Melissa remembered that day clearly now.
The courtroom had been quieter than usual — just her, the bailiff, Evan, his exhausted mother, and a public defender who looked ready to give up before they’d even started.
“I remember you sitting there,” she said. “Shaking so hard I thought you might fall out of your chair.”
“I was terrified,” Evan admitted.
“Everyone told me I was going to juvie. Six months or maybe more. My mom was crying. The prosecutor wanted to make an example of me because the robberies had been happening for weeks.”
He looked directly into Melissa’s eyes.
“But you asked me questions. Real questions. You wanted to know about my family, my grades, and what I wanted to do with my life.”
“Nobody had ever asked me those things before.”
Melissa felt tears prickling behind her eyes.
“You told me you wanted to fly planes.”
“I did,” Evan said.
“I told you that I’d always loved watching planes take off from the airport near our house.”
“That I wanted to be a pilot someday, but knew it was just a stupid dream for a kid like me.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Melissa said firmly.
“You said that then, too,” Evan wiped his eyes again.
“You looked at me and said, ‘Evan, this is your crossroads. I can send you to juvenile detention, or I can give you community service and a chance to prove you’re better than one mistake.'”
“Do you remember what you told me next?”
Melissa shook her head.
“You said, ‘I’m choosing to believe in you. Don’t make me regret it.'”
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