"Thanks again, Dr. Newhouse." I stood up from the extra chair that faced my advisor's sleek, metal desk, extended my right hand, and shook hers.

In a moment of embarrassment, I met with Dr. Newhouse since she was also the Nutrition Sciences Department Chair and requested a three-day leave of absence for Ryder's trial. I omitted all details except showed her a copy of the subpoena form. Mr. Reynolds assured me that my testimony was only over one day, the District Attorney's office wanted another day to prep me, and Mr. Reynolds suggested that I used the day in between as a break.

While the second week of January was still early in the spring quarter, I'd already gotten my homework assignments completed and assured my professors that I'd bring down all the necessary materials for next week's classes.

"No need to thank me." Her silvery-blue eyes, creased with her decades of academic experience, sparkled up at me and she swept aside a few gray hairs off her forehead. Right when I released her hand and stood up, she added, "Eleanor, a moment please. I know you're a junior but have you given any thought into your post-undergrad plans?"

"I... haven't," I admitted, sank back down into the chair, and hugged my backpack into my chest.

"Well..." She fisted her hand and propped her chin on it. "I know that you're aware that we have the senior research project, which carries a lot of weight. But you're one of the top students in the department and we'd be lucky if you considered applying for our graduate program."

Dr. Newhouse was correct, I knew about the project...

And have absolutely no idea what I want to do mine on, let alone after I graduate.

Grad school though? Wow, hadn't thought about that.

"I'll definitely think about it," I replied with a grin that appeared on its own. "Just taking things one step at a time."

"Very reasonable." She nodded and waved goodbye as I exited her office.

In almost a last-minute decision, I told Logan to stay at UW during my court testimony. His football season ended on a high with the Fiesta Bowl win but he still had his own academic responsibilities.

And, in Logan's true stubborn nature, he came down to California anyways. Since Mom warned me that a miniature media encampment set up in the cul-de-sac our house sat off, Logan stayed with Grace and Brody in Scotts Valley, where their condo building had open parking lots but at least locked entrances.

The media circus outside our UW apartment was a picnic compared to what was camped out in our neighborhood, at Santa Cruz High School, even Pizza Palace. Ryder's trial, blown up by his smear campaign on me that resulted in national-level coverage.

The sight of a familiar blonde ESPN reporter on the sidewalk outside our house annoyed me most of all, particularly with the circumstances under which I'd last seen her in person.

At least Jake finally developed some common sense rejecting this one.

The first day I was home, I left early that morning under a blinding barrage of camera flashes and shouted questions. Since a few cars followed me out of the neighborhood, I followed Mr. Reynolds' suggestion and weaved my way through the curved local streets that I knew like the back of my hand until I drove in peaceful solitude.

Turn after turn, I ended up at the parking lot behind the Santa Cruz County Government Center building, the address Mr. Reynolds had given me. Thankfully, the gated lot required my driver's license matched the visitor's list and only a few formally dressed people headed from the lot into the office.

Not a single reporter, at least within my eyesight range.

The walls of the two-story building were mostly covered with glass but each one was separated by thick, white concrete dividers. Mr. Reynolds stood inside the back doors, dressed in a gray formal suit, light pink dress shirt, and coordinated paisley tie. He clasped a brown leather briefcase in both hands and offered me a polite smile as I gave my ID to the security desk, then set my purse on the scanner belt.

"Glad you made it," he greeted me in a voice as rigid as his posture. I must've looked terrified because he rested one of his hands on my shoulder. "I know these past few weeks have been difficult but I promise I'll be right there for the difficult part and it'll be over soon."

"I hope so," I replied in a meek, soft voice, picked up my purse, and trailed a step behind Mr. Reynolds.

While we walked down a white-walled, gray-square carpeted hallway with overhead lights that hung low from the ceiling, Mr. Reynolds spoke in a low-toned voice, "We're meeting with Jay Russell, a public defender in the DA's office. He's a stand up guy, worked tirelessly on this case, but..."

"But?"

"Don't look at or say anything about his hair plugs," he finished with a slight twinkle in his brown eyes.

"His..." My voice dried up in the back of my throat and I couldn't say the words, 'hair plugs.'

A soft chuckle drew my eyes up to a surprisingly playful smile on Mr. Reynolds' mouth. "I'm kidding."

"Oh." My shoulders relaxed and chest lifted as a weightless sensation rushed through my sharp exhale. I pressed my lips together tightly and nodded silently. We continued down the hallway, past American and California flags, and a wall covered with a hand painted mural of Santa Cruz county.

"Harper's given up on my dry personality but Grace..." Mr. Reynolds paused as warmth filled his eyes. "Informed me that I need to loosen up a little."

A tiny giggle escaped my lips, but dissolved when I saw a flicker of sadness flashed briefly in his eyes as he joked, "I think her exact were 'take the hanger out of your shirt the next time you wear it, David.'"

At those words, bubbles of laughter burst from me. In between them, I admitted, "Sounds like a Grace-ism."

I stopped outside the doors and, when Mr. Reynolds paused at my side, I studied his solemn expression and blurted out, "It's okay to like her, you know."

A smile ghosted over his mouth at my words. With a slight head twist, he looked down at me. "I sometimes forget how perceptive you are, Eleanor."

His slightly raised eyebrow was the only encouragement I needed, so I rolled my lower lip under for a few breaths, then answered, "You're holding back, maybe both of you. I... don't think it's Harper, so must be your job."

Before Mr. Reynolds responded, I rushed out, "Which you're very good at and I can't tell you how much I appreciate you in that capacity."

His hand returned to my shoulder and his soft brown eyes weighed with an unspoken responsibility that he carried a burden but one that he willingly endured. "My job is an unfortunate necessity, Eleanor. I've made, and still make, a lot of sacrifices. Being a juvenile public defender is not for the casual lawyer and there are some more hard days than joyous ones."

Behind his square lens, frameless glasses, his eyes slid closed, as if the admission brought up more weight than he wanted revealed. The reason Harper's Mom left was no secret, but Mr. Reynolds never spoke negatively about his ex-wife. In fact, he'd never mentioned her once, other than corrected Harper when she'd bad-mouthed her Mom.

He looks... almost like he feels he deserved it.

My heart tightened inward at the thought and, within a blink, Mr. Reynolds retracted his hand and his normal, stoic, impassive lawyer expression returned. Right when his hand reached for one of the silver door handles, one of my hands tugged on one of his suit sleeves.

"If there's one thing I know about Grace, well other than it's safest not to eat anything she cooks, she's a lot tougher than you're giving her credit for." I paused for a moment and dropped his sleeve while he studied my face. "And I don't want to speak for her but... have a feeling that what you can offer might be what she needs."

"Just a hunch though," I added softly.

Mr. Reynold nodded curtly, then yanked the door open and revealed a small office-like space with open tables completely covered with piles of papers and thick, four-inch binders that were both closed, stacked high, and parted open. The walls were lined with thick books that looked more like encyclopedias than reading books, the air was hot, stale, and scented with a musty paper smell, and three people occupied the space.

"Eleanor." A tall, heavy-set man with dark brown skin, and a bald head that shone even under the dim, yellow lighting rose as he lifted it up from his paperwork. Two dark brown eyes peered up at us from behind thick, black-rimmed glasses, he rose from his seat behind a table, walked quickly over to us, and extended one hand.

"Jay Russell, public defender," he introduced himself with a warm, firm handshake, then nodded at a younger guy with short, spiked brown hair and a girl with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, from what I saw behind their paperwork stacks. "Reed and Davina, my paralegals."

"Hi." I offered a meek wave at their lifted hands. "I'm Ellie."

"Nice to meet you in person," Mr. Russell ushered both of us into the cramped space with a hand sweep. "Sorry for the mess, promise it's organized chaos."

Organized chaos, I like that.

Right when I smiled, he pointed to two small chairs that faced the emptiest table, then sat down on the other side. With one movement, he grabbed a nearby binder and poised a pen over his clipboard. Once Mr. Reynolds and I sat down, he offered a tight smile.

"Let's get started."

In an oddly nostalgic moment, Harper came over and stayed overnight when I was home. My mind was mentally wiped out once I came home after not one but two days of preparations within Mr. Russell's office. He, his staff, and Mr. Reynolds peppered me with all the questions he planned to ask me in court, as well as a few rounds where they guessed what Ryder's attorneys, his parents of course, came up with.

Good thing Mr. Reynolds suggested an extra day in between, this is nuts.

Thankfully, Mr. Russell was completely disgusted with Ryder's parents, particularly after I confirmed the NDA and their recent threats against me. "Knew it was a smear campaign," was all he responded with a shake of his head and promise he worked within every ounce of his existence in favor of the victims.

"H-how many?" I whispered at one point.

"We're down to eight." His reply shot Mr. Reynolds' eyes straight up from his phone but he only silently shook his head. "Which is why we're glad you're here, so let's keep going."

Despite my numbed brain, Harper and I did homework together, wasted time in the kitchen while Mom and I cooked up a storm in her small kitchen, and watched movies in the evenings. Logan called and texted me throughout the day, which I greatly appreciated since his messages were full of positivity and support.

The windows on the front side of Mom's house lit up when Jake came home the night before the trial. He gave me a brief hug, exchanged nothing more than a chilly greeting with Harper, then slammed his bedroom door shut. A smile tugged on my lips as he muttered, "Used to look bigger," through the closed door.

I was happy when Jake joined us for dinner that night, although I suspected it was at Mom's urging because she conveniently excused herself after we'd all sat down at the kitchen table.

"Thank you," I said in a quiet voice and looked between Harper and Jake.

"You cooked." Harper's lips curled up from behind her fork. "Although this is the last meal I expected you'd make."

"Felt like old times." I grinned across the table at Jake, who'd silently emptied his plate clean of chicken parmesan and steamed broccoli. "But I meant thanks for being here... for always being there for me."

"Some things change, Ellie." His dark brown-haired head shook, he stood up with his plate, then paused and glared at Harper. "Although some don't."

"Me or your jockstrap." She scowled in response.

While I appreciated the reminder of when Harper and Jake teased each other across from this table, now the effort felt...

Like most of my clothes, tired and dated.

"He meant it as a compliment. And don't put me between you two," was all I muttered as I pushed my chair back, stood up, and set my dishes into the dishwasher. "I'm going to shower and go to bed. We leave at seven-thirty tomorrow."

I left the kitchen with a soft sigh, rolled my eyes, then directed them forward. While I knew I wasn't headed towards sleep tonight, just the appeal that I crawled into bed and buried myself under the covers was more than enough.

The sting that bit into my scalp as I tightened my ponytail for the fourth time with shaky fingers barely registered in my brain. Two full days of preparation passed and I felt anything but prepared. Mr. Russell laid out the exact roadmap he'd prepared for his questioning and rehearsed it with me so many times that I was only mildly worried about sharing private details inside a closed-door but public courtroom.

What concerned me was what we hadn't practiced past speculation, what the defendants Mr. and Mrs. Stevens asked me.

I'd say fake it 'till I make it but even that's a stretch today.

My polished appearance included a black suit Mom had bought me, which I wore over a light yellow silk blouse and paired with black flats. I wore almost no makeup, only plain chapstick, dots of concealer over my raccoon eyes, and a few mascara swabs that I was surprised I hadn't stabbed myself in the eye while I applied them.

Sleep escaped me last night but from the moment my eyes cracked open, a dry, parched sensation lodged itself in my throat and mouth and stayed there no matter how many sips of water I took, my stomach churned like I experienced food poisoning, and restless goosebumps prickled over my skin. During my shower, I scrubbed hard and scratched everywhere with my nails but that hadn't calmed the sensations.

"You can do this..." Mom murmured over and over to me so many times in passing through the house, I knew she spoke more to herself than me. Once she caught my eyes on her, she clammed up into complete silence.

Mom's unusual silence through breakfast showed her uncertainty as well. Jake and Harper were unusually quiet as well but I felt their random gazes in my direction and passed on eating for fear I threw it back up. My only comfort came in the form of simple texts from Logan.

Logan: You got this, baby.

Logan: Love you. See you soon.

Quicker than I was comfortable with, I wedged myself in between the middle row's bucket seats, sat on the floor of Mom's minivan with both knees in my chest, then wrapped a blanket over myself. We'd learned the hard way, with a few nearly run over camera-flashers and a lot of headline newspaper pictures that flattered neither Mom nor me, that this position was the best drive out of the neighborhood media frenzy. A few rustling sounds and a soft pat on the top of my head indicated Harper and Jake climbed in behind me.

A few curse words from Mom and jostled movements, her voice called, "All clear!"

I inhaled deeply as cooler air hit my cheeks, got up, and sat in the seat behind Mom's. With another shuffled movement, Harper flung herself into the seat next to me. Like usual, her appearance in a black sweater, black leggings, and her hair pulled in a high ponytail was flawless except the tired look in her eyes.

With one quick flick of Harper's wrist, she removed the large, black sunglasses perched on top of her head and handed them over to me. When I blinked at her outstretched hand, she clarified, "You look like you could use some cover-up."

"How about a poncho and sombrero?" I groaned but slipped the sunglasses up the bridge of my nose. The lenses were so large, they covered my entire eye sockets and so dark I felt plunged into near-darkness, like Mom's minivan drove into an underground cave.

"We could," was all Harper replied.

Again, more quickly than I was comfortable with, Mom pulled up to the Santa Cruz County Superior Court's courthouse. Even though Mom drove around the back, walked a few steps in front of me while Harper and Jake flanked my sides and clutched my hands, our presence was definitely noticed by one person in particular who I'd been assured wouldn't have been allowed in the rear access of the courthouse.

"Jake!" Rachel Sorenson proved that she had all the nerve in the world when she called out my brother's name to grab our attention.

Jake's arm muscles tensed under his suit but he kept his head down. Unfortunately, he took faster steps, which created a gap between us and he nearly plowed over Mom on the way up the steps.

"Ellie! Can I have a word? How are you feeling right now?" I flinched when a hand rested on my elbow, small and gentle.

Definitely not Jake's.

"Oh no," Harper's voice muttered in my ear and she released my right hand. "Not this time, not this bitch. I'd say hold my sunglasses Ellie but you're already wearing them."

Harper's string of curse words that she hurled at Rachel dissolved into the background because I only needed one look up the stairs and into the courthouse doors that Mr. Reynolds held open because Logan's familiar frame stood just on the other side. My feet rushed faster than Jake's, faster than they should have, and the tip of my toes clipped the top of the second-to-last step. With one whooshed movement, I pitched forwards until a pair of hands steadied me.

"Didn't think I'd have to carry you up the stairs." Jake chuckled in my ears.

Once I steadied myself, Mr. Reynolds ushered us inside with the other. Staccato clicks of my, Harper's, and Mom's shoes sounded on the tiled floors and the noise from outside fortunately faded after the door shut behind us. Relief launched me forwards into Logan's arms, where I tugged him tightly and bit hard on my lower lip so I avoided crying before anything started.

A warm, reassuring hand patted over the top of my head, followed by a soft kiss from Logan. Words probably unleashed my emotions, so I inhaled deeply, pressed my cheek into his chest, and let a few of his heartbeats calm mine down.

I needed this.

Mr. Reynolds cleared his throat and motioned down the hallway, where we followed. Both my hands clung tightly to Logan's arm until he lifted it, wrapped his hand around my waist, and pulled me flush against him. I gladly melted into his side, even at the moment we all walked into a large, open room with fifteen foot high ceilings. The walls looked like hardwood floors had been laid on them, our feet hit taupe carpet, and the judge's U-shaped bench faced straight ahead with an American flag, a California flag, and wooden judicial seal against the wall behind his seat.

My heart practically leapt out of my chest and my pulse throbbed in my ears when Mr. Reynolds steered Logan and I into the front row of the galley seats, where Mr. Russell informed me I sat prior to whenever I was called upon by the judge. Mom, Harper, and Jake took the seats behind us and my eyes tracked Mr. Reynolds' movements as he made his way to the prosecution side's table, where Mr. Russell had already set himself up. Harper, Jake, and Logan were only here by request of Mr. Russell, in case they were needed to corroborate parts of my testimony.

Slowly the courthouse filled with more bodies until the room was packed shoulder to shoulder. I kept my head low, eyes focused ahead at the stenographer's desk because it sat right in front of me, until a lady in a navy blue suit took her seat and set down her purse near her feet.

A murmur broke out through the people behind us but by the way every muscle in Logan's body stiffened, I knew right when the Stevens family arrived. I squeezed my eyes shut until Logan's hand gently squeezed mine.

"How bad?" I whispered to him and hoped he knew what I meant.

"Like they wanted you vaporized on sight," he whispered back and squeezed my hand again.

My lungs burned from how long I held my breath against the temptation that I looked across the aisle to the defense's table.

While Ryder's presence a few weeks ago in Las Vegas looked tired, a flash of satisfaction filled me in how absolutely ragged he looked now. His brown eyes, dull and irritated with sleep deprivation, sat hallowed in his eye sockets, his cheeks sagged, and his entire posture read he was nervous.

Good. Hope he's sweating buckets.

"All rise, for the Honorable Judge Volkman," A tan-uniformed police officer, the bailiff I think Mr. Russell called him, announced loudly.

The entire room stood in pindrop silence as a door behind the bench opened and a short, plump, older woman with round glasses and a black robe entered. The next few, or possibly thirty, minutes blurred into legal jargon thrown between Judge Volkman, the Stevens, and Mr. Russell. I focused only on the floor between my shoes and the warmth that flowed from Logan's palm into mine.

My neck pinched from how hard I snapped up my head once I heard the words that announced why I was here today, why I'd been yanked out of college more than eight hundred miles away at the start of the spring quarter, and what I'd been harassed over daily for the past three weeks.

"Your Honor, the prosecution calls Miss Eleanor Harrison to the stand."