On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
The following morning, I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage at O’Reilly Theater. Standing at the lectern, I stalled for a few seconds in hopes that any of the people that I invited would show.
“Miss Johnson?” The judge cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”
“No, I um—” I looked at the door and sighed. “I’m just wondering if I can have a glass of water before I start.”
“Well, of course. My apologies for not setting that up beforehand.” He snapped his fingers and an intern brought two full glasses to the stage.
Taking a few sips, I looked down at my notes.
“My name is um, Courtney Johnson.”
“We know,” the male judge said, softly laughing. “It’s on the screen behind you.”
“Right.” I took another sip of water. “Over the next three hours, I’m going to make a case for news media and all the ways that journalists can protect their craft. Part one …”
The rest of the words fell from my mouth effortlessly, and I clicked through my slides without skipping a beat.
Every now and then, I paused when the door opened—hoping to see a familiar face slip into the dark theater. It never was anyone I knew, though. Always a stranger who ducked in for a second and walked away.
“I now rest my case.” I closed my folder. “Thank you.”
The lights in the theater brightened, revealing rows of empty seats around the judges.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to let tears well in my eyes.
“I am sitting here in utter awe of you, Miss Johnson,” the male judge in the center smiled. “I have a few follow-up questions regarding a point you made earlier. If you wouldn’t mind—”
A sudden round of applause interrupted his sentence.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Kyle clapping from the left wing of the stage. He locked his eyes on mine and clapped louder with every second that passed.
“Security!” the judge bellowed. “Security! Please remove Mr. Stanton from the building again, since he can’t follow simple instructions and sit in the auditorium like we asked!”
Kyle laughed, saying, “Good fucking job, Court,” as two security guards grabbed his arms and led him away.