But from the moment the first question left his mouth, the judge realized this wouldn't be a game. Ammani wasn't here to play; she was here to change everything.
Judge Norwood leaned back, a faint smile playing on his face. Maybe he thought he was being clever, or maybe he was just trying to break the ice in a room full of tension. Either way, he looked over his glasses and said, "All right, Miss Jefferson. Truth or lie: you've stayed up past your bedtime more than once this week."
Ammani didn't blink. "True, but I was reading the Family Law Journal of Ohio, 2022 edition."
The courtroom chuckled again, softer this time, more confused than amused.
Norwood squinted at her. "Family Law Journal, huh?"
"Yes, sir. It's available online for public access," she said. "That's where I read about 'best interests of the child' being the standard in custody cases."
The judge cleared his throat, sitting up straighter now. "All right, how about this one: you've ever skipped school pretending to be sick?"
"Lie," Ammani said flatly. "I haven't missed a day since third grade."
That's when attorney Benjamin Ror, the lawyer for Celeste Boon, leaned forward: thick-framed glasses, slicked-back hair, and a confidence that had probably served him well until this very moment. "Your Honor, if we could return to the relevant facts—"
But Norwood raised a hand, silencing him without a word. His eyes were on Ammani. Something had shifted. He adjusted his seat again.
"All right, my turn's up. Go ahead, Miss Jefferson. Ask me one."
Ammani paused, then said, "Truth or lie: you've already made a decision in your head about who I should live with."
The room went still. Even Ror sat back.
Norwood hesitated, then gave a soft sigh. "Truth."
Ammani nodded. "I figured."
She looked toward her aunt. Celeste straightened, clearly feeling the attention now focused on her.