by Minot, Diana
“Hey,” Whitney said, her voice a whisper. “Are you ready for today?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Lincoln whispered back, pointing to his laptop screen. “I made detailed briefs of all the cases in the assigned reading.”
“Holy shit!” Whitney said loudly, forgetting to whisper as she took in Lincoln’s exhaustive notes. Several of the other students in the room glared at her, annoyed by her loud outburst. “Jeez, it’s not a freaking library,” she said to Lincoln, whispering again. “How long did it take you to make all those notes?”
“Long enough,” Lincoln said, evading the question. “I just wanted to make sure I was well prepared. I want to do research with Professor Neals next summer, but he only takes on one research assistant at a time, and everyone wants the spot.” Lincoln explained this with a certain impatience, as if his motives should be painfully obvious to her. “I want to make a good first impression.”
“Is that why you’re wearing a suit?”
“It will make me stand out from the rest of the chaff. People might dress up for the first few days, but after that you’re going to see a lot of old jeans and hoodies around here.”
“I can’t believe you just used the word chaff,” Whitney said. Lincoln gave her a look of pity and went back to reviewing his notes. Whitney gave him a look of pity for wearing a suit, even though he was not paying attention to her anymore. Whitney was wearing her best jeans and a fitted navy v-neck tee. Her hair was in a neat bun and she was wearing cubic zirconium studs in her ears. (She had once told Rachel that when she could afford real diamond stud earrings, she would know she had made it). She didn’t exactly look like she had just rolled out of bed, but she had moved past the “first impression” outfit worries. Her entire weekend had been spent worrying about decoding the novel’s worth of legalese Professor Neals expected them to have read for the first day of class. Apparently, not as much time as Lincoln, who had practically written his own study guide and still had time to worry about wearing a suit. Whitney sighed and started reviewing her own meager notes. Her travel mug of coffee was already empty, and she definitely needed more caffeine.
“Hey, Kid,” Alex said as he plopped down next to Whitney, breaking her weak attempt at studying.
“We’re the same age, and you’re referring to me as ‘kid’?” They had established at the bar on Friday night that they were both twenty-six years old. This seemed to be the age of most of the students here, and Whitney briefly wondered how old Ben was, then reminded herself that she was not wasting time on pointless crushes. Right.
Alex waved his hand at her as if to brush off her ridiculous observation. He took on an official, gruff sounding tone, and said, “I am obviously wiser, and therefore I get to call you ‘kid’.” A student a few rows below them turned and shushed Alex. “My dear sir, this is not a library,” Alex said grandly, not changing his tone at all. Whitney giggled, earning herself a glare from the same student.
“I was thinking the same thing earlier!” She said, lowering her voice to a whisper again. Alex pulled out a notebook and pen, then took a huge swig from his Venti Starbucks cup.
“You’re not using a laptop?” Whitney was a bit incredulous.
“Nope. Way too distracting. I’d spend all my time Facebook stalking and flunk out of law school.”
“How are you going to keep up?”
“I made it through undergrad without taking notes on a laptop. I’m sure I’ll somehow manage law school as well.”
Whitney shook her head in confusion. Sitting between Lincoln and Alex was basically like sitting between the two extremes of law school crazy.
Before Whitney could say anything else to Alex, Professor Jeffrey Neals entered the room. You could have heard a pin drop as even the whispering ceased. Whitney glanced at her dinged up Fossil watch, a gift from Rachel that she could not bear to part with even though it was several years old and had seen better days. 8:55 a.m.
For the next five minutes, the remaining students in the class slowly trickled in, silently filling up the few seats still available in the large room. Jaime arrived at 8:57, her flip-flops clapping loudly as she walked up the steps and took the last seat in the back row, next to Alex. Ben arrived at 8:58, taking a seat in a middle row next to Kate and Crystal when they waved him over. Whitney did her best not to flinch. He looked even better in the jeans and button-down shirt he was wearing today than he had on Friday in his khakis and polo ensemble.
“Where’s Elise?” Lincoln whispered to Whitney as quietly as possible, glancing nervously at the digital clock in the back of the room. The clock counted to the second, and was now ticking past 8:59:30.
“I don’t know. But I hope she’s not going to walk in here if she’s late. Especially on the first day! Surely she knows better?”
A few seconds later, Elise burst into the room, glanced at the digital clock and breathed a loud sigh of relief. She then took the only remaining seat in the room—dead center on the front row. Although her cheeks were a bit flushed and she had obviously been running, Elise looked spectacular. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun just like at orientation, and she was wearing a beautiful orange and navy tunic over dark skinny jeans. She looked effortlessly put together. Professor Neals, not impressed with Elise’s chic outfit, glared at her, waited ten more seconds until the digital clock officially read 9:00, and then began the first class of the year.
“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Torts. More importantly, welcome to the beginning of your legal career. The fact that you are now studying at this fine institution shows that you have already achieved great success and have great talent. I expect that when you come to class each day, you will have prepared at a level proportionate to that talent. If you choose not to do the reading assigned for a particular class, I suggest you choose not to attend that class. I do not appreciate students being lazy and ill-prepared.”
Professor Neals paused and scanned the room for dramatic emphasis. Whitney glanced over at Lincoln, who was furiously typing. She had thought that law students who literally typed out every word a professor said were just an urban legend. The furious clickity-clacking of his keyboard was a grating sound in the otherwise quiet room.
“The seat you have chosen today will be your assigned seat for the rest of the semester. My office hours are Mondays and Wednesdays from 2-3 p.m. If my office door is open at any other time, you are also welcome to stop in and ask questions then. However, please think about your question carefully before asking it. Office hours are for legitimate questions, not for lazy students who do not want to think about and process the reading material on their own.”
Jeez, thought Whitney. Way to make me not want to ask a question, ever. Maybe that was the point?
“Now, without further adieu, let’s begin. Ms. Young, I’d like to start with you. Could you please tell me what the court’s holding was in Brown v. Kendall, and explain why it was right or wrong.”
Even from her limited vantage point in the back corner of the room, Whitney could see Elise’s face go pale. Wait, he had not even asked for Elise’s name! How did he know it? He could not possibly have…Whitney grabbed Alex’s pen and wrote across the top of his notebook page, How did he know her name without asking?
Alex smiled wryly and took his pen back. He memorizes all of our names/faces before class, using our admissions application photos. Whitney shook her head in amazement. Another supposed urban legend about law school that was true. When Whitney had first received her admittance letter to Northwestern, Rachel insisted that Whitney read The Paper Chase, a novel about an intimidating Harvard Law Professor. Whitney refused, telling Rachel that the novel was likely over-dramatized, and, besides, she wasn’t changing her mind. There was no point in freaking herself out with scary stories. Rachel then turned to Google to help her make a list of the craziness Whitney would encounter at law school. Whitney had laughed it all off, but maybe Rachel had been on to something.
The next forty-five minutes of class c
onsisted of Professor Neals reducing Elise to a blabbering mess. To her credit, she did not cry. Whitney was pretty sure she would have. It was clear that Elise had carefully read the case and knew the details, but no matter how she answered Professor Neals, he ridiculed her answers. He would ask her the same question over and over, and although he found each new answer she gave equally unsatisfactory, he gave no clues as to what answer he might actually consider correct. Whitney watched in awe, her laptop screen remaining as blank as Alex’s notebook. It was hard to take notes when you had no idea what answer the Professor wanted. Lincoln, of course, continued to type furiously. Whitney regretted sitting next to him this morning. Now she was stuck by him and his fanatic typing for the rest of the semester.
After forty-five minutes had passed, Professor Neals took a long pause following one of Elise’s answers. The room was completely silent, as even Lincoln’s typing ended. Professor Neals looked around the room in a long-suffering manner, as though this morning had quite literally been the most trying morning of his life. “Does anyone else think they could help Ms. Young decipher this hopelessly complex case?” The sarcasm dripping in his voice was so heavy that Whitney almost expected it to physically appear as little rivers running out of his mouth. The room remained silent. “Anyone?” Whitney was sitting on her hands, desperately praying that she would not be Professor Neals’ next victim, when she saw Lincoln raise his hand slowly. Was he crazy?
“Ah, Mr. Reed, shall we continue, then?” Professor Neals said, without, of course, asking Lincoln for his name. What followed over the next ten minutes was the most incredible mental sparring match Whitney had ever witnessed. Professor Neals mocked Lincoln’s replies, but Lincoln reframed his answers quickly without missing a beat or appearing intimidated. As class came to an end, Professor Neals complimented Lincoln. “Excellent work, Mr. Reed. Ms. Young, I advise you to learn from Mr. Reed’s performance and try harder next time.” Whitney realized her lower jaw was hanging open when Alex reached over and gently pushed it shut.
“Show’s over, Kid,” he said, amused. His notebook was still as blank as her laptop screen. Whitney just shook her head as she started packing up her things.
“What the heck just happened? Was that some kind of mental masturbation or something? I don’t understand half of what he said.” Whitney was not sure if she was directing this question to Alex or Lincoln. They both just shrugged.
“Poor Elise,” Jamie said. Whitney had to agree. That was a pretty rough first day. They caught up with Elise as they left the classroom. She was standing by the door waiting for them, looking a little shell shocked.
“Oh my god, guys! That was brutal! And Lincoln, what the heck! Way to be a total gunner and throw me under the bus.” Lincoln looked sheepish, but Whitney knew he had no regrets and was proud of himself for impressing Professor Neals. As they stood by the door, Ben walked out, followed by Kate and Crystal. Ben smiled at Whitney and she felt her stomach do a delightful little somersault.
“Hey, guys. Man, Elise, sorry about that. Don’t worry, though. He does that to everyone, I’m told,” Ben said.
Kate snorted. “Yeah, right. Everyone except Lincoln.” Whitney looked at Lincoln, expecting him to say something to brush off Kate’s rude comments to Elise. He was too busy staring at her boobs, which were slightly overflowing from her tight tank top. Even the smartest men can go dumb around a good pair of boobs, thought Whitney, and stealthily looked to see whether Ben was also checking out Kate’s boobs. But Ben had turned his attention to his phone, which was buzzing. He stepped away from the group to take the incoming call, and Kate continued demeaning Elise. “Seriously, did you not pay attention when everyone said Professor Neals was tough? You have to do more than just skim the cases!”
“Give it a rest, Kate,” Alex said. “I didn’t see you volunteering to help, either.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Please. There was no saving that mess.” She turned and flounced away, and Crystal, who had been staring intently at her fingernails the entire time, smiled apologetically at the group and then followed Kate.
“What a bitch,” Jamie said.
“Yeah, I guess we know who to watch our backs around this year,” Elise said, not taking her eyes off of Lincoln.
Chapter Six
The rest of the week passed by in a blur. Whitney’s other professors seemed mild compared to Professor Neals. Her favorite so far was Professor Isaac Chaplin, who taught Civil Procedure, seemed to have real office hours, and did not insist on assigned seating in his classroom. Even though Whitney knew that the majority of people would sit in the same seat all year anyways, she hated the thought of assigned seating. It made her feel like a child in grade school.
Late Friday afternoon, Whitney made her way up to the library, her casebooks in tow. The whole place was deserted. Elise had tried to convince her to go out tonight, but Whitney was exhausted from the week and already felt behind on everything. Besides, whenever anyone said they should “go out”, all Whitney could see were the dollar signs on the price lists at the bar. She was too tired right now to deal with the stress of figuring out how to order drinks within her budget. Elise was not easy to put off, but finally gave it a rest when Whitney agreed to go to brunch with Jamie and Elise on Sunday. Elise insisted they must “brunch”, because that’s what all fashionable ladies do. Jamie responded that if you use brunch as a verb, you are trying too hard. Whitney tended to agree with Jamie, but she did love brunch. Or brunching. Or, really, just eating a ton of food in the morning. Whatever you wanted to call it. And she could get away with just drinking coffee and not alcohol at brunch, which made it much cheaper than a night at a bar.
Whitney took the elevator to the top floor of the library and found a spot next to the massive windows overlooking Lake Michigan. It was exceptionally warm for September, and the lake was littered with boaters eager to take advantage of the last breaths of good weather before Chicago’s winter made its presence felt. Whitney left her books unopened for a few minutes, watching the boaters and feeling jealous of their carefree lives. In her mind, none of them had problems or overwhelming responsibilities. They all had perfect jobs that allowed them ample time and money to float along the lake, soaking in the sunshine. She imagined herself joining them in a cute, frilly sundress, holding a cold beer and watching the sun fade away behind the city’s skyline.
“Is this seat taken?”
Whitney snapped out of her daydream and looked up at the voice, hoping she had not been making weird faces as her imagination ran wild. Oh god, it was Ben, standing right next to her and looking amazing in his jeans and casual black t-shirt. His hair had its usual slightly mussed up look that she had been secretly admiring all week.
“Oh, hey! No, it’s all yours. Sit down. What are you doing here? It’s Friday night!”
“Said the pot to the kettle,” Ben said.
“Touché,” Whitney said. She did not bother to point out that Ben was sexy, smart, and funny, and she was awkward and boring. Surely, he had better things to do on a Friday night. Well, okay, she did not actually know if he was funny, since she had not had much of a chance to talk to him yet. But she imagined he was. “I’m just feeling a little bit like I need to play catch-up after this week. Which is funny because I tried so hard to be prepared.”
“I hear you,” Ben said. “Professor Neals is terrifying.”
“Yeah,” Whitney said. “Kate was kind of mean to Elise after that first class, don’t you think?” Whitney was testing the waters. She wanted to know if Ben seemed defensive of Kate. After watching Kate this week, it was obvious that she was interested in Ben. Kate tried to sit by him in every class and was always “casually” tagging along wherever he went, nodding enthusiastically at everything he said even if it was just a comment about how weak the coffee at the school’s on-site café was. Not that Whitney did not want to do the same thing. But she refused to be so embarrassingly obvious about it.
Ben shrugged. “She’s probably just gl
ad it wasn’t her.” Whitney was not sure how to interpret that statement, and decided to just let it go. She tried to think of something else to say. She could ask more questions about schoolwork, but there were so many other things she would rather discuss with him.
“So, you’re Alex’s roommate, right?” Whitney decided this was a safe place to start.
“Yeah, I met him last spring, and we hit it off. I’m a little embarrassed to admit this but I’ve never lived on my own, and I was nervous to start now. After college I worked in L.A. for a while, and everyone had a roommate. It was easier, you know, always having someone down to hang out…” Ben trailed off, seeming unsure of what else to say. Whitney thought that if not wanting to give up the roommate thing was the only reason he had to be embarrassed, then he was not doing too badly.
“I thought you said you were from San Francisco?”
“Yeah, I grew up in the Bay Area, and I went to Stanford for undergrad. But then I worked in L.A. for a few years. In finance.”
There it was. Stanford. Of course he had gone to an Ivy League school. His job had probably been amazing, too—something you would actually want on your résumé when you started interviewing with law firms. Whitney was getting tired of hearing the same story with slightly varying details: Ivy League school, kick-ass job, parents bankrolling some or all of law school. It was all anyone had talked about this week, and it was getting old. She knew Ben was about to ask her for details of her own background, and she did not want to talk about it. Not only because she was embarrassed at her lack of accomplishments compared to him and everyone else in this group of overachieving Type As, but also because she was getting downright bored with the subject.