Lost Boy by Tim Green

twelve-year-olds in here committing crimes with deadly weapons. Do you know that a child is injured or killed by a gun in this country every thirty seconds !Well? Did you know?”
    Ryder couldn’t speak, could barely shake his head. He couldn’t believe any of this was happening.
    The judge pounded his bench with a mini fist. “Well, I know, and I’m done with it. This is armed robbery, gentlemen, and I don’t care that one of you is twelve and I don’t care that you’ve got some sob story about mama in the hospital.”
    The judge stared hard, and Ryder could barely breathe. The judge waved the glasses back on his face and looked down at the papers again. He began sifting through some others. “No room here. No room there. I tell you where I got room. I got room at Tryon Residential. How about that, son? Maybe you go see some hard-timers and you get it figured out before you come back here for your trial.”
    â€œYour Honor, I don’t think a boy twelve years old ought to be in Tryon, and there weren’t any guns. I grant you, two of the suspects had knives , but my client did not.” The woman who’d spoken stood at a table behind Ryder. She had lots of wavy hair and a wide, smooth forehead. She wore a gray business suit with a white blouse and had glasses of her own. Her scowl was just as strong as the judge’s. “This boy would be released to his parents under normal circumstances.”
    The judge’s mouth moved as though he were chewing a bit of paper stuck in his teeth. Then he spoke. “You call three kids with a knife normal, Ms. Angie Diles? Nothing normal about that. Tryon was good enough for Mike Tyson, wasn’t it? Where’s he now? A movie star, so the place has its merits.”
    Angie Diles shook her head and grunted with disgust.
    â€œWell, did you send anyone over to the address he gave?” The judge seemed to be giving in a bit.
    She shook her head. “No one there. The school said he skipped today and they confirmed the mother’s name. She is in the hospital in critical condition.”
    Ryder wondered about Mr. Starr and whether they tried talking to him or he scared them off or maybe just gave up on Ryder as a loser.
    â€œAnd you’d have me do what with this boy, Ms. Diles?” the judge asked.
    â€œA foster home.”
    â€œA foster home.” The judge blew out his cheeks. “Do you know Deshawn Harper? Does that name ring a bell with you?”
    Angie Diles frowned and her lips disappeared into the flat line of her mouth, but she didn’t give away if she’d heard the name or not.
    The judge nodded. “Boys with knives have already crossed a line. I tried to put Deshawn in a foster home and I won’t even tell you what he did to another child they had in that household. We all have our jobs to do, and I don’t mind you doing yours, but don’t push me on this one, Angie.”
    The two of them stared each other down. The courtroom went totally silent. Ryder clenched his teeth, sensing something big in the balance.
    Suddenly, Ryder heard the courtroom doors burst open behind them, and someone shouted at the judge.
    â€œWait!”

Ryder turned and didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see someone. Doyle McDonald stood tall and straight, his mustache quivering. Behind him was Derek Raymer.
    â€œI’m sorry, Your Honor. My name is Doyle McDonald. I’m with FDNY, but also a close friend of this boy’s family.” Doyle spoke as he walked up the center aisle of the courtroom, stopping once he got alongside the table where Angie Diles stood. “There is a neighbor who regularly watches Ryder and lives next door. He doesn’t have a phone, so he’s hard to get a hold of.”
    Angie Diles ruffled her papers. “Would that be a Mr. Starr?”
    â€œYes! Exactly!” Doyle clapped his hands and nodded vigorously. “So, if Your Honor will