In Judge Harmon’s empty courtroom, Devon stands before the bench. His project sits in pieces on a table. Explain again what this device does. Judge Harmon doesn’t look up from his phone. It’s an air quality monitor that measures particulate matter in lowincome neighborhoods, your honor. Devon keeps his voice steady. I’ve been collecting data showing correlation between poor air quality and respiratory illness rates.
Judge Harmon tosses Devon’s papers aside without reading them. And why bring this to my courthouse? The environmental committee meets here monthly. I was invited to present my findings. Dr. Williams confirms there’s a meeting. Judge Harmon scrolls through his messages. Says nothing about student presentations.
Devon’s stomach tightens. The confirmation was sent last week to all committee members. Are you telling me how to do my job? The judge’s voice hardens. No, sir. Just providing information. Judge Harmon stands. He circles the bench looming over Devon. Listen carefully. I’ve been on this bench for 20 years. I’ve seen every excuse, every story, every scheme. I understand, but no interruptions.
His hand slams the table. Pieces of Devon’s project scatter. A sensor crashes to the floor. This equipment could interfere with courthouse systems. Devon watches months of work break apart. Sir, that’s months of research. Research? Judge Harmon laughs. Is that what they call it now? Where did you get these parts? Who really built this?
I designed and built it myself. The parts were purchased with grant money from the State Science Foundation. Judge Harmon’s jaw tightens. A likely story. Let me be clear. This courthouse isn’t your science fair. He picks up a circuit board, examining it with exaggerated suspicion. We’ll hold this device for security inspection. You can wait in the hallway until the committee meeting. And my presentation, if they confirm your story, you’ll get your property back. Judge Harmon’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Maybe eventually.
Devon stares at his broken project. Data collected from his own neighborhood. Evidence of environmental injustice now treated like contraband. May I have a receipt for my property, your honor? The judge’s smile falters. Getting legal advice from somewhere, are we? Will Devon’s months of work be destroyed before he can even present it?
Devon waits in the hallway, watching the minutes tick by. His presentation time approaches, but security won’t let him near room 302 without Judge Harmon’s approval. Dr. Williams, a gray-haired environmental scientist with wire rimmed glasses, spots Devon. There you are. Why aren’t you setting up? We start in 15 minutes. Judge Harmon confiscated my project. Says it’s suspicious.
Dr. Williams’s eyebrows shoot up. That’s absurd. You’re our keynote student presenter. They return to Judge Harmon’s courtroom together. The judge is on a call, holding up one finger to make them wait. Devon notices how the judge’s posture changes when he sees Dr. Williams. Straighter, more formal. Judge Harmon. Dr. Williams begins when the call ends. There’s been a misunderstanding. Devon Taylor is our invited presenter today.
