As twelve-year-old Ethan Morales reclined back in his chair, the courtroom was full of whispering. He looked more like a youngster waiting for recess than a boy on trial. His mother sat behind him, her eyes red and puffy from crying, holding a crumpled tissue. The prosecutor across the room grabbed his documents with a stern look on his face.
Mr. Caldwell, Ethan’s lawyer, whispered to him frantically, but Ethan didn’t seem to care. He kicked the table’s leg and glared at the judge, as if to say, “Go ahead and say something.” There was a subtle fragrance of disinfection and stress in the air.
The
Now, Judge Patricia Weller moved her spectacles and looked over the bench. She had witnessed everything from small acts of vandalism to gang violence, but this boy’s lack of concern made her shiver. The smirk didn’t mean “no”; it meant “nothing.”
“Ethan Morales,” she said, her voice echoing around the room with wood paneling. “Do you know what you’re being charged with?”
Ethan shrugged. “Guess so.”
His mother cried much more. The bailiff gave her a warning look.
The judge went on, “Do you think this is a game?” You hurt someone. A man who might never be able to walk normally again.
Ethan’s sneer got bigger. “He shouldn’t have tried to stop us.”
People
The only sound for a long time was the clock ticking above the door. Then Judge Weller leaned forward, her voice firm yet sharp.
She said, “I was going to think about probation and counseling.” “But the way you act makes me have to.”
Ethan’s smile faded.
“I hereby order that you be sent to juvenile detention until further review.”
The gavel sounded like thunder.
Ethan’s face turned white. He looked back at his mother as the deputies pushed in. She was shivering and silent instead of crying. The sneer was gone for the first time.
The hefty steel door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang that resonated down the hall. Ethan flinched even though he didn’t want to. The Cedar Falls Juvenile Detention Center was nothing like what he had thought it would be. There were no rows of dark cells or yelling guards. Just gray walls, fluorescent lights, and a hush that crushed against his chest.
A guard took him past a common room where older boys were sitting around a table and gazing. Some people whispered to each other, while others just observed him like he was prey. Ethan’s confidence wavered. His palms were sweaty, but he pushed the smirk back on his face.
The officer opened a little door and stated, “This is your room.” “Follow the rules and keep your head down.” You’ll be okay.
Ethan got involved. There were two bunk beds, a metal desk, and a barred window high up on the wall. A tall guy, maybe fifteen, who was his cellmate, looked up from a book.
“New kid?”
Ethan nodded.
The boy said, “I’m Marcus.” “Don’t touch my things.” Shelves for books
Ethan didn’t say anything for the first few days. He paid attention to how everything operated, such as how food lines formed and how everyone moved when the guards called for inspection. He saw that Marcus never caused any trouble and always stayed calm. Ethan didn’t get it.
One afternoon in the cafeteria, Troy, a skinny boy with a scar over his eye, grabbed Ethan’s tray and threw it on the floor. People surrounding them started to laugh. Ethan’s hands were tight and ready to unleash the opening punch, but a guard’s voice boomed, “Break it up!” before he could move.
Ethan spent the night alone in a small concrete room with no view, only a bed and stillness. The walls felt like they were closing in for the first time. When the gavel dropped, he thought about his mother’s face and the old man in the hospital. But he brushed guilt away every time it came up. He wasn’t weak. That’s what his older brother used to say to him before he left for good.
Weeks went by. On the first day of school, there were arithmetic classes in the morning and writing classes in the afternoon. Mrs. Campbell, one of his teachers, wouldn’t give up on him.
One day, she gave back a paper and stated, “You have a sharp mind.” “Stop acting like you don’t care.”
Ethan looked at the words in red pen. Good thought. No one had ever said such about him before.
As the lights went out that night, Marcus murmured, “You’re not tough, Morales.” You’re just as afraid as the rest of us.
Ethan turned aside, but the words stayed with him.
The smirk was gone for good by the end of his first month.
Ethan was in a small conference room six months later. His orange outfit was a little too big for him now. He had lost weight and become quieter. His mother sat next to him again, and her hand shook as she reached for his. This time he didn’t pull away.
The same woman who had sentenced him, Judge Weller, came in. Somehow, she seemed older and more exhausted, yet her eyes were still sharp. Officer Daniels was sitting across the table from his counselor in the detention center.
The judge started by saying, “Ethan Morales, we’re here to look at your progress and see if you’re ready for supervised release.”
Ethan swallowed hard. He didn’t smile or shrug. He just nodded.
Officer Daniels was the first to speak. “When Ethan got there, he was angry, stubborn, and not willing to work with us. He has subsequently taken anger management classes, gone to every tutoring session, and helped other lads study for their GED tests. “He has grown.”
He looked at Judge Weller. “Do you think you’ve changed, Ethan?”
He thought about it. The words felt weighty.
“I… He said softly, “I don’t know if I’m different.”” But I know I hurt someone. I didn’t think it mattered. I felt that being tough meant not caring about anything. But it does matter.
His mom dried her tears. Officer Daniels even appeared astonished.
For a long time, Judge Weller looked at him. “And what do you want to do when you leave?”
Ethan looked at his hands. “Mrs. Campbell says I’m a good writer. I might be able to keep doing it.” Tell stories that—” He stopped, uncomfortable. “—stories that mean something,” he said.
The judge’s lips relaxed and looked like they were about to smile. “You know that this doesn’t change what happened.”
Ethan answered, “I know.” “But I want to do it well. In some way.
The room got quiet.
Finally, Judge Weller gave a nod. “Then I’m ready to give you that chance. You will be released into your mother’s care on probation. But keep in mind that your choices from now on will determine who you become.
Ethan stood up, his heart racing. He didn’t smile or smirk. He merely inhaled. The air outside the jail gates was cooler and more open than he remembered.
His mom said, “You scared me half to death, Ethan,” as they walked to the car.
He responded softly, “I know.” “I was scared too.”
He stared back at the gray walls of the center as they faded behind them in the passenger seat. He realized that certain scars would never heal, maybe for the elderly guy, maybe for his mother, or maybe for himself. But this time, Ethan Morales wasn’t acting like he was anymore.
He didn’t have the grin.
He had something better: a start.
