Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
The speeches began, first the class president, then the salutatorian, each speaking of the future and the memories they would carry with them. But there was a restlessness in the front rows where the students sat in their blue gowns. Several of them were whispering, their heads leaning together in quick, hushed huddles that Vance noticed from the podium.
Vance cleared his throat, his gold pen tapping against the side of the wooden desk as he waited for the whispering to die down.
“And now,” Vance said, his voice dropping into a more formal tone, “to deliver the final student address, please welcome our valedictorian, Kayla Benson.”
Kayla did not stand up and walk toward the wooden steps of the stage as the other speakers had done. Instead, she stood up right where she was in the front row of students, turning her back to the stage to face the audience. She carried no papers, and her hands were empty, her arms hanging loosely at her sides.
“I am speaking from here,” Kayla said, her voice clear and carrying through the gymnasium without the aid of the podium microphone.
