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down. Beads of sweat sprouted on her forehead. She wiped at them aimlessly. She remained bent over the bowl until her gag grew dry. She rinsed her mouth and wiped it with the back of her hand. She clutched the sides of the sink and lowered her head to it. Out of the deepest part of her soul she moaned. How did this happen? Where did I go wrong?
    Outside Courtroom B, she sat on a bench, convinced that if she went back inside to wait the fear that was thick in the air would make her fall to pieces. In the hallway, there was more space between her and the other frightened mothers.
    Six sets of courtroom doors lined one wall of the corridor. People trickled in and out of every one. A lawyer and his client exited Courtroom C and immediately began dissecting what had happened inside. Janae overheard the wealthy white mother demanding answers regarding her son’s case. “Now that he’s been released to me, when will his case be resolved?” The teenage boy slouched next to his mother with an aloof look on his face. The attorney leaned in to the mother. “It’s happening. There’s a meeting with the judge in his chambers. You just need to be prepared with accommodations at a private rehabilitation facility in case the judge orders it. Give me until Friday and this whole mess will disappear,” the attorney promised. The mother smiled, and Janae’s gut wrenched with guilt. No private attorney for Malik . Three women filed out after the attorney and his client, their eyes and cheeks wet with tears.
    Every time Courtroom B’s heavy wooden doors opened, Janae’s heart quickened. It had opened thirteen times before the public defender finally called, “Janae Williams?”
    She pushed through the door and raised her right hand slightly. “That’s me.”
    He pulled her aside, into a small witness room. There was a table with a phone on it and two chairs. He didn’t motion to sit, and she took his cue and remained standing, steadying herself by holding on to the back of one of the chairs.
    â€œThere’s been a development in your son’s case.”
    â€œA development?” she echoed, her empty stomach churning. Her fist pressed at her mouth. She felt a swell of panic inside her. “What kind of development?”
    â€œApparently the judge received a phone call in chambers. The CPHR plans to file a motion to represent your son. The case has been continued till later this week.”
    â€œWait, wait. I don’t want his case continued. I haven’t even seen him! I need to see my son.”
    The public defender eyed the door. “Um. Your son. When a case is not called, the defendant is not brought into the courtroom. You’re not going to be able to see your son today. Not here. I’m sorry. Okay . . . the CPHR—that stands for Center for the Protection of Human Rights. I don’t know their interest in your son’s case. I just know the organization has an excellent reputation.” The corners of his mouth curled upward into a faint smile. “This is a good development. It’s like having a private attorney, but better, because you don’t have to pay. They have your home number and they will get in contact with you.” His eyes widened as his shoulders shrugged slightly. “That’s all I know. Now, I really have to get back in there.”
    â€œBut what if I don’t want them involved in my son’s case? I think I’d rather have a public defender.”
    He turned back to her. He pinched his lips together as he stared into her defiant, black-jeweled eyes. “If I were in your situation—no, if you were my sister—I would tell you not to oppose this. Trust me, you want them. This is a good development. It’s either the public defender’s office or the CPHR. And they have resources way beyond what we have.”
    Janae stared straight into the public defender’s blue eyes.