Judge Brenner glanced at the papers. His frown deepened as he began turning through the pages. The district attorney looked ready to explode.
“Your Honor, this is absurd. She cannot—”
“She can,” the judge muttered, cutting him off.
He flipped through several more pages before looking up at Harper.
“Where did you get this?”
“I prepared it,” she replied.
“And how exactly does a teenager like you know how to do this?”
She hesitated for only a moment. “I read.”
The judge’s eyes narrowed further, but he said nothing. The gallery had gone silent again, everyone leaning forward as if unable to help themselves.
Something about Harper’s confidence was beginning to change the room. People were no longer merely watching her. They were wondering who she really was.
Judge Brenner shuffled the pages again, clearly searching for an error that would allow him to dismiss her work. He found none. Every point was precise. Every argument was supported.
“Miss Freeman,” he said slowly, his skepticism still present, “this review of yours—where did you learn to construct something like this?”
Harper smiled faintly. “Like I said, Your Honor, I read a great deal.”
The district attorney was less composed.
“Your Honor, this is ridiculous. We are wasting time. She is a child. This is not a debate club.”
