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from Waverly Creek. It was only two miles east of the city, but it was often treated as if it belonged on another planet.
    Mrs. Boone said that people in small towns spend too much time looking up to or down on others. She had lectured Theo since he was a small boy on the evils of judging people.
    The conversation drifted to baseball, and, of course, the Yankees. Ike was a rabid Yankees fan and loved to spout statistics on all his favorite players. Though it was April, he was already predicting another World Series win. Theo argued as usual, but as a Twins fan he had little ammunition.
    After thirty minutes, he left with the promise to stop by next week.
    “Get that Chemistry grade up,” Ike said sternly.

Chapter 5
    J udge Henry Gantry tugged on the right sleeve of his long black robe to adjust it properly, then stepped through the massive oak door behind the bench of his courtroom. A bailiff suddenly yelled, “All rise for the Court!”
    Everyone—spectators, jurors, lawyers, clerks, all the participants in the trial—bolted to their feet in one scramble. As Judge Gantry was establishing himself in his thronelike chair, the bailiff quickly rattled off his standard call to order: “Hear ye, hear ye, the Criminal Court of the Tenth District is now in session, the Honorable Henry Gantry presiding. Let all who have matters come forth. May God bless this Court.”
    “Please be seated,” Judge Gantry said loudly into the microphone before him. Just as suddenly as the crowd had jumped to its feet, it fell backward in one collective motion. Chairs squeaked. Benches cracked. Purses and briefcases were rearranged, and the two hundred or so people all seemed to exhale at once. Then everything was quiet.
    Judge Gantry quickly surveyed the courtroom. As expected, it was filled to capacity. “Well, we certainly have a lot of interest today,” he said. “Thank you for your presence.” He glanced up at the balcony, made eye contact with Theo Boone, then smiled at the presence of his classmates sitting shoulder to shoulder, all frozen at attention.
    “The matter at hand is the case of the State versus Mr. Peter Duffy. Is the State ready to proceed?”
    Jack Hogan, the prosecutor, stood and announced, “Yes, Your Honor, the State is ready.”
    “Is the defense ready to proceed?”
    Clifford Nance rose and solemnly said, “We are ready, Your Honor.”
    Judge Gantry turned to his right, looked at his jury, and said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you were selected last week, and when you left here I gave you specific instructions not to discuss this case with anyone. I warned you that if anyone tried to approach you and discuss the case, then you were to notify me. I now ask if that has happened. Any contact from anyone about this case?”
    All jurors shook their heads in the negative.
    “Good. We have disposed of all pretrial motions, and we are now ready to begin. At this stage of the trial, both sides will have the opportunity to address you directly and make what we refer to as opening statements. An opening statement is not proof, not evidence, just a summary of each side’s version of what happened. Since the State has the burden of proving guilt, the State will always go first. Mr. Hogan, are you ready?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You may proceed.”
    Theo had been unable to eat breakfast, and he’d slept little. He’d read many stories of athletes who were so nervous they couldn’t eat or sleep before a big game. They were overcome with butterflies, queasy stomachs brought on by fear and pressure. Theo could certainly feel the pressure right now. The air in the courtroom was heavy and tense. Though he was only a spectator, he had the butterflies. This was the big game.
    Mr. Hogan was a career prosecutor who handled the major cases in Strattenburg. He was tall, wiry, bald, and wore a black suit every day. Behind his back folks joked about his black suits. No one knew if he had only one or a couple dozen.