The question throws me off. In all the sharing, I’d almost forgotten what we were here for. “I guess she works a lot,” I answer, trying not to say too much. I need the judge to decide it’s best for me to live with her.

“And that’s okay with you?”

No one’s ever asked me how I feel about Mom working so much, and now my words are trying to rush up and out, like someone just handed them a permission slip. “Well, I used to feel like her work was more important than me. Like she loved it more than me or something. When I was younger, I used to hate staying in aftercare at school. And on top of that, I always saw other moms volunteering in the classrooms or organizing bake sales and stuff. My mom was never there. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was always proud of my mom. But I was also jealous of how much time her work took away from me.”

“I understand. My kids felt the same way. When—”

“But now that I’m older I know she loves me more, no question about it,” I interrupt, trying to turn my answer around before the judge goes on another talking spree. “But I also understand her work gives her something I can’t give to her. And that’s okay. I want something like that for my life, too. Basketball definitely isn’t it. I’m still looking for it.”

She takes her boots down off the desk, stands up, picks up her legal pad, and puts the flowers back on the table. “And you’ll find it. I know you will.”

Wait, is the interview over? I thought we were just getting started. I need to say more good things about Mom.

“Well, it was very nice talking to you. I have another appointment waiting, but I assure you I have everything I need to make a decision.”

I look at the wild cat with the bird in its mouth and a strange pressure squeezes my throat. This lady wasn’t being sweet and open. She was getting what she wanted—chewing me up. And now she’s spitting me out.

Judge Reed walks toward the door and opens it. “Your parents should receive my ruling by the end of the week.”

I want to beg her to let me live with Mom, tell her my whole life depends on it. But I stand up, say, “Okay, thanks,” and walk out.

In the hallway Mom is sitting on a wooden bench on one side of the hall, Daddy (I guess I can call him that since that’s what he is) is sitting on a bench on the other side of the hall, and Cole is standing in between. He met with the judge right before me.

And now Daddy is walking toward me. “You hungry?” he asks.