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quickly.
    â€œThis morning is going to be pretty routine,” he said, his eyes still on the file. “The judge will transfer your son’s case to criminal court. That means he’ll be tried as an adult on murder one charges. From here on out you will go to the Criminal Justice Center for everything involving your son’s case. A new PD will be assigned. For now, just wait in the gallery until your son’s case is called.”
    Janae was screaming inside. Questions exploded in her mind like fireworks. But before she had a chance to ask even one, the public defender already shifted his body from her to the next mother in line. She overheard him use the word routine again.
    There was nothing routine about this. It was black magic of the highest order. A few days ago, before everything had happened, Malik was a child. Her responsibility. She was responsible for him in every way. Now, all of a sudden, they want to treat him as an adult. Troy was dead, murdered. That was terrible, but what they were doing now to Malik—in the name of justice—was wrong.
    Troy and Malik had been friends. They went through fifth, sixth, and seventh grades together. It was only a few weeks ago that Troy was in Janae’s home. He and Malik played Xbox together. They were so excited about those damn games that they worked up a sweat playing them.
    Troy had a reputation around the neighborhood for being a little wild, but in her home she never saw that side of him. He was always respectful. She knew he had stopped going to school. Otherwise he and Malik would have probably had at least one or two classes together. She didn’t stop Malik from being friends with him, though. If she started cutting off his friends based on who was still in school—hell, most of them would have been off limits. As long as he continued to do what he was supposed to do, Malik could be friends with whomever he liked.
    Malik wasn’t perfect, she knew that. He occasionally cut classes—but what teenage boy didn’t?
    She’d caught him once. She came home early, sick with fever from work, and there he was, back home and in his bed at eleven-thirty. Even had the nerve to be snoring, like he didn’t have a damn thing better he should be doing. Janae fixed him real good. She doused him with an ice-cold bucket of water and sent him back to school. He went, and he continued to go, as far as she knew.
    He was good with the big stuff. Malik didn’t use drugs, and he respected her most of the time. There was typical stuff she dealt with. Stuff no parent can escape with a teenage boy—like not coming home on time, usually because of girls.
    The public defender’s words echoed threateningly in her head: “Today is going to be pretty routine.” This was the worst event of their lives and he’s saying it’s normal, for women worried over their sons, whose lives and futures were in serious jeopardy.
    The gallery was packed. The air in the courtroom was stifling. Janae could feel a quiet hysteria jumping from one mother to the next. It was after eight and the judge still hadn’t taken the bench.
    Janae leaned into the woman on her right and took in a large gulp of nauseatingly sweet perfume. Instinctively she pinched the tip of her nose. “Um, excuse me,” she whispered to the woman. “I’m going to go out in the hall. Just for a bit. I need some air. Could you keep an ear out for my son, Malik Williams? I’ll be just outside the door.”
    The woman nodded. Janae darted for the heavy wooden double doors convinced that if the circumstances of the day didn’t make her heave, the bowl of cold cereal she forced herself to eat earlier that morning mixed with the lingering scent of the woman’s perfume would.
    Â 
    JANAE HELD ON TO THE CLOSE WALLS OF THE BATHROOM STALL AND LEANED further into the bowl, forcing herself to work faster at expelling the food her body refused to keep