Testing Kate

by Whitney Gaskell

  Nick and I exchanged an incredulous look at this. I rolled my eyes, and Nick laughed. I smiled back, biting down on my lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress my amusement. But then Hoffman slapped down a stack of blue books on the table in front of Nick with a loud crack, and the smiles slid off both our faces.

  “Take one and pass them along, Mr. Crosby,” Hoffman said. “And from this point on, there will be no talking.”

  Nick grabbed a blue book and slid the pile toward me. As he did, he mouthed something that I thought might have been “Darth Vader,” confirmed a moment later when Nick breathed loudly in an unmistakable imitation of the Star Wars villain. A lame joke, yes, but I snorted with laughter and had to turn quickly to hand the stack of blue books behind me to Brian Chesney before Hoffman saw me. Brian’s face was the color of plain yogurt after it’s been left sitting out on the counter overnight—a sickly shade of green-tinged white—and he was breathing so quickly, he sounded like a panting dog.

  I turned back around, just in time to receive a copy of the exam, which Nick was passing over to me.

  CONSTITUTIONAL LAW FINAL EXAMINATION,

  PROFESSOR RICHARD HOFFMAN.

  THURSDAY, MAY 5

  9:00 A.M.–NOON

  Instructions

  1. This examination contains three questions. They are of equal weight.

  2. You are limited to a one-page outline for reference. Consulting any other materials will be considered an Honor Code violation.

  3. You should consider yourself honor-bound not to discuss this exam in any way with any of your classmates until after the entire examination period has ended. You should avoid remarks that may seem innocuous, such as assessments of the difficulty of the exam.

  4. If you are typing, begin your answer to each question on a new page.

  5. If you must write, do so legibly.

  6. Your complete set of answers should not exceed 3,500 words. That is 14 double-spaced, normalsized pica typewritten pages or the equivalent. Anyone who substantially exceeds the limit will be penalized.

  7. Write your student identification number clearly on the cover of your blue book. Do not write your name anywhere on the testing materials.

  How in the hell are we supposed to know if we’ve exceeded 3,500 words? I wondered. And what does he mean, If you must write? I glanced around the room. Most of the class had chosen to write, rather than peck away at one of the old-fashioned electric typewriters available in an upstairs room for those students who preferred to type. It wasn’t like he was about to let us take the test on laptops, not when we were so limited in the materials we could refer to.

  Hoffman is such an asshole, I thought, as I had so many times before. It had become my One-L mantra.

  “You may start your exams…now,” Hoffman barked, and I put the balding professor out of my thoughts as I folded back the instruction page and began to read the first exam question.

  I finished the exam only a few seconds before Hoffman called time, dropping my Uni-Ball down on the desk with a plastic clatter. It had been an exhausting three hours, and I shook out my hand, which was now cramping and sore from the nonstop writing. I looked up and saw that Hoffman’s pale eyes were resting on me.

  “Time,” he said, and his eyes flickered away as he stood up. “Mr. Berkus, if you continue to write, you will receive a failing grade.” Hoffman stood up and reached for an empty brown box sitting on the edge of his table. “Put your exam inside your blue book. When I walk by your seat, place them both in this box. You are to remain in your seats until all of the exams have been collected.”

  Hoffman started off at the first row, but on the other side of the room from where Nick and I were sitting. I glanced over at Nick. He looked exhausted. His skin was pale, and the circles under his eyes were as dark as bruises. In an odd way, it highlighted his eyes, making them look even more vividly blue than usual. Law-exam chic, I thought wryly. How to look good when studying wrings all of the life out of you.

  Hoffman walked slowly down the first row, holding the box out in front of him, and each student in turn dropped the exam into it. When he got to our table, he held the box up for Nick, but when it was my turn, Hoffman simply held out his hand, fingers outstretched, waiting for me to hand my blue book directly to him.

  I hesitated.

  “Is there a problem, Ms. Bennett?” Hoffman asked, his tone so icy, I knew that if I said or did anything other than hand him my exam, there would be a battle.

  “You said we’re supposed to put our blue books in the box. I’m just waiting for you to hold the box out,” I said.

  Hoffman didn’t move. He continued to stand there, waiting for me to hand my blue book directly to him. I could sense my classmates around me growing restless, stretching their arms out in front of them, wriggling against the hot material of the green task chairs. Everyone was eager to get out of the frigid lecture hall and into the muggy hot spring afternoon, to finally begin the summer break. I wondered if any of them saw what Hoffman was trying to do.

  “Ms. Bennett, do not try my patience,” Hoffman said quietly, biting out each word, and for some reason—perhaps a masochistic curiosity to see what would happen—I relented and placed my blue book in his hand.

  I knew it was a mistake as soon as I saw the look of triumph flash over Hoffman’s face. He even allowed himself a smile as he gazed coldly down at me. And then, very deliberately, still holding the blue book up so that I’d see him do it, he folded back a corner, dog-earing it before dropping it in the box. It all happened so quickly and was so stunningly brazen, all I could do was stare up at him.

  Did he just?.. Oh, my God…he actually flagged my exam book right in front of everyone…. He openly violated the Honor Code! Please tell me that someone saw what just happened….

  It all buzzed through my head in a whirling, spinning mass. And then, as Hoffman started to step away, one thought crystallized: Say something—anything—before he gets away with it.

  I opened my mouth, gaping like a fish, as I tried to speak. But before I could form the words, I heard a voice clearly say, “I saw that.”

  Both Hoffman and I turned, and I realized that it was Nick who had spoken. He was standing up, looking right at Professor Hoffman, his eyes dark with anger.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Crosby?” Hoffman asked.

  “I saw you bend back the corner of Kate’s blue book,” Nick said loudly, pointing to the box. His voice carried over the lecture hall. I could feel our classmates’ attention pique, the weight of their eyes shifting toward us.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hoffman said smoothly.

  “I think you do. And I can assure you, the administration will be hearing about it,” Nick said levelly.

  The two men stared at each other, and then Hoffman smiled silkily and moved on, brandishing the box before him.

  “As you wish, Mr. Crosby. Although I doubt anyone will be interested in listening to your outlandish accusations,” Hoffman said, turning away.

  “I think the search committee for the new dean will be interested,” Nick said.

  Hoffman’s back stiffened and he hesitated for a moment. Too far, Nick, I thought. But for once, Hoffman didn’t have a retort. Instead, he moved on, continuing to collect the exams. I looked at Nick, my eyes wide with worry, but he met my glance and shook his head once, warning me not to talk. Don’t give Hoffman an opportunity to accuse us of breaching the Honor Code, his face said, as surely as if he’d spoken the words aloud. I nodded and swallowed hard, not sure if I was trying to keep down tears or rage or just shock at Nick’s challenge.

  It seemed to take Hoffman forever to finish collecting the exams, and the lecture hall remained tensely quiet as he did. But finally the last blue book was in the box, and when Hoffman said, “You are now free to leave,” our first year of law school came to an end.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Most of my classmates were heading to Mid-City Lanes to drink and bowl, a tradition
having been formed at the end of the previous semester. Nick, however, went straight up to Teresa Sullivan’s office.

  “I have to talk to Sullivan right away, before Hoffman gets to her first,” he’d explained when I tried—and failed—to find the words to thank him, and he’d hurried out of the room, leaving me behind to scoop my exam debris into my backpack.

  Jen, trailed by Addison and Lexi, hustled over, keen to get the details on what had just transpired between Nick, Hoffman, and me.

  “Hey, tiger. Rough morning?” Addison asked.

  I smiled wanly at him.

  “What happened?” Jen asked, in a dramatic whisper that was just loud enough for the entire class to hear.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone. “Nothing new,” I said shortly.

  “Did Hoffman really mark your exam again?” she pestered. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that Hoffman had already left, perhaps racing Nick to Sullivan’s office.

  “Right in front of me,” I said, nodding.

  “What’s going to happen?” Lexi asked.

  I shook my head and shrugged. “For starters, I’m going to go home and take a nap,” I said.

  “No way. We’re all going out; you have to come with us,” Jen said.

  “Yeah, come out with us,” Addison chimed in.

  “Thanks, but I can’t,” I said, and lifted my knapsack to my shoulder.

  “Are you sure? Well…I’ll call you later,” Jen said.

  “Okay,” I said, and I walked past them and slowly ascended the stairs, behind the mob of students also departing. More than a few of them looked back at me before dropping their heads into whispered discussions, the subject of which wasn’t hard to figure out.

  “Kate, wait up, I’ll walk out with you,” Lexi said, and before I could refuse, she’d fallen into step with me.

  “How’s it going?” she asked, and when I looked at her, my eyebrows raised, she smiled ruefully. “Stupid question, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had better days.”

  We pushed out of the lecture hall and made our way through the clumps of chattering students clogging the halls as they called out to one another, “What did you put for number two?” and “Did you get the procedural due-process angle in question three?”

  “They’re just winding each other up,” Lexi groused.

  “It never ends. When I was coming in this morning, I heard a couple of Two-Ls bragging about how many hours they’d studied yesterday for whatever exam they had today. I’m surprised they didn’t just whip out rulers and measure their penises.”

  Lexi snorted with laughter. We walked around the corner, passing through another group of chattering students. I saw one of them—Jasmine West, the Sweaty Girl—point at me. She tossed her long, heavy hair over her shoulder and whispered in the ear of her friend and fellow gossipmonger, Angie Russo.

  “I seem to have caused a stir,” I remarked.

  “Don’t mind them. They act like teenagers. Immature ones, at that,” Lexi said. “And law school is just a high school do-over for them.”

  “I’m starting to think that’s human nature. It’s like we just get older, not more mature.”

  Lexi and I walked out to the back courtyard. Many of the die-hard smokers had beaten us outside and were huddled over to keep their lighters from blowing out as they lit up. I stopped, looking at a tall, very ugly sculpture just to the left outside the door. It was sea green and looked like a stack of giant Tinkertoys.

  “Has that been there this whole time?” I asked. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

  Lexi laughed. “Are you serious? How could you have never noticed something this big and this ugly? Especially after all the time we’ve spent sitting out here.”

  “I have no idea how I could have missed it,” I said.

  “So…,” Lexi said, and then hesitated in a way that made me want to brace for impact. After the exam and my run-in with Hoffman, I was running a bit low on emotional reserves and nowhere near in the mood to have a big scene with Lexi. But instead, she just said, “Do you want to get something to eat? We could go over to the student union.”

  “Now?” I asked. “But aren’t you going to the Rock ’n’ Bowl with the others?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m meeting Ian—he’s my new boyfriend. I don’t feel like sitting in a smoky bar until then,” she said.

  “Lunch—” I said, and just then my stomach gave a great rumble and I realized I was ravenous. I’d been existing on little more than sugar and caffeine since finals began. “Lunch sounds good. But on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” Now Lexi looked a little nervous, as she pushed a swath of glossy dark hair away from her face.

  “That under absolutely no circumstances are we to talk about anything serious. I don’t have it in me,” I said.

  Lexi laughed. “It’s a deal.”

  We had a leisurely lunch of greasy pizza and limp salads. True to her word, Lexi steered clear of heavy conversation, including Nick, Hoffman, Dana, and finals. Instead, Lexi told me about her new boyfriend, a Two-L whose name I didn’t recognize, although Lexi assured me that I’d know him if I saw him.

  “He’s gorgeous,” she declared. “The hottest guy in the school, by far. He’s Swedish, and has blond hair and green eyes. Seriously, he could be a model. And he has the sexiest accent.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him,” I said.

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t be able to miss him,” Lexi said dreamily, while she picked at the label on her bottle of beer. “And he’s so sweet, and so thoughtful. He’s like the anti-Jacob.”

  “I’m happy for you, Lex,” I said, and I was surprised to realize that I really meant it.

  After lunch, she walked me back over to the law school. “Are you going to be around this summer?” Lexi asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, I’ll be here. I’m interning at the district attorney’s office,” she explained. “So give me a call if you get a chance.”

  “I will. Bye, Lex,” I said.

  “Bye,” she said, and then she darted forward like a bird and hugged me. I squeezed her back briefly.

  And after I watched her walk away, her fashionable leather knapsack slung over her shoulder, I turned into the law school and went to find Assistant Dean Teresa Sullivan.

  The reception area for the administrative offices was empty, and the gatekeeper nowhere in sight, so I walked straight through and rapped on Sullivan’s door.

  “Come in,” she called out. I opened the door and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  Hoffman was sitting there, in the same visitor’s chair I’d occupied on my earlier visits. Sullivan sat across from him, her large cherry desk between them. She was wearing a jade green silk suit jacket that brought out the hazel in her eyes. Peeking out from under her desk were a pair of gorgeous alligator brown pumps.

  I have to find out where she buys her shoes, I thought.

  “Ms. Bennett. Extraordinary timing,” Dean Sullivan said.

  I thought she might have been joking, but then I saw her expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed down over her eyes, and her lips were tightly pursed. A red stain covered her chest and neck, creeping up to her cheekbones.

  “I can come back later,” I offered.

  “Please come in and sit down,” Teresa Sullivan said.

  I stepped into the office, shutting the door behind me with a final click, and sat in the chair next to Hoffman’s. He was so close that, when I glanced over, I could see three moles on his left wrist, nestled under dark arm hair.

  “Ms. Bennett, one of your classmates has made an allegation that Professor Hoffman breached the Honor Code at the conclusion of your Constitutional Law examination this morning,” she said. “Specifically that Professor Hoffman marked your blue book by folding a corner down. As you are no doubt aware, all testing at the Law School is strictly anonymous so that a professor�
��s favor or disfavor will never affect a student’s grade. If such an allegation was true, this would be a very serious matter.” Sullivan glanced at me, and I nodded, letting her know I understood. She continued.

  “I’ve asked Professor Hoffman to come in this afternoon to discuss the matter.”

  “And, as I’ve told you, this accusation is ridiculous,” Hoffman butted in. His tone was as snide as ever, but I thought that I could detect just the slightest whine of concern at the edges.

  “Ms. Bennett here,” he continued, spitting out my name as though it had an unpleasant taste, “has had a chip on her shoulder all semester. In fact, she’s had trouble controlling her emotions and her mouth all year, which, as you may remember, led to her being removed from my class.”

  This wasn’t even why I’d come to Sullivan’s office; the last thing I wanted to deal with was yet another face-off with Professor Satan. But as he spoke, I could feel my exhaustion falling away, and a flickering white fury began to burn in its place.

  “Ms. Bennett, do you have anything to add?” Dean Sullivan asked me.

  I looked at her, and she raised her eyebrows, waiting for my response.

  “It’s true. He folded back the corner of my blue book. The same way you do with a library book, only he bent back all of the pages,” I said.

  Hoffman snorted with derision. “That’s a lie,” he said flatly. “There’s no proof, and if it comes down to her word against mine, I’d hope mine would carry a bit more weight. I’ve been teaching at this school for twenty years, Teresa.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him. Hoffman stared at Sullivan, his light gray eyes challenging her.

  “Actually…there is proof,” Sullivan said slowly. She opened an innocuous-looking manila folder sitting on the middle of her desk and withdrew a blue book from it.