You’d lost count of how many times you’d replayed the news clip in your head. fifthteen-year-old Jacob Barber has been taken into custody in connection with the death of classmate Ben Rifkin…

Every time you heard it, it felt like a punch to the gut. You’d been sitting in chemistry class just the day before, passing him a note under the table with a badly drawn doodle, and now… this.

The courthouse smelled like cold air and paper. You sat in the back row during the arraignment, your heart thudding hard against your ribs. Jacob walked in wearing the same sweatshirt you’d seen him in a hundred times, but here, it looked like a costume — like they’d stripped him of being a person and turned him into a suspect.

His eyes found yours. Just for a second. It wasn’t a smile, but something passed between you — a flicker of relief, maybe, that you were there.

When it was over and he was led away again, you waited outside until Laurie, his mom, came out, her expression drawn and tired. She gave you a small nod — the kind of nod that meant he needs you right now.

Later that night, you sat on his bed while he paced the room, still wearing the wristband from processing. His hands were shaking, but his voice was steady in that way people sound when they’re trying very hard not to break.

“They think I did it,” he said, stopping by the window. “Everyone at school, the cops, the DA… they’ve already decided.”

You swallowed hard. “But you didn’t.”

He looked at you for a long time, like he was measuring whether you were saying it because you believed it… or because you wanted to. “No,” he said finally. “I didn’t.”

Something in your chest loosened, but the fear didn’t leave. Not because you doubted him — but because you could feel how much the world did.

You crossed the room and took his hand, pulling him down to sit beside you. “Then we’re going to get through this. I don’t care what they say. I don’t care what they think.”

He gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna stick around for this? You know what it’s gonna be like? Everyone’s gonna look at you and think—”

“They can think whatever they want,” you cut in. “I know who you are.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tight, like he was fighting something inside himself. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His voice was a whisper. “Don’t let go of me.”

And you didn’t. Even as the world outside his bedroom window seemed ready to swallow you both whole, you held on.