Monte Academy. The twenty-seven-year-old teacher was convicted of raping two of his female students.
The trial began on June 9, 2006. Outside the courtroom, Nichol’s attorney Michael Wayne described his client, who has no criminal background, as “innocent.” The trial lasted three months and the evidence against Nichols was extremely incriminating. The courtroom, families and press eagerly awaited the sentencing and celebrated when terms of Nichols’ verdict was announced. He was sentenced to ten years in prison.
After seven years of good behavior, James Nichols is up for his second parole hearing. He was denied the first time, two years ago. He still pleads his innocence and it is causing the small community in Rhode Island to come together to keep him in prison. There has been an outpouring of letters and support on this behalf. No statements have been made at this time from the victims. More details as the story unfolds.
I stared at mine and Mack’s names. You would think I would have gotten use to reading about us in the paper, but it never got old. My mother started to collect every article that was written on the trial, it was all over my house, and there was no way of ever getting away from it.
“Here you go, darlin ,” the waitress said, bringing my attention back to the present. “Such a shame that’s happening.”
“Huh?”
She nodded to the newspaper. “That man deserves to rot in prison for what he did to those girls. Just goes to show you that justice isn’t always served.” I chuckled and nodded.
I drank half of my coffee as I started to feel the effects of whatever I took. My eyes were glued to Mr. Nichols’ photo in the paper and the memories slowly took over my thoughts.
“Hey, I’m taking off , I need to meet my dad,” Mack said as we walked into the parking lot of our school.
“Oh okay, call me later ,” I responded, trying to remember where I parked my car. I clicked the keyless entry and followed the sound. I found it in the back of the parking lot and that was when I realized I left the back door ajar.
“Damn it !” I yelled.
I couldn’t call my dad , he would just give me a lecture about being responsible and paying attention to my surroundings. It was the last thing I wanted to hear after a long day of school and cheerleading practice.
“Ugh.”
I got in the car, knowing that it wouldn’t turn on when I placed the key in the ignition. I banged on the steering wheel with my hands, frustrated at the situation I found myself in. I wanted to cry because I would have to call Triple A and my dad would find out either way. I could practically hear his lecture about how I never did anything right and how Mack was always better. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I popped the trunk open and walked around to grab the jumper cables.
“Problem?”
I jumped and banged my head on the top of the trunk. “Ow!” I whimpered and my eyes instantly watered.
“Oh shit!” I recognized the voice immediately and turned around to face him. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” he sympathized.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my hand back and forth on my head.
“No you aren’t , you’re crying,” he addressed and stepped forward a few inches away from my face. His finger swept away a tear.
“I’m fine. I think it was just the initial shock ,” I clarified, trying to hide the color that crept on my face from embarrassment. I hated crying in front of people.
He smirked . “Let me make sure you’re all right.” He placed his hand on top of mine and lowered my head. “You’ll have a nasty bump for a few days, but you’ll live. I’m sorry I scared you. I heard the alarm of a car and came over to make sure everything was okay,” he explained as he rubbed the bump in a comforting and soothing way.
My stomach did that flip-flop thing that it did when I was in his presence, and I stepped back to avoid the inappropriate thoughts.
I cunningly smiled . “Now you need to make
The trial began on June 9, 2006. Outside the courtroom, Nichol’s attorney Michael Wayne described his client, who has no criminal background, as “innocent.” The trial lasted three months and the evidence against Nichols was extremely incriminating. The courtroom, families and press eagerly awaited the sentencing and celebrated when terms of Nichols’ verdict was announced. He was sentenced to ten years in prison.
After seven years of good behavior, James Nichols is up for his second parole hearing. He was denied the first time, two years ago. He still pleads his innocence and it is causing the small community in Rhode Island to come together to keep him in prison. There has been an outpouring of letters and support on this behalf. No statements have been made at this time from the victims. More details as the story unfolds.
I stared at mine and Mack’s names. You would think I would have gotten use to reading about us in the paper, but it never got old. My mother started to collect every article that was written on the trial, it was all over my house, and there was no way of ever getting away from it.
“Here you go, darlin ,” the waitress said, bringing my attention back to the present. “Such a shame that’s happening.”
“Huh?”
She nodded to the newspaper. “That man deserves to rot in prison for what he did to those girls. Just goes to show you that justice isn’t always served.” I chuckled and nodded.
I drank half of my coffee as I started to feel the effects of whatever I took. My eyes were glued to Mr. Nichols’ photo in the paper and the memories slowly took over my thoughts.
“Hey, I’m taking off , I need to meet my dad,” Mack said as we walked into the parking lot of our school.
“Oh okay, call me later ,” I responded, trying to remember where I parked my car. I clicked the keyless entry and followed the sound. I found it in the back of the parking lot and that was when I realized I left the back door ajar.
“Damn it !” I yelled.
I couldn’t call my dad , he would just give me a lecture about being responsible and paying attention to my surroundings. It was the last thing I wanted to hear after a long day of school and cheerleading practice.
“Ugh.”
I got in the car, knowing that it wouldn’t turn on when I placed the key in the ignition. I banged on the steering wheel with my hands, frustrated at the situation I found myself in. I wanted to cry because I would have to call Triple A and my dad would find out either way. I could practically hear his lecture about how I never did anything right and how Mack was always better. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I popped the trunk open and walked around to grab the jumper cables.
“Problem?”
I jumped and banged my head on the top of the trunk. “Ow!” I whimpered and my eyes instantly watered.
“Oh shit!” I recognized the voice immediately and turned around to face him. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” he sympathized.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my hand back and forth on my head.
“No you aren’t , you’re crying,” he addressed and stepped forward a few inches away from my face. His finger swept away a tear.
“I’m fine. I think it was just the initial shock ,” I clarified, trying to hide the color that crept on my face from embarrassment. I hated crying in front of people.
He smirked . “Let me make sure you’re all right.” He placed his hand on top of mine and lowered my head. “You’ll have a nasty bump for a few days, but you’ll live. I’m sorry I scared you. I heard the alarm of a car and came over to make sure everything was okay,” he explained as he rubbed the bump in a comforting and soothing way.
My stomach did that flip-flop thing that it did when I was in his presence, and I stepped back to avoid the inappropriate thoughts.
I cunningly smiled . “Now you need to make
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