“You bastard,” he groans, clutching his crotch with both hands.
“You’re the bastard,” I say, holding my throat.
“You are!”
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Mrs. Bailey yells, startling us both. “Stop acting like animals before I knock your bloody heads together! Pierce, stay out of your brother’s business. If he wants to feck up his life, just leave him to it.” Turning to me, she says, “And you, stop fecking up your life, you moron. You’re so much better than this, now act like it!”
She spins on her orthopedic heel and stalks out of the room before turning back to us. Pointing at me, she says in a thoroughly pleasant voice, “You should be a teacher though, dear. You’d be quite excellent at relating to the young people. Patient, too.”
CHAPTER 33
Bar Exams Should Be Written at a Bar
Bree –One Month Later
I’m in the storm before the calm. I hope. With exactly one week until my exams start, and ten days until my sister’s wedding, I cannot remember a time when I’ve been this tired or stressed. Well, tired, maybe. It wasn’t exactly smooth sailing when Isabelle was a colicky newborn who cried nonstop for three months. Actually, that was awfully stressful as well, now that I think about it, but I digress.
The point is, the past few days have been shite. Seriously. Between working, studying, and mumming, I’m only sleeping two hours per night. Then my eyes spring open due to a steady supply of adrenaline.
Work has been total bollocks because the bloody computer system goes down at least three times per day, and we no longer have a certain bellboy around to smooth it all over and whip up impromptu parties at will. Not that I want you to think I miss himat all, because I don’t. In fact, life has been so much better since he packed up and went back to Avonia, or maybe off to the French Riviera, or wherever rich people go when they’re bored. I’m sure his mummy is floating him some cash until he finds a way to smooth things over with his father. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is he’s gone, so I can get back to my regularly scheduled program of goals, aspirations, and responsible adulting without any stupidly handsome distractions around.
Urgh. I just realized it sounds like I’m obsessing over Leo, but I assure you, I’m not. In fact, I barely think about him at all. Just when I look out my kitchen window and see the empty garden suite. Or when the computers go down. Or when someone needs their bags loaded onto a cart and Leo’s not there.
In his place is a very dull new hire named Sidney, whose mouth never fully shuts. Seriously, not even once in the past month. He just stands there in his uniform, breathing loudly and staring off into space. I can just imagine the fun Leo and I would have had talking about him on the ride home after our shift. Leo definitely would have come up with some brilliant nickname for him, like Mouth Breathing Sidney or Sidney Dry Tongue, or… Well, something much better than either of those examples, because funny nicknames were more his thing than mine. Not that we hadthingstogether. I just appreciated his sense of humour. So what? Let’s not make a big thing of it.
Sidney doesn’t even have one drop of wit in his entire lanky body, so there’s absolutely no point in trying to strike up a conversation with him. Believe me, efforts have been made in this regard, but there is literally nothing going on in his brain. He’s good at nodding, following orders, and mouth breathing. He’s definitely not the type to exchange glances with when a rude, high-maintenance guest walks into the lobby. Not that I need someone to exchange glances with. In fact, it’s better not to have someone like that. Yes, this is definitely better. I can focus so much better on my job this way. Studying too. And my family.
Speaking of family, I haven’t seen my sister—or her fiancé and her lovely friends, for that matter—since I was made to leave the hen’s weekend early. Whenever I think about facing them at the rehearsal, I break out in a cold sweat. The entire Hammer family probably hates me by now, which is going to make for a super awkward weekend. They’ll be whispering to each other, “There’s that awful sister of Amber’s who said Dane is a loser. As ifshe’ssuch a catch.” Or something else equally mean. Not that I don’t deserve it.
Part of me is hoping that Amber or Dane will text me not to bother coming to the wedding. That would be both awful and a huge relief at the same time. To be honest, I’ve spent way longer than would be considered healthy trying to invent a reasonable excuse not to go. I’ve even fantasized about breaking my legs so I’m in traction for several months. That sounds better to me than showing my face at that wedding. If I could think of an excuse that wouldn’t end in a lifetime of my mum shaking her head andtskingat me, I’d actually skip the entire thing—nuptials and all, mail a gift to them and spend the entire weekend holed up in my bedroom.
But that’s really not an option, is it? Stupid adulting.
If Leo hadn’t abandoned ship, I’d at least have a date for the wedding. A handsome, charming, sexy date. But he did leave. And he’s gone forever. FOREVER. Which is exactly why I’ve forgotten all about him. Which is excellent, because I really need to get back to studying. My dinner break is almost over.
***
One Week Later
“Welcome to the first of your three Caribbean Multi-Island Bar Exams. Over the next two days, you’ll be subjected to twelve hours of rigorous testing to see if you’ve got what it takes to call yourself a barrister. Make no mistake, these exams are designed to crush you, so if you are ill-prepared, you might as well give up now.” Our examiner, a woman in her early sixties with a tight bun and black-rimmed glasses, stands at the front of the room staring at the forty sweaty candidates as though she can tell who’s going to make it and who won’t.
If my shaking hands and light-headedness are any indication, I’m fudge brownied. Aunt Dolores, who walked me to my car twenty minutes ago comes to mind. “You got this, Bree. You’ve studied more than anyone in the history of school, you’re whip-smart, and you’re meant to be a lawyer. Now, go meet your destiny.”Oh, God, I hope she’s right.
“The first exam is the Caribbean Bar Multi-island Performance Test. You will have three hours to complete it. Each of you will be given a file and a library with the relevant facts and case law to answer the questions your clients will have. You’ll need to work quickly in order to read all of the facts and case law pertaining to your client’s situation, then draft your advice in either a memo or email. These packets contain everything you need. As long as you are sufficiently prepared and you use your time wisely, you should get through this morning’s tasks. Remember, just like in real life, grammar and spelling count.”
The sound of the ticking clock distracts me, and I realize my mouth has suddenly gone dry. I should have brought a water bottle. She’s still talking. I should really be listening.
“After this exam, you will have a one-hour lunch break, then you will come back to this room to write the essay exam, which consists of six essay questions. Tomorrow, you will have another six hours of testing. Two hundred multiple choice questions on a wide range of topics. Then comes the most nerve-racking part of the process—waiting for results. Please note, it really does take six to eight weeks to mark the exams, even if you call daily to ask for your results. So don’t call or email or show up at the head office with cupcakes or fruit trays or cheese plates. We’ve got your mailing addresses, so you’ll be notified as soon as possible. So I repeat, do not contact us.”
She glances around the room with a stern expression. “I will pass out your first packets right now. Donotopen them until I have started the stopwatch. Good luck, and I hope to see you all practising law very soon.”
God, these lights are bright. They’re hurting my eyes. Am I sweating? Yes, my palms are damp. Dear Lord! How am I going to hold my pen with sweaty hands? Okay, breathe, Brianna. Calm down. Channel your inner Amal Clooney. Be amazing. Or at the very least, don’t fart this up.
CHAPTER 34
Lousy Roommates, Mystery Sticky Substances, and Other Wonderful Things
Leo
