Free Forged by Fire by Sharon M. Draper

forth. She went down the hall to the bathroom six times in half an hour to check her makeup and hair. No one spoke. Just as the bailiff came into the hall to call them tothe courtroom, Mr. Washington turned the corner and strode toward them, smiling.
    Gerald looked up and grinned with pleasure and relief. “I didn’t expect—I mean—I’m surprised—I mean—man, am I glad you’re here!”
    Mr. Washington replied in his deep, cheerful voice, “I figured you might need another hand to hold. Hi there, Angel.”
    Angel looked up shyly, but did not speak. Monique, returning from still another makeup check, patted her hair and smoothed her dress as she approached the tall, well-dressed man speaking to Gerald.
    â€œMonique, this is Darryl Washington. He’s—”
    Just then, the court clerk called them a second time. Gerald was relieved that he didn’t have to explain to Monique exactly how Mr. Washington had helped them. Not only had he helped Gerald and Angel file the proper papers to explain to the courts exactly how Jordan had been molesting Angel, but he had also made sure a caring and understanding social worker was assigned to their case, and he had found a wonderful female counselor for Angel—someone she could talk to about the bad dreams she sometimes had, and the bad feelings left over from her experiences with Jordan.
    Monique gave one more curious glance at Darryl Washington as she hurried in to the courtroom. She left the children standing in the hall, unsure of what to do. Mr. Washington took their hands, squeezed them in assurance, and escorted them into the courtroom.
    Jordan sat at a table on the right side of the room, his face angry, glaring as Angel and Gerald walked into the room. Jordan’s lawyer, a thin man with dirty fingernails, shuffled his papers and checked his watch frequently. Monique sat in the first row, across from Jordan, in a position where he could see her well. She smiled at him, but he didn’t even look at her.
    On the right side of the room sat the jury. Mostly women, they looked at Angel and Gerald without smiling, but their eyes showed understanding and perhaps even a bit of sympathy. Gerald and Angel were told by the prosecutor that they would only have to answer a few questions and then they could leave the room. She told them that neither one of them was in trouble, and not to be overwhelmed or frightened by the proceedings. It was Jordan, she reminded them, that had done wrong, and
he
was the only one on trial. They were just witnesses. Gerald relaxed a bit and breathed in slowly. He felt stiff and uncomfortable in the tight dark suit and afraid of all the strangers who seemed to be controlling his life today.
    Angel trembled and sat close to Gerald. Mr. Washington sat in the row behind them and patted their shoulders. “I’ll be right here, kids. Just relax and tell the truth. You’ll be fine.”
    Gerald nodded, but he felt sick and dizzy. Angel’s eyes were closed and she breathed slowly and carefully. The prosecutor, a round woman dressed all in green, including green fingernails done to match her bright greenshoes, began by explaining to the jury what the charges were against Jordan, describing him as “a despicable monster.” She said she hated putting the children through this, but their testimony was essential. Gerald’s name was called first.
    â€œState your name, son.”
    â€œGerald Nickelby.”
    â€œDo you understand that everything you say here must be the truth?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWhat grade are you in?”
    â€œI’m in the sixth grade at Hazelwood Middle School.”
    â€œHow long have you been living with Jordan and Monique Sparks?”
    â€œTwo years—ever since my aunt Queen died.”
    â€œDo you get along with your parents?”
    â€œMonique is my mother, but Jordan is
not
my daddy. He’s Monique’s