When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Location: County Courthouse - Arraignment Day

Myra

The orange jumpsuit clung to my skin like shame.

They gave me five minutes to change into a plain blouse and black slacks before leading me out of the holding area. My hands were cuffed in front of me again. The metal bit into my wrists as Officer Collins escorted me down the long corridor, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the stillness.

Every step closer to the courtroom made my heart pound harder.

This is it.

Location: County Courthouse – Arraignment Day

When the doors opened, the world tilted.

Rows of people. Press. Students' parents. Reporters.

Phones aimed like weapons.

And then I saw them.

Marcus. Already standing. Front row, crisp black suit, impassive face. Like a statue carved from fire and iron. Flanked on one side by a sharp-suited man I recognized as his lawyer, and on the other was Dan, Ash and William. Ash smiled towards me giving me the much needed support. Her smile highlighted her tears even more. 

I was ushered to the defendant's table. The sheriff sat near the prosecution team, lips pursed in smug self-satisfaction. I couldn't look at him for long without shaking.

"All Rise" said the baliif calling the room to order. The judge, a woman in her fifties with hard eyes and an impatient brow, entered and took her seat.

"Case 372. The State vs. Myra Jules. Charges: distribution of a controlled substance to minors, possession with intent to sell, lead cause in critical conditions of four minors"

My heart sank lower with every word.

My hands began to tremble.

The judge's voice cut through the buzz. "Let's proceed."

"Your Honor," said the prosecuting attorney, a stern-looking man in a navy suit. "The charges stem from the defendant's involvement in distributing homemade brownies and cupcakes laced with a high concentration of hash, leading to the hospitalization of four minors."

"She has no prior record, no known ties to criminal organizations," he continued, glancing briefly at me before turning back to the judge, "but the seriousness of the incident cannot be understated. These were children."

I looked down at my hands, jaw clenched. Children I didn't know. Names I had never heard before that Friday afternoon. But I was the one wearing cuffs.

He went on, calling me "reckless," "negligent," even "potentially complicit."

I wanted to disappear.

Then Marcus's lawyer rose.

"Your Honor, my name is Damien Krane, legal representative for Ms. Jules, under the recommendation and support of the Mayor's Office."

There it was. He dropped the political weight like a brick on the prosecution's chest.

"My client is a high school senior. An honors student. No prior infractions. No drug history. She was unknowingly caught in a situation orchestrated by an adult—her mother—who has since confessed to altering the baked goods before distributing them for sale."

A murmur ran through the room.

The judge's gaze narrowed. "Has that confession been entered into evidence?"

"It was submitted this morning, Your Honor. A signed statement and corroborating text messages between Ms. Jules' mother and the bar owner at Puzzled."

I whipped my head toward Marcus, who met my eyes with a single, firm nod.