The prosecutor led me through it all, step by step. Finding the articles. The first notes. The SUV. The confrontation at the plaza.
The safe house. He had me identify the printed evidence. My voice grew stronger as I spoke. I wasn't just reciting facts; I was weaving a narrative.
I spoke of the fear, the constant feeling of being watched, the pressure that had turned my final year of high school into a waking nightmare. I spoke for every student who had ever felt small and powerless. I was telling our story.