enough time away from their lives over the summer. I wanted them to go on as if this trial wasn’t happening. It is nothing compared to my biological parents’ trials. But Hunter insisted on skipping classes. The disadvantage to him being in community college is no one can force him to go to class if he doesn’t want to.
Len approaches me with his warming smile. He asks questions related to my time in the Valdez’s home, my last day in particular. I answer them effortlessly. I’ve been here before.
He shows the jury pictures of the table, chairs, my textbooks, and my notes in disarray. He finishes and Gary approaches.
“Miss Jericho, how long were you in Mr. and Mrs. Valdez’s home?”
“Three weeks.”
“In that time, did Mr. Valdez ever indicate any interest in you?”
“Not until the night he attempted to rape me.”
“How long had it been since you last saw your boyfriend?”
Gary Prescott, Master of Insinuation. I bet that’s what his business cards say. I’m thankful Jason is in school.
“Three months,” I answer.
“So it’s possible you made this whole thing up because you missed your boyfriend and decided to take advantage of a young virile man who was caring for you.”
If he said that at Simon’s trial, I would’ve reacted emotionally. I can’t and won’t take his tainted bait.
Mom presses her lips into a thin line and Hunter covers her hand with his. I think if she could, she’d pop Gary in the mouth. It’s not often I witness her ire.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Prescott. Was that a question?” I ask, keeping my voice calm.
A ripple of titters spreads through the courtroom.
“Your Honor,” he says, addressing the judge.
“Her question is valid. Either phrase your statement as a question or ask another question.”
“Miss Jericho,” he says, returning his attention to me. “Did you falsify your statement to the deputies in order to be removed from your foster home, knowing sexual abuse allegations would be taken seriously?”
“No.”
“Did he remove any of your clothing?”
“No.
“Did he attempt to before you ran next door?”
“I didn’t give him an opportunity.”
“Then it’s just your word against his?”
“Yes.”
“I have nothing further.”
Len stands. “Re-direct, Your Honor?”
“Proceed.”
“Miss Jericho, please explain to the jury why you feared Manny would rape you.”
I retell my story, leaving out the fluff and giving only the important details. Namely, I feared for my safety if someone won’t leave me alone when asked to due to Simon’s abuse.
“Did the deputies give any indication that they felt you were giving them a false statement?”
“No.”
“I ask this next question with all due respect, Miss Jericho. Are you and your boyfriend sexually active?”
I grin internally at Len using Gary’s own question against him.
“Never.”
Mom takes me to the DMV for my driver’s test when we leave court. After passing the test, she informs me Shannon’s supervisor wants to meet with us.
“Why?” I ask, wondering why I’m still forced to deal with social workers.
“About Victoria’s case for violating the restraining order.”
I blow out a breath of air, hard. “Shannon won’t be involved?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay.”
“Good. He’s meeting us at home this afternoon.”
I gape at her. “You already scheduled it?”
Mom smiles slyly. “I knew you’d say yes if Shannon wasn’t coming.”
“You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I quip.
“Only when I have to be.”
A tall, lanky man in a chambray shirt and khaki pants sits at the end of one of the sofas when Mom calls for me to join them. He stands and smiles at me.
“Hi, Sara. I’m Jeff Collins, Shannon’s supervisor.” He holds out his hand.
I accept his hand for a brief shake. “Hi,” I say tentatively, sitting opposite him.
“I understand you like to get to the point. Victoria is in juvenile detention right now, if you didn’t already know that.”
“I didn’t, but that’s good to know.”
“She violated the restraining order, so her case will be transferred to a social worker in the juvenile justice department. If your sister’s behavior continues as it has up until now, I foresee her staying in a juvenile justice facility for a long time. Friday night wasn’t the first time she’s acted out.”
I scoot up on the sofa. “You mean she’s been acting out and she was allowed to join the cheer squad?”
“I’m sorry, Sara. I didn’t know about it. Shannon did not share it with me if she knew. I only know as much as my social workers tell me about their cases and what comes to me on paper. Her foster parents must have paid for everything, because I never received a payment request. And they