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disappointed in him, but he was a master politician and continued to sit there, hands in lap, legs crossed, as if her entire diatribe had nothing to do with him.
     Gina kept on.  “If you truly want to be the champion of at-risk youth you claim to be, then you’d put your foot down and stop compromising with those Republicans who seek to punish people simply because they never had the same advantages others had.  If all you see is success around you, then you’d be successful too.  But if all you see is failure around you, as the young people I work with are bombarded with day in and day out, then guess which outcome you’re more likely to have?” 
     She looked at the award again, an award, if she wasn’t fighting for her organization’s life, she’d be proud to accept.  “This award is nice, and it’ll make leaders of organizations like mine very happy and pleased, but it doesn’t feel right.  It feels like a sell-out, to be honest with you.  It feels like I’m supposed to pretend that my government is actually on my side, ready and willing to help our at-risk youth, when nothing could be further from the truth.  Thanks, Mr. President,” she said lastly, “but no thanks.” 
     And then she walked off of the stage, leaving the award on the podium.  The same audience that had applauded all of the previous speakers at the end of their speeches, sat mute at the end of hers.
     The sudden tension in the room was palpable, with all angst directed, not at President Harber, but at Gina herself.  Even LaLa was amazed.  She expected a tough speech, but nothing that blunt.  She leaned over to her colleague as soon as she took her seat.  “That man is not pleased,” she said of the president. 
     But Gina merely sat up tall and kept looking forward.  She didn’t come to please the president.  She came to make a point.  A point, she felt, given the sudden silence in the room, she absolutely felt she made.
     The Master of Ceremony took to the podium again and didn’t miss a beat.  “Our next winning organization,” he said as he continued the program.  This was DC, after all, inside the Beltway, and they knew how to pretend everything was peaches and cream when it was more like sour cream.  Dutch pretended too, as he redirected his attention to the Master of Ceremony and the next organization rep. 
     But his peace was disturbed.  She was disappointed in me, he kept saying to himself.  And her words, her carefully crafted, blunt words, felt like a knife jab to his heart. 
     Why it bothered him in such a personal way when he was well accustomed to political attacks by the biggest bomb throwers in the business, many of whom were elected members of Congress, he’d never know.  But it bothered him fiercely.
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After the ceremony was over and the President and other dignitaries had already left the room, the crowd began to file out also.  LaLa, who had her hand on Gina’s shoulder as if she had to shepherd her out, joked about how the other organization representatives were avoiding Gina like the plague.  “They think your truthfulness is contagious,” she said with a smile. 
     “Ain’t it something,” Gina replied.  “You’d think I was up there lying on the man.”
     “Honey, I know.  But who cares about these holier-than-Thou stuff shirts?  Their organizations are hurting because of these budget cuts just like ours, and they’re probably glad you spoke up, but nobody will admit it publicly.  Besides, they probably think people like us don’t deserve any presidential award anyway, have no right being anywhere near this White House, and your outburst, they feel, just proved their point.  Well I say bump’em .”
     Gina smiled at LaLa’s choice of words.
     “Miss Lansing,” a male’s voice said from behind and Gina and LaLa both turned to the sound.  He was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed young