Page 56 of Unbound
A scatter of applause. I caught Mother's slight frown at the term "marriage equality," quickly smoothed away.
"Mr. Costas and Mr. Miller have spent weeks preparing what I believe will be a masterful demonstration of constitutional advocacy. They'll be arguing that state bans on same-sex marriage violate both the Due Process and Equal Protection clauses of the Fourteenth Amendment."
Professor Okonkwo's eyes found mine. "The beauty of legal education is learning to advocate for positions based on constitutional principle rather than personal belief. Today, these students will demonstrate that professional skill."
Personal belief. Professional skill. Academic exercise.
The words echoed in my head as Adrian stood and moved to the podium. He began with substantive due process, his voiceclear and confident. I'd heard this opening dozens of times, but today it felt different. Sharper. Real.
"The Due Process Clause protects certain fundamental liberties," Adrian said, his gaze sweeping the audience. "The right to marry is among the most fundamental of all rights. It's not just a social institution—it's a constitutional guarantee of human dignity."
He was magnificent. Passionate but controlled, academic but accessible. I watched several audience members lean forward, drawn in by his words. Even Father looked impressed, though his expression remained carefully neutral.
Then Adrian was introducing me, and I was walking to the podium on unsteady legs.
The audience blurred before me. Hundreds of faces, all watching, waiting. My parents in the third row. Rebecca with her encouraging smile. Students with their phones out—when had that become normal?
I gripped the podium edges and began.
"The Fourteenth Amendment promises that no state shall deny any person the equal protection of the laws." My voice shook on the first words, but I pushed through. "This isn't just abstract legal language—it's a promise that government will treat all citizens with equal dignity and respect."
The words steadied me. I'd practiced them so many times they felt like prayer.
"When Ohio refused to recognize James Obergefell's marriage to John Arthur, they weren't just applying a different legal definition." I found my rhythm, my voice growing stronger. "They were telling Mr. Obergefell that his twenty-year relationship didn't matter as much as an opposite-sex couple's relationship. They were telling him that he was a second-class citizen."
The audience was silent now, hanging on every word. I forgotabout the cameras, the donors, the academic nature of the exercise. These weren't just legal principles anymore—they were truths that burned in my chest.
"The Constitution doesn't permit such arbitrary distinctions. When states deny recognition to same-sex marriages, they violate that fundamental promise of equal protection. They create a hierarchy where some loving, committed relationships matter and others don't."
My eyes found Adrian without thinking. He was watching me with something like wonder, like he was seeing me for the first time.
"Love is not a luxury," I continued, speaking directly to him now. "It's not a privilege to be granted or withheld based on who we are. Love is a fundamental human right. And when the government tells some of us that our love doesn't count, that our families don't matter, that our commitment means less—they violate the most basic promise of American democracy."
The words poured out of me, raw and true and unstoppable.
"The Constitution protects our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. For LGBTQ+ Americans, marriage equality isn't about changing tradition—it's about claiming their rightful place in the American promise. It's about being free to love authentically, to build families honestly, to live without fear of government discrimination."
I was speaking from my heart now, not from our careful notes. Speaking truths I'd only just discovered, giving voice to feelings I'd spent my whole life suppressing.
"Justice Kennedy wrote that marriage embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. Those ideals don't change based on the gender of who we love. Love is love, and the Constitution protects all of it."
The auditorium was absolutely silent. Even Professor Okonkwo looked stunned.
"The Constitution forbids hierarchies of human worth," I finished, my voice ringing with conviction. "When we deny marriage equality, we create exactly such a hierarchy. We tell some Americans they matter less. The Constitution demands better. America demands better. And love—love demands everything."
I stepped back from the podium to thunderous applause. The sound crashed over me like a wave, and for a moment I felt dizzy with the force of it. Professor Okonkwo was beaming. Students were on their feet. Even some of the donors looked moved.
The adrenaline was singing through my veins, electric and intoxicating. I'd done it. I'd spoken my truth to hundreds of people and they'd listened. They'd understood. For the first time in my life, I'd been completely, utterly honest, and the world hadn't ended.
I turned toward Adrian, riding the high of it all, and the look on his face stopped me cold.
He wasn't just proud or impressed. He was looking at me like I'd hung the stars, like I'd just become someone he'd never seen before but had always hoped existed. His dark eyes were bright with something that made my chest tight and my breath short.
Time slowed. The applause faded to white noise. The auditorium full of people disappeared.
There was only Adrian, looking at me like that, and this feeling exploding in my chest—pure joy, pure rightness, pureyesto everything I'd just said and everything I was feeling and everything I wanted.
My body moved before my brain could catch up.
