Scared of saying the wrong thing and hurting Luis. Scared that that’s actually what I want.

I’m scared of exposing my deepest secrets and worst moments in front of a hundred people. Scared of what they will think.

But more than anything, I’m scared of seeing Luis again.

I sip water while sitting on the cold metal chair. I wish we hadn’t come this early. It’s given me time to think about what will soon happen.

I’m going to see Luis again for the first time in months, and I have no idea how I’m going to take that.

A man walks into the room and tells me it’s my time to speak. I follow him down a long hallway. My feet echo on the concrete floor. He opens a door in front of me, and I see a police officer. I close my eyes for a moment and try to pretend this man is Jackson’s dad, with his kind smile.

My stomach is somewhere in my feet at this point, but when the stiff air hits me and I see the faces, somehow my confidence comes back. Whatever happens, this is my chance to stop hiding from the truth.

I sit in a seat near the judge, kind of like on TV. I take a couple of deep breaths and manage to look up into the crowd. I see Sarah, who nods reassuringly. I see my mother, who smiles.

In the rest of the seats—I purposefully start toward the back—there are more strangers. Then I recognize a few. Lamont is there. And Charles. And Dez. All Luis’s friends. All men who paid to sleep with me. They don’t look at me very kindly. They shouldn’t. I’m going to call each one of them out if I get the chance. They never held me when I cried, never gave me a home when I needed it, never loved me.

And then I see Luis at a table in front of a barrier separating the courtroom from the public seats. He’s sitting next to his lawyer.

I don’t know what I expected I would feel when I see him again. I tell myself he loved me. He saved me. But all I can remember is him giving me up. Telling me good-bye forever.

How could he say he loved me if he was willing to give me away that easily?

A woman in a suit stands and begins to talk to me, but I barely hear the words. I feel like my head is filled with water.

I’m looking through the crowd, but I’m brought to reality with the sharp, unkind sound of my name. “Anna,” the woman says firmly.

I look at her, but I’m really just wondering how red my face actually is.

“I need you to focus.”

I nod.

She starts out small.

“Do you know this man?” she says, pointing to the front row, on the opposite side from where my mother and Sarah sit.

She’s pointing at Luis.

His face is thinner, and he seems more serious than I’ve ever seen him.

I nod and look away.

“Is this the man who solicited sexual favors to other men for money?”

I reply calmly. “No.”

She looks frustrated. “Is this the man you lived with while in New York City?”

“Yes.”

“And did he make you have sex with men for money?”

“No.”

Now she spins away from me, but not before I see her cheeks tinting red. She looks down at her notes and then turns back to me, composed once more.

She thought she already knew the truth. She doesn’t understand that it’s not as simple as she wants it to be.

“Tell me about your experience with Luis Santino.”

Here we go; much better. I’d rather do this on my terms.

“I ran away from home when I was thirteen.” I say, and the woman nods, like this is a return to the black-and-white story she wants me to tell. “But I didn’t have any place to go. I was lost in Grand Central, and an odd man was following me.”

“Mr. Santino?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t know who the odd man was. I never found out, because Luis stepped between us. He saved me from him.”

The woman pauses. This was not what she expected. I look over at Luis again, and his eyes look softer, but he’s still tense. Still serious.

Still scared.

I take the moment to search the crowd again. I see a police officer in the middle of the crowd, and next to him I see a skinny boy with hazel eyes. Jackson.

His eyes light up slightly when I look at him. I give him the slightest of smiles, and he smiles big in return. Here is the guy who convinced me why I shouldn’t be scared. Right or wrong, I can’t hide from my choices. All I can do now—all anyone can do—is face the truth.

“Then what happened, Miss Rodriguez?”

“He gave me a place to stay.”

“With him.”

“Yes.”

“And did you sleep with him?”

I look over to Luis instinctively. Funny how easy it is to go back to old habits. I’m looking for him to tell me what to say. Should I answer this?

“Yes,” I say, because there’s no point in lying.

“And you were thirteen.”

“Yes.”

“He was nineteen.”

I nod.

“Was this the first man you had sexual relations with?” she asks, pacing a little as she speaks. When she finishes, she pivots quickly to look at me. She’s not very good at keeping me comfortable, but maybe she doesn’t want to.

“No.”

She cocks her head slightly.

“No?” she says. “Who, then, did you sleep with before your interaction with Mr. Santino?”

“I lost my virginity when I was twelve. Luis did not push sex on me.”

My descent into prostitution started long before New York.

The woman’s eyes narrow, but she keeps going. “Tell me what happened next. You say Luis Santino never pushed sex on you. But you do admit to having sex for money while living with Luis, correct?”

“Yes.” This is hardly a question, everyone knows. There is no denying this anymore.

“So how did that happen, then?”

“You want the whole story?” I ask.

“Yes.” This is the answer I was hoping for. This is the reason I am here. I want people to understand.

“Please tell us what happened,” the woman says.

“I lived with Luis for a month or so. He didn’t make me go to school. He didn’t make me work. He didn’t make me do anything, really. He was nice to me, fed me, showed me around the city. One night he brought a friend over to watch a movie with us.” I swallow and look around the room again. Most of the faces are unfamiliar, but there are so many teenagers that I wonder how many drove all the way here from my school, just to hear my story.

This is what I want people to know, but now that the moment’s come, I’m scared to death to say it out loud and relive the memory.

“After the movie, I went to my room. Luis’s apartment had a spare room, which is where I usually slept.”

I take a couple of deep breaths, imagining the moment. The dark room, the silence. The horrible sounds of creaking footsteps that got closer.

“I was in my bed, lying there, when someone came in.”

My heart is pounding now.

“It was dark and I couldn’t see much. I called out, thinking it was Luis. He got into bed with me and started touching me and pulling off my clothes. I realized quickly that it wasn’t Luis.”

The room is filled with at least a hundred people, but everyone is deadly silent. Not that they were loud before. It’s just that now, the silence feels…louder. More complete. I feel like my voice is echoing. My heart, my labored breaths, I am sure, can be heard by everyone in the room.

I swallow again and realize my throat is dry.

“I tried to get away. I called out. But no one came, and the man didn’t let me go. I don’t know if I’d call it rape, he didn’t hurt me or really even hold me down or anything, not the whole time.”

“This man had sex with you, though, when you didn’t want to?”

I nod but remember I’m supposed to speak my answers aloud. “Yes.”

“And did Luis tell him to do this?”

“No. Afterward the man left and Luis said he was sorry, that he didn’t know. But he told me that the man had paid us, he gave us money for the sex.”

“What did you use the money for?”

“We went out to eat at a sushi place in Manhattan. It was my favorite.”