Testing Kate

by Whitney Gaskell

  “They have hail in Arizona?” Jen asked.

  “Planes don’t fly in hail?” Lexi asked.

  “Apparently. At least, not when the hail is the size of tangerines and coming down with a wrath-of-God vengeance,” I said. More bad luck. And maybe the saddest part was that I was coming to expect it. Even though the weather had been perfect when we left for the airport, I’d packed an extra paperback just in case.

  “So, how was your trip?” Jen asked.

  “It was fun,” I said, but then hesitated. “Well…mostly.”

  I’d spent the holiday break visiting Graham in Arizona. We’d bought and trimmed a Douglas fir, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas, and gone to see the local ballet company perform The Nutcracker. On Christmas morning, I made eggs Benedict and Bloody Marys for breakfast, and we ended up getting loopy and going back to bed. Graham’s main gift to me had been a surprise—a four-day vacation to Key West during spring break.

  I’d been unprepared for his other gift—it was the snapshot I’d taken of my parents’ toast at their last anniversary party. Graham had scanned the photo into his computer and retouched it, successfully getting rid of the red eyes my parents had sported in the original. He also changed it to a black-and-white print to disguise the bad coloring, and finally blew it up and had it matted and framed. It was beautiful. My parents looked so happy, so ethereally beautiful frozen in black and white.

  I stared at it, speechless.

  “Do you like it?” Graham asked anxiously.

  “How did you do this?” I whispered.

  “I’ve been learning about photography and all of the new methods for digitally enhancing photos. Is it okay? Because if I didn’t get it right, I can try again,” Graham said, reaching to take the photo back.

  But I pulled it away, cradling it against my chest. “I love it,” I said fiercely. “I don’t want you to change a thing.”

  We were living in a bubble, away from the stresses of daily life, and were able to connect in a way we hadn’t in years. For the first time since we’d gotten back together, it felt like we were a real couple. And not just any couple, but the kind of couple who’s so well matched, so happy, so sitcom-perfect, that they cause other people to gaze wistfully after them, wondering if they’ll ever have that sort of relationship for themselves. The kind of couple that appears on those diamond commercials filmed in an arty black-and-white format, staring at each other longingly before the man slips an enormous, sparkling engagement ring onto the woman’s finger, while a symphony orchestra plays in the background.

  But then on the night before I left, we got into a huge, messy fight, thus destroying the whole perfect diamond-commercial-couple image. Even worse, the fight was entirely my fault.

  Graham had been keeping me company while I packed my suitcase. Or at least he said he was keeping me company. In reality, he was sitting on the bed, hunched over, foot in hand, clipping his toenails. There was a look of intense concentration on his face as he positioned the clippers, followed by a loud cracking sound and a thin sliver of nail flying through the air. And with every crack, I grew just that much more irritated.

  “Do you have to do that here?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “Do what?”

  “Your toenails. You’re getting clippings all over the sheets.”

  “I’ll clean them up,” Graham said.

  Crack! A chunk of toenail flew through the air and hit me in the face.

  “Jesus Christ!” I exploded.

  Graham started, and looked up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just got hit by your disgusting toenail!”

  “Oh. Sorry,” Graham said. He leaned back over his foot, poised to clip yet another nail. I stared at him, feeling the anger swell up inside me like helium inflating a balloon. And then I leaned forward and snatched the clippers out of Graham’s hand.

  He looked up at me again, perplexed. “What are you doing?”

  “Stop. Clipping. Your. Nails,” I fumed. And then I took the clippers and threw them across the room, where they pinged against the wall and fell with a satisfying thump. I went back to folding a stack of shirts into my suitcase. Graham stared at the spot on the wall, speechless.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” he finally said.

  “I can’t believe you don’t listen to me.”

  “How am I not listening?”

  “I just asked you not to clip your nails in bed. Or when I asked you not to leave the bathroom door open when you’re using the toilet. Or yesterday, when I asked you not to put my dry-clean-only sweaters in the washing machine.”

  “I said I was sorry about that.”

  “You washed them on hot! They shrank!”

  “Why are you yelling?”

  “Because I’m just so sick and tired of living like this,” I exploded. I stopped folding and started just piling the clothes into the suitcase in a messy heap.

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re going back to New Orleans tomorrow,” Graham said. I looked at him and saw that his face was stiff and angry, and his arms were crossed in front of his chest. Regret washed over me, dousing out the anger. I closed my eyes and took a calming deep breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Graham didn’t say anything.

  “I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” I said, trying again. “I shouldn’t have thrown your nail clippers.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, shrugging. But his face was stony, and his voice was cool.

  Eventually the argument blew over, and we went to a Japanese steakhouse for a farewell dinner. But even as we talked and sipped wine, there was still a tension between us that hadn’t been there before. And I knew it was my fault. Why should being near Graham grate on my nerves so much? Had it ever bothered me before that he made a weird throaty noise when he gargled with mouthwash or that he never used a sponge in the shower, which meant that I was constantly finding his pubic hair embedded in the bar of soap? Or had I gotten so used to his tics while we were living together that I didn’t even notice them?

  And, if so, why were they bothering me so much now?

  “What did you end up doing over the holidays, Jen?” I asked as we checked our mail folders. Before break, her plans had been up in the air, depending heavily on the rotation Sean would have at the hospital.

  “We ended up only going to St. Louis for Christmas weekend. Sean was on call after that,” Jen said. “So basically I spent the rest of the break stuffing myself with leftover Christmas cookies and catching up on Oprah reruns.”

  “What about you, Lex? How was your vacation?” I asked.

  “Amazing. I visited my mom and stepdad in Seattle for two weeks, and then I got back here in time to spend New Year’s Eve with Jacob,” Lexi said.

  “I wanted to go to the French Quarter for New Year’s Eve, but they wouldn’t go out with me,” Jen grumbled. “They’re so lame.”

  “People shoot off guns in the Quarter at midnight on New Year’s. Jacob told me some woman was killed when a falling bullet hit her a few years ago,” Lexi said. “And anyway, we just wanted to stay in and have a quiet night alone. And then on New Year’s Day, we drove out of town and spent a few days at a bed-and-breakfast at this gorgeous old plantation.”

  “Jacob takes her to a romantic B&B to celebrate New Year’s. My husband takes me to Chili’s,” Jen said. She sighed dramatically. “It’s so unfair.”

  “I don’t know. Chili’s fajitas are pretty damned good,” I said. Lexi snorted, but Jen just rolled her eyes.

  “Ha-ha. Can you believe that classes are already starting? It seems like we were just in finals,” Jen said. “Who do you have this semester?”

  I consulted the scrap of paper the law school had sent me.

  “Cook for Property, Contracts Two with Washington, Ethics with Yanni, and Constitutional Law with Chai,” I read. “Con Law is my first class this morning.”

  “Yeah! We’re all in the same section again,” Jen said. �
��Addison and Nick too. No one’s seen Dana yet, though.”

  “Oh…is Nick here?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  I hadn’t seen Nick since that night in the Quarter. He’d left for his parents’ house in Virginia the next morning, and although I could hear him through the thin walls of our house when I dragged my suitcase up the stairs the previous evening, he hadn’t come up to see me. I hadn’t told anyone about the kiss—not even Graham. I’d meant to tell him, but then the moment passed, and later it seemed that confessing what happened would only upset Graham and ruin what little time we had together.

  “Haven’t you seen him? He and Addison went in early to save us seats,” Jen said.

  “Did you hear that grades are coming out today?” Lexi asked me.

  My stomach turned and plummeted, as if I’d just taken a particularly steep plunge down a roller coaster. I’d known that I’d have to face my first-semester exam grades eventually—I just hadn’t expected to get hit with them on the first day back.

  “Are you sure?” I asked anxiously. “Today?”

  Jen nodded. “They’re going to be in our mail folders by lunchtime. We just overheard Dean Spitzer telling some students about it outside. Come on, class is about to start. We’d better go in.”

  The roller coaster in my stomach banked around a corner before whooshing down again. I was about to see Nick. How would he and I act around each other? Could we pretend that we hadn’t kissed, that he hadn’t touched my breast? I’d played the scene over and over in my head, until I’d memorized every last detail, from the feel of his lips against mine to how his eyes had darkened when he leaned in to kiss me. I closed my eyes and willed the images away.

  “What’s wrong, Kate?” Jen asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you feeling okay?” Jen looked concerned.

  “Oh…yeah. I’m fine. I just have cramps,” I lied.

  Our Con Law class was in the largest of the law school’s lecture halls, located on the ground floor next to the student lounge. We walked through the heavy double doors and looked down over the sea of chattering One-Ls, some sitting, some leaning on the tables, while everyone waited for the spring semester to officially begin.

  “Where did Nick and Add go?” Jen asked.

  “There they are,” Lexi said, pointing.

  I saw Addison first. He was leaning back against a table, facing the rear doors, with a hand raised in greeting. I smiled at him. He was wearing new glasses, rectangular silver ones, and his hair was extra spiky.

  And sitting just next to Addison…was Nick. He leaned back in his chair, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, and he was wearing the navy turtleneck sweater that brought out his blue eyes. His cheeks looked a little red, as though he’d been in the sun. Addison leaned over to say something to Nick, and then Nick turned and looked right at me. Everything else seemed to go still and quiet, even though I was peripherally aware of Lexi lifting her chin to show off the silver Tiffany bean necklace Jacob had given her for Christmas and Jen complaining that the only thing Sean had given her was a blender.

  “It wasn’t even a particularly nice blender,” Jen said. “And he’s the one who likes to make fruit shakes, not me.”

  I forced the corners of my lips up into a stiff smile, while Nick just stared at me. But then, just as I faltered, he grinned back, and relief melted through me.

  “This is going to be a big class. We’d better sit down before someone takes our seats,” Jen said. She trotted down the stairs and dropped into the empty seat next to Addison. I hesitated, not knowing if I should claim the empty seat to Jen’s right—or sit next to Nick, as though everything were normal between us. But then Lexi headed down in front of me and took the seat next to Jen, and I was left with no choice.

  “Hey, babycakes,” Addison said, reaching out and grabbing my arm as I passed by. “Give me some sugar.”

  I hugged him, and he kissed me wetly on the cheek. “How was your break, Add?” I asked.

  “So good I almost didn’t come back,” Addison said. He pulled out the green task chair and sat down, looking glum. “It sucks being back. It’s almost like we never left.”

  “Hey,” I said softly to Nick as I sat next to him, dropping my enormous camping knapsack on the table.

  “Hey,” he said.

  The silence swelled between us, and after an awkward moment we both rushed to fill it.

  “Did you go skiing after Christmas?” I asked as I pulled out my new Con Law book with the dark green cover, along with a lined yellow pad and two Uni-Ball pens.

  “I stopped by your apartment yesterday,” Nick said at the same time.

  We paused, and then both started speaking again.

  “You did?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I went to Colorado with some of my college buddies,” Nick said.

  Nick laughed, and I bit my lip and shook my head.

  “You go first,” Nick said.

  “You stopped by my apartment?” I asked.

  Nick nodded. “But I didn’t think you were back yet.”

  “I didn’t get in until around seven.”

  “I was going to see if you wanted to drive in to school this morning together,” he said.

  “I came in early,” I said. “I went to the bookstore before class started, and then I did the reading assignment over at the student union. You know…avoid my mistake from last semester.”

  “No Hoffman this semester,” Nick said. He raised his hand, and I slapped it lightly.

  “Thank God,” I said.

  “Hey,” Dana said, dropping breathlessly into the empty seat to my left.

  “Hey, Dana. How was your…” My voice trailed off when I turned to look at her. Dana had her dark hair back in cornrows, like Bo Derek wore in the movie 10, exposing lines of pale white scalp. There were beads on the end of each skinny braid that clattered as Dana busied herself getting out her class supplies. “Ummm…I take it you went to the Caribbean?”

  Dana nodded happily. “My parents took me to Jamaica for Christmas,” she said. “I got my hair braided on the beach. What do you think?”

  “It looks nice,” I said, hoping I sounded more sincere than I felt.

  “I’m only going to keep them in for a few more days,” Dana said, shrugging. “Although, actually, it’s a really effective way to keep my hair out of my face when I study.”

  “You could just shave it off,” I said. “You’d look cute bald.”

  “Mother of God,” Addison said, sounding aghast.

  “What?” I asked, turning back toward him.

  But then I saw what was spooking Add—and my mouth sagged open in horror.

  Hoffman.

  Professor Richard Hoffman was walking to the front of the class, in all of his pouched-belly and balding-head glory, the familiar worn leather folder that held his lecture notes tucked under his arm. Hoffman stepped up onto the raised platform, dropped the folder on top of the metal lectern, and then turned to the erasable pen board. With a thick black marker, he began writing on the board: CONSTITUTIONAL LAW, PROFESSOR HOFFMAN.

  What the…?

  No way…no fucking way.

  “No way,” Nick whispered, echoing my thoughts. He pulled his schedule out of the front pocket of his messenger bag and unfolded it, smoothing the creases in the paper. “It says right here that our Constitutional Law professor is supposed to be Chai. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it say that right here?” Nick asked. He shoved the piece of paper at Addison, looking a little wild-eyed as he did so.

  “Maybe Hoffman came into the wrong classroom by mistake,” Addison whispered back. “Maybe he had some sort of an emotional breakdown and can’t remember what class he’s supposed to teach.”

  “Stop talking,” I hissed at them. The first rule of surviving Professor Hoffman was to never, ever bring attention to yourself.

  I’d learned that one the hard way.

  “Welcome to Constitutional Law. I am Professor Hoffman. If you are in the w
rong place, please leave. For those of you who are in the right place, I’m going to go over the ground rules. First, do not be late to my class. We will begin promptly at ten-thirty on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. If you walk through those doors even a minute late, you will not be permitted to stay for the lecture that day,” Hoffman announced. A hush had fallen over the class when Hoffman began to speak, although it was a charged silence, full of a shared dread and horror.

  It was like some sort of an awful time warp that was looping me back to that first day of law school, when Hoffman had forced me to stand up in front of my gaping classmates and proceeded to humiliate me.

  “Excuse me, Professor?” a loud voice to my left said.

  I startled and then froze when I realized that the voice belonged to Dana. I immediately reverted to jungle law and tried to avoid making any sudden movements that might cause Hoffman to take notice of me. I slid only my eyes in Dana’s direction. She was sitting at the edge of her green task chair, her back straight and her hand waving slightly as she held it up over her head.

  “What is she doing?” Nick hissed.

  I didn’t dare answer. Hoffman had stopped cold and turned on Dana, his features contorting with a just barely concealed rage at the interruption. I’d seen that expression before and knew what it meant: danger.

  “Excuse me, Professor Hoffman?” Dana said again. This time her voice quavered a bit. Hoffman had never targeted her during Crim—Dana’s voluntary participation in class had earned her his grudging approval—so she’d never fully appreciated the force of his withering scorn.

  “Ms. Mallick, is that you? I hardly recognize you with your new hairstyle,” Hoffman said. His voice was dripping with condescension.

  Dana smiled serenely, as though completely unaware that he was mocking her. “Excuse me, sir, but my schedule says that I was assigned to this lecture hall for Con Law, but I’m supposed to have Professor Chai. Am I in the wrong place?”

  For a moment, hope dawned. Maybe it was all just a clerical error—right class, wrong teacher. Please let it be a mistake, I prayed.

  “Professor Chai has had to take a medical leave of absence, and I was asked to take over this class in her place,” Hoffman said. “And today we’ll begin by examining the limitations the Constitution imposes on governmental power.”