something if she wasnât. Does that make me a wimp?
I try to calm myself by thinking of good things. Football. My MVP trophy. I stood up there real proud and strong when I accepted that trophy. Why canât I do that now? Why? âThis is for my mom,â I said when I got the trophy. It made Grandma and Grandpa cry. Why canât I stop shaking?
âOkay, Preston,â says Mr. Hendricks, Dadâs lawyer, as he begins his questioning. I know what heâs going to askâwe went over it before.
âNothing to it,â Mr. Hendricks said when he was at our house the other day. âItâs just like taking a test when youâve been given all the answers.â
The trick, Mr. Hendricks explained, was to be sure of my answers and never go back on anything that I say. So we talked, and I thought back to everything that happened those weeks before Dad did what he did. I thought back, and I remembered a lot more than I thought I did. I remembered that day Dad and I rented the house by the beachâthe one we never got to move into. How we visited the school I never got to go to. How he bought me that wetsuit I never got towear. I returned the wetsuit to the store after Mom died. I went to return the key to the owner of the house.
I remembered their last fight. Money. Mom buys too many clothes. We canât make the house payments. Dad only makes a few thousand dollars a month. Sounds like a lot to me, but compared to Aunt Jackieâs ex-husband, itâs nothing.
I remembered Mom yelling to Dad about meâhow she just didnât have the patience for me anymore.
I remembered how she bragged about Weavinâ Warren Sharp to my father, knowing that Dad was super-jealous and would make more of the whole thing than it probably was.
I remembered Dad talking to Mr. Talbert about his gun. That was even months before it happenedâDad wanted to buy a gun for Momâs protection when he wasnât home. He wanted the same gun Mr. Talbert had, and Dad went out shopping with him.
But Mom didnât want one. She was afraid of guns, so Dad never bought it.
And so, as I sit up on the witness stand, Mr. Hendricks asks me all the questions he said he would, and I answer them as best I can, even though I shake and even though my tongue doesnât want to move in my mouth.
If this is the easy stuff, I canât wait till the hard stuff.
âThe district attorney,â said Mr. Hendricks the other day, âwill question you after I doâalmost the same questions, but heâll try to confuse you and frighten you. Remember to stick towhat you know, and donât let him rattle you.â But thatâs only if Mr. Hendricks ever finishes questioning me, and he seems to be taking forever. Finally he begins to wind down.
âOne more question,â says Mr. Hendricks before he backs away. He hesitates and looks me straight in the eye.
âDo you want your father back, Preston?â
He keeps looking right into my eyes. The judge waits for me to answer. He didnât tell me heâd ask this one! He didnât warn me! My eyes start to fill with tears. No fair! I want to yell. No fair!
Do I want my father back? Dad did something horrible. Something that no father should ever do for any reason. He shot my mom in the back of the head. That should matterâit has to matter, but somehow it doesnât. Heâs my dad. My only dad. And even if Mom hates me for it, I canât lie, I just canât. Do I want my father back?
âYes,â I say, losing control. âI want him back. I want him to come home.â Sobbing, I turn my eyes away from Mr. Hendricks and the judge. He tricked me! He wasnât supposed to make me do this. He wasnât!
I close my eyes tight and try to stop the tears, but they donât stop. Grandma squeezes my hand tightly.
âYour witness,â says Mr. Hendricks to the mean-looking district attorney, who stands there
I try to calm myself by thinking of good things. Football. My MVP trophy. I stood up there real proud and strong when I accepted that trophy. Why canât I do that now? Why? âThis is for my mom,â I said when I got the trophy. It made Grandma and Grandpa cry. Why canât I stop shaking?
âOkay, Preston,â says Mr. Hendricks, Dadâs lawyer, as he begins his questioning. I know what heâs going to askâwe went over it before.
âNothing to it,â Mr. Hendricks said when he was at our house the other day. âItâs just like taking a test when youâve been given all the answers.â
The trick, Mr. Hendricks explained, was to be sure of my answers and never go back on anything that I say. So we talked, and I thought back to everything that happened those weeks before Dad did what he did. I thought back, and I remembered a lot more than I thought I did. I remembered that day Dad and I rented the house by the beachâthe one we never got to move into. How we visited the school I never got to go to. How he bought me that wetsuit I never got towear. I returned the wetsuit to the store after Mom died. I went to return the key to the owner of the house.
I remembered their last fight. Money. Mom buys too many clothes. We canât make the house payments. Dad only makes a few thousand dollars a month. Sounds like a lot to me, but compared to Aunt Jackieâs ex-husband, itâs nothing.
I remembered Mom yelling to Dad about meâhow she just didnât have the patience for me anymore.
I remembered how she bragged about Weavinâ Warren Sharp to my father, knowing that Dad was super-jealous and would make more of the whole thing than it probably was.
I remembered Dad talking to Mr. Talbert about his gun. That was even months before it happenedâDad wanted to buy a gun for Momâs protection when he wasnât home. He wanted the same gun Mr. Talbert had, and Dad went out shopping with him.
But Mom didnât want one. She was afraid of guns, so Dad never bought it.
And so, as I sit up on the witness stand, Mr. Hendricks asks me all the questions he said he would, and I answer them as best I can, even though I shake and even though my tongue doesnât want to move in my mouth.
If this is the easy stuff, I canât wait till the hard stuff.
âThe district attorney,â said Mr. Hendricks the other day, âwill question you after I doâalmost the same questions, but heâll try to confuse you and frighten you. Remember to stick towhat you know, and donât let him rattle you.â But thatâs only if Mr. Hendricks ever finishes questioning me, and he seems to be taking forever. Finally he begins to wind down.
âOne more question,â says Mr. Hendricks before he backs away. He hesitates and looks me straight in the eye.
âDo you want your father back, Preston?â
He keeps looking right into my eyes. The judge waits for me to answer. He didnât tell me heâd ask this one! He didnât warn me! My eyes start to fill with tears. No fair! I want to yell. No fair!
Do I want my father back? Dad did something horrible. Something that no father should ever do for any reason. He shot my mom in the back of the head. That should matterâit has to matter, but somehow it doesnât. Heâs my dad. My only dad. And even if Mom hates me for it, I canât lie, I just canât. Do I want my father back?
âYes,â I say, losing control. âI want him back. I want him to come home.â Sobbing, I turn my eyes away from Mr. Hendricks and the judge. He tricked me! He wasnât supposed to make me do this. He wasnât!
I close my eyes tight and try to stop the tears, but they donât stop. Grandma squeezes my hand tightly.
âYour witness,â says Mr. Hendricks to the mean-looking district attorney, who stands there
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