“You can come up here,” the judge kindly said to Mrs. Gardener.

Mrs. Gardener came to the front of the courtroom and quietly sat in a corner of the first row, as far from Brazil as she could get. Weed did not turn around.

“Are you expecting any other family?” the judge asked Mrs. Gardener.

“No ma’am,” she barely said.

“All right,” Judge Davis said to Weed, “I’m going to tell you your rights.”

“Okay,” he said.

“You have the right to counsel, to a public hearing, to the privilege against self-incrimination, to confront and cross-examine witnesses, to present evidence, and the right to appeal a final decision of the court.”

“Thank you,” Weed said.

“Do you understand them?”

“No.”

“What this means, Weed, is you have a right to an attorney and you don’t have to say anything this morning that might incriminate you. Those other rights don’t apply unless you go to trial. Does that make sense, do you understand?”

“What does incriminalate mean?”

“For example, saying something that will be used against you.”

“How do I know what that is?” Weed asked.

“I’ll stop you if you start doing it, how’s that?”

“What if you don’t stop me quick enough?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“You promise?”

“Yes,” Judge Davis answered. “Now.” She looked at Weed. “The purpose of this arraignment is to determine whether I should keep you locked up in detention before your trial date or let you go.”

“I wanna stay locked up,” Weed said.

“We’ll talk about that as we proceed,” said the judge.

She looked at the petition Brazil had signed.

“Weed, you’ve been charged with 18.2-125 of the Virginia code, Trespass at night upon any cemetery, and 18.2-127, Injuries to churches or church property, cemeteries, burial grounds, etc., and 18.2-138.1, Willful and malicious damage to or defacement of public or private facilities.” She leaned forward. “Do you understand the seriousness of these charges?”

“I only know what I did or didn’t do,” Weed said.

“Do you believe you’re guilty or not guilty?”

“Depends on what happens if I say one or another,” Weed said.

“Weed, it doesn’t work that way.”

“I just wanna have my say.”

“Then plead not guilty and you can have your say at the trial,” she told him.

“When’s that?”

“We’d have to set a date.”

“Could we do it tomorrow?”

“Twenty-one days from now.”

Weed looked crushed.

“But the Azalea Parade’s Saturday,” he explained. “Can’t I have my say now so I can march in it and play the cymbals?”

Judge Davis seemed to find this juvenile a little more interesting than most. Commonwealth’s Attorney Michael was befuddled. Public Defender Cheddar had a blank expression on her face.

“If you want to have your say, Weed, then plead not guilty.” The judge tried to make him get the drift.

“Not unless I get to be in the parade,” he stubbornly told her.

“If you don’t plead not guilty, the alternative is guilty. Do you understand what a guilty plea means?” Judge Davis asked with surprising patience.