I can’t believe it, but Judge Erik “The Electric” Lipscomb is staring down at Graylin with watery, empathetic eyes. He’s actually biting his bottom lip as if to contain his emotions. He doesn’t say one word and lets Graylin continue his emotional plea to the jury.
“I’m a good student,” Graylin sobs. “And I go to church every Sunday. Please don’t make me a child pornographer!”
By the time Graylin gathers himself and walks back to the defense table, I’m thrilled to see more than a few moist eyes in the jury box.
CHAPTER 85
Angela
I was hoping the judge would call a recess and let us do closing arguments in the morning, but Lipscomb wants this case over and done with as much as we do. So after lunch, Sullivan and I are set to make our final appeal to the jury.
The only reason I’m still on my feet is because I’m amped up on caffeine and adrenalin. In a matter of hours I plan to go home, pull the covers over my head and sleep for a week.
Sullivan’s wearing a maroon suit that looks like she slept in it. Her eyes are bloodshot and she didn’t wash her hair this morning or put on any makeup. When she stands to address the jury, I can relate to her weariness.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Sullivan begins. “I want to thank you for your service to this court. There is only one count before you, possession of child pornography. The state has met its burden as to this charge. The defendant testified that he saved a naked picture of Kennedy Carlyle to his phone. That is a fact. The defendant, therefore, is guilty.
“Please don’t let the defendant’s tearful plea prevent you from fulfilling your duty as a juror. Graylin Alexander is guilty of possession of child pornography. You should not allow your personal feelings to prevent you from carrying out your obligation to render a decision based on the facts and the law. There is no question that the defendant is guilty of this charge. I respectfully request that you return a guilty verdict.”
I’m not surprised that Sullivan didn’t try harder. I don’t have that option. I have to step up to the plate and swing for a homerun.
I stand up, woozy from skipping breakfast and lunch. I paste a smile on my face and approach the jury box.
“When I first spoke to you about this case,” I begin, “I told you it was about a kid simply being a kid. I think if you consider all the evidence you’ve heard—from both the prosecution and the defense—you’ll agree with that characterization. Graylin Alexander is a kid who acted like a kid. He saved a salacious picture to his cell phone. He didn’t take the picture. He didn’t send it to anyone else. He simply saved it to his phone.
“You heard LaShay Baker testify that when she and Kennedy Carlyle set up this scheme to entrap Graylin, they knew he would save the picture to his phone because—in her words—everybody does. Graylin Alexander was just doing what kids do. You heard child psychologist Faye Mandell describe Graylin’s conduct as normal adolescent behavior, something any kid might do. In fact, she testified that thirty-nine percent of teens admit to having sent a sext and a whopping forty-eight percent say they’ve received one. We might not like that. But it’s indeed a sign of our times.
“My client is not a pedophile or sex offender despite the prosecution’s attempt to saddle him with those labels for the rest of his life.”
I walk over and stand behind Graylin’s chair. His hands are folded and resting on the table and he’s sitting as straight as a toy soldier.
“This cherub-faced, fourteen-year-old is a rather extraordinary young man. He’s managed to make almost straight A’s despite being raised by a single father and having a drug-addicted mother whose whereabouts he doesn’t even know. Although the state is prosecuting my client under a statute designed to punish pedophiles, Graylin Alexander is not a pedophile. It’s up to you to rectify this travesty. We can’t raise our children in a super-sexualized society with erotic images everywhere they turn, and not expect them to be impacted. The adults of this world are to blame for this sexting phenomena. Not our children.
“We ask that you return a verdict of not guilty. Please don’t punish this kid for simply being a kid.”
As I sit down, a tidal wave of exhaustion consumes me.
“You did really, really good, Ms. Angela!” Graylin says, full of enthusiasm. “We won. I know it! We won!”
I’m not so sure, but I don’t have the heart to dash his hopes. I keep quiet and return his hug. He leaves with Gus and Dre to pick up a snack, while Jenny and I remain at the defense table, too spent to move.
“I know you must be starving,” Jenny says after a while. “Let’s go across the street and grab a sandwich. I’m predicting a quick verdict in Graylin’s favor.”
I never make those kinds of predictions. The last time we all hugged and ran off to celebrate, we were in tears a few hours later. I don’t want food. I want sleep. I’d love to go to my car and take a nap.
Sullivan walks over to us. “Nice job, counselors. You really fought hard for your client.”
I don’t want her olive branch. “We wouldn’t have to fight so hard if the D.A.’s Office would exercise some discretion and stop filing pornography charges against kids who don’t deserve it.”
She shrugs and walks away.
Jenny and I are stepping into the hallway, when the judge’s clerk calls my name.
“The judge wants both sides back in court,” she says.
I glance at my phone. The jury hasn’t even been out thirty minutes. “They can’t be done deliberating already,” I say to Jenny.
“Yes, they can.” She’s beaming like a not guilty verdict has already been rendered. “And a quick verdict in a case like this usually means good news for the defense. I’ll go find Graylin.”
CHAPTER 86
Angela
Judge Lipscomb walks out of his chambers, but doesn’t take the bench. His expression is so stern it scares me. “The bailiff has informed me that the jury has a question.”
I’m stunned. Questions mean confusion and confusion isn’t good.
“What’s the matter, Ms. Angela?” Graylin asks. “Why do they have a question?”
Before I can answer, the bailiff comes out of the jury room and hands Judge Lipscomb a piece of paper. He begins reading, then briefly closes his eyes.
“The jury wants to know if Graylin would serve time in an adult prison or a juvenile facility if he’s convicted.”
The judge’s words feel like a punch in the stomach.
“I’m going to call them back in and tell them their question is inappropriate since their focus should be on the verdict, not the sentence, which is my job. Everybody should stay close. I suspect we could have a verdict very shortly.”
I feel something vibrating and realize it’s Graylin’s bouncing knee. He starts to quietly sob. I’m doing everything in my power not to join him. I place my arm around his shoulders and gently rock him.
Jenny reaches across Graylin and grabs my free hand. “I’ve had a couple of cases where the jury asked the craziest questions, but still found my client not guilty,” she says. “And even if they do find him guilty, there’s always the possibility that Judge Lipscomb could throw out the verdict.”
I wish Jenny would just shut up. I don’t want her getting Graylin’s hopes up for nothing. I failed him and now I have to deal with that. After a few more minutes, I hand a sobbing Graylin off to Jenny and walk to the back of the courtroom and fall into Dre’s arms.
***
Another hour passes before we learn that the jury has reached a verdict. This time I’m sitting between Jenny and Graylin, instead of having him in the middle. Jenny probably thinks I want to be the one to console Graylin. I want the center spot so the two of them can console me. If Graylin is convicted, I’m going to be the biggest basket case in this courtroom.
The jury files back in. Nobody’s looking
at us.
The judge goes through all the perfunctory language, then asks the jury foreman to stand.
As it turns out, Juror No. 5 is the foreman. He has several family members in law enforcement. The foreman typically wields the most influence over other jurors. This is not a good sign.
I’m holding Graylin’s hand to my right and Jenny’s to my left.
“Have you reached a verdict?” Judge Lipscomb asks.
“Yes, we have,” the jury foreman says sternly.
We watch as the verdict form is passed to the judge for an advance look, then back to the foreman, who begins to read. “We find the defendant Graylin Alexander not guilty of—”
I hear Gus cheer from the back of the room. A jubilant Graylin jumps to his feet and turns around to face his father. “I told you, Dad! I told you!”
Judge Lipscomb bangs his gavel. “Let’s quiet down. Back in your seat, young man!”
I don’t hear anything else because my own sobs drown out the foreman’s voice. Graylin and Jenny are hugging me, but all I can do is press my forehead to the table and cry.
EPILOGUE
Angela
“Who’s the man?” Graylin grins as he extends his arm for a fist bump with his dad.
“You’re the man,” Gus says, pulling his son into his arms.
The backyard of Graylin’s aunt Macie is packed with friends and family. Dre and Apache are manning the barbecue grill while Mossy plays bartender.
In the ten days since the trial ended, Graylin returned to school and is back to his old self. As it turns out, there was only one juror who was on the fence, but he finally came around. It was his question about where Graylin would serve his time that had us thinking they were coming back with a guilty verdict.
Kennedy and LaShay were offered deferred entry of judgment deals, which they accepted. Both girls were expelled from Marcus Prep. I also filed a defamation and emotional distress lawsuit against LaShay and Kennedy on behalf of Graylin. Suing a kid means you’re suing their parents. The Carlyles’ attorney has already requested a meeting to discuss settlement. Graylin’s going to have a hefty college fund when it’s all said and done.
I walk over to Jenny, who’s standing over the dessert table with a piece of cake in one hand and an apple martini in the other.
“You’re the greediest white girl I’ve ever met,” I tell her.
She takes a sip of her drink. “I thought Mama Baker’s cake was amazing, but this red velvet is to die for.” She takes a bite. “Do all black people make amazing cakes?”
“Excuse me, but I think that’s a racist question.”
She hugs me. “Naw, we’re homegirls now.”
“I’m going to tell Mossy no more drinks for you and I’m also driving you home.”
“Hey, my brother,” Jenny says when Dre walks up.
“My brother? Since when did you two become so cozy?”
Jenny abandons me and hurls an arm around Dre. “We’re buddies now. You got yourself a pretty cool fella here, so you need to keep him around. Never know when I might need a favor from a guy with his kind of street cred.”
“I can’t believe Ms. Straight and Narrow said that.”
Dre laughs.
Graylin steps into our semi-circle.
“Like I was telling you,” he says to Jenny, “I’m going to be an attorney one day, so I want to get started early. I’ve been reading a lot about what paralegals do. I’m good at researching stuff online. Until I finish law school and pass the bar, can you hire me as your paralegal, Ms. Jenny?”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I say. “What am I, chopped liver? How come you don’t want to work for me?”
“You’re good too, Ms. Angela. But I want to help kids and Ms. Jenny only represents kids. I’m going to be a juvenile defense attorney.”
I give him a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
He turns back to Jenny. “So are you going to hire me?”
“How are you going to get to work?” Jenny says. “You’re not even old enough to drive yet. And what about your schoolwork?”
“I can work from home and we can have meetings on FaceTime or Skype. And besides research, I can also take a look at your cases from a kid’s perspective and give you my opinion. I can be your paralegal-slash-consultant.”
“You know what? I think you’ve talked yourself into a job.”
“Excellent. So when do I start?”
“Hold your horses. Let me take a look at my caseload and see if I have anything I need your help with.”
“Okay,” Graylin says. “I want twelve dollars an hour.”
“Excuse me, but that’s higher than the minimum wage.”
“You can’t get a paralegal and a consultant for minimum wage. And don’t worry, you’ll get your money’s worth.”
“Young man,” Jenny says, amused, “you’re going to make a great attorney one day.”
We all laugh as Graylin runs off to tell Gus about his new job.
Jenny takes a sip of her martini. “I’m happy to see you two love birds have made up.”
Dre throws an arm around me and plants a kiss on my neck.
“I keep trying,” I say with a coy smile, “but I can’t seem to shake this guy.”
We haven’t completely resolved things yet, but we’re working on it. I know there’s going to be another time when Dre’s past enters our present. But I also know that I want him in my life.
“I have something for you.” Dre pulls a red velvet, ring-sized box from his back pocket.
Jenny starts jumping up and down before I can even react. “Oh my God!”
I’m too shocked to move. We haven’t resolved half of our problems and we’ve never talked seriously about marriage. I can’t believe he’d do this in front of all these people.
“Dre…um, there’s a lot of work we need to do before—”
Jenny gives me an incredulous look. “You are not going to embarrass him in front of all of us. Open that box and tell him yes!”
“Yeah, Ms. Angela,” Graylin chimes in. “You can’t dis my Uncle Dre like that.”
“You sure can’t,” Brianna says.
Everyone at the entire party has crowded around us.
“At least open it,” Dre says. There’s a glint in his eye. This man knows me almost better than I know myself. How can he smile right now when he sees the apprehension on my face?
He’s only putting me on blast like this because he knows I’d be hard-pressed to reject his proposal in front of family and friends.
“Uncle Dre,” Brianna calls out, “you’re supposed to get down on one knee.”
“Yeah, man,” Apache teases. “Do it right, cuz.”
“I can’t believe you going down for the count,” Mossy says.
Dre stares at me, still all smiles. He forces the box into my hand. I take my time opening it.
“We wanna see!” Jenny gushes, peering over my shoulder. “How many carats is it?”
I push nosy Jenny out of the way and peek inside the box. I glare back up at Dre. “What’s this?”
“Exactly what it looks like.”
Dre takes the box from me and pulls out a key. “This,” he says, dangling it in the air, “is the key to our new house. The one I rented for us. I’ve already signed the contract, so you can’t back out. The owner also gave us a one-year lease with an option to buy.”
I silently count to five to calm myself down. There are way too many people watching for me to go off on him.
“You rented a house for us without my seeing it?” He knows what a control freak I am.
“I’m sure you’ll love it.”
“I don’t believe you did this.” I smile and try not to sound upset since everybody seems to be so thrilled for us.
“Let me show you a picture o
f it.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen and holds it up for me to see. When my eyes take in the place, all I can do is cry.
“Oh my God! That’s the house in Leimert Park! The real estate agent said somebody else rented it!”
“That somebody was me,” Dre says, wearing his smugness like a badge.
I throw my arms around him and plant a kiss on his lips.
He gives me a crooked smile. “So, I guess this means we’re finally moving in together, right?”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
“There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.”
— Nelson Mandela, Former President of South Africa
When a criminal defense attorney I know expressed his frustration about the number of kids he was defending who’d been charged with possession of child pornography arising from sexting, I was stunned. At that time, I had no idea that a child who sends or receives a sext could be charged with a sex-related crime. Far more disturbing was finding out that these children, some as young as twelve or thirteen, would be required to register as sex offenders for the rest of their lives if convicted. I instantly knew this was a topic I wanted to explore in a novel.
Parents and schools all across the country are grappling with this teen sexting crisis (yes, I’m calling it a crisis). A few states have moved to change their laws to treat sexting children less severely than adult perpetrators of child pornography. It’s my hope that eventually all states will do the same. In my opinion, it’s hypocritical for us to raise our children in a such a sexually permissive society and then turn around and label them sex offenders when they mimic what see in music, movies and on TV.
Please don’t wait until a child you know ends up in Graylin’s predicament. Educate yourself first, then talk to the kids in your life about sexting and online safety. And be proactive. Monitor what your children and grandchildren are doing with their cell phones and computers. Our kids need to understand both the social and legal consequences of sharing intimate photographs—photographs which never disappear from the web and often end up in the hands of human traffickers and other sexual predators.
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