but he had facts. He did not have courtroom experience, but he had instinct. Most importantly, he had momentum.
Judge Tolbert cleared his throat. "Let me understand this correctly. The arresting officer's timeline is inaccurate, the alleged victim denies that anything was stolen, and there is no proof of forced entry."
"Yes, sir."
"And you, Mr. Carrington, uncovered this on your own?"
Elijah looked toward his brother, then back at the judge. "I had to. No one else was doing it."
A heavy pause followed. Tolbert leaned back again, but there was no smirk now, only a crease between his eyebrows.
"You said you are seventeen?"
"Yes."
Tolbert sighed through his nose, almost as though he did not want to say what came next. "Well, so far, you are more prepared than half the licensed attorneys who stand before me."
A few people gasped, and murmurs spread through the room. Andrea Lindholm folded her arms and did not smile.
Elijah kept his expression neutral, but inside, his heart hammered, not from fear, but from focus. Every moment counted, and every word mattered. He was not about to slow down.
He returned to the defense table, arranged the folders into a clean stack, and whispered to Isaiah, "Are you all right?"
Isaiah nodded. "You are doing better than I ever imagined."
Elijah allowed himself the smallest smile while keeping his gaze forward. "Just wait."
If anyone thought the boy in the baggy suit was finished, they were about to learn how wrong they were.
By the time Elijah stepped forward for his second round of questions, the entire room had changed. People were no longer staring at his oversized suit. They were watching him, watching how he spoke, how he never raised his voice, never stumbled, and never once appeared uncertain.
Elijah opened his dog-eared notebook. "Officer Haskins, you testified that you found two laptops in the vehicle. Do you have the serial numbers of those items?"
"I do not," Haskins said. "They were logged afterward."
"By whom?"
"Property division."
"Can you confirm that they were reported stolen?"
"I believe so."
"You believe?"
Haskins hesitated. "That is what I was told."
Elijah stepped aside and lifted another document. "According to this receipt from the electronics store three blocks from our house, my brother purchased those laptops two days earlier using his own debit card."
Haskins stared at the paper. Lindholm stood.
"Objection, Your Honor. I was not provided with this during discovery."
"You did not ask," Elijah replied, meeting her gaze. "Because you assumed he was guilty."