I open my phone and pull open my notes app then hand my phone to Miranda, who lets out an excited chirp. Will stands up and comes around the side of the bed, leaning over our heads to get a look at the list too. “This is good,” Miranda says matter of factly handing my phone back to me. “We’ll obviously help you with what we can,” she says, looking at Will.
“Let me see the list again?” Will says, holding his hand out toward me. I deposit my phone in his hand and he brings the phone closer to his face. I watch his expression as his eyes dart over the screen several times. He doesn’t say anything, making me feel nervous and self conscious.
“It’s a stupid idea,” I start to say.
He shakes his head, “No. It's not. I think it's good. I already said that I agree with Miranda on this one, you need to get out of your comfort zone again.”
My old fashioned kitchen alarm bell goes off, alerting us to the cookies being done, and Will zooms over to the oven. He never took off my apron but dons the mitts and pulls the tray out. “How long until I can eat them?”
“Maybe five minutes?” I say.
I don’t know why he asked because he rips a mitt off and tries to take a cookie off the baking tray with his bare hands, “Fuck, fuck, fuck” he says, bouncing a molten cookie between his hands, then shoving it into his mouth.
“Everyone shut up, it's starting!” Miranda announces, turning the volume on the TV up and setting herself under theblankets. I grab Miranda and I each a cookie off the hot tray and place them on a plate, bringing them over to my bed to eat after they’ve cooled a little. I get under the blankets and try not to think about Will’s reaction, or lack of reaction to my list and what that means.
SEPTEMBER
Chapter Six
Kennedy
My heels click on the sidewalk up to the courthouse, a sound that makes me feel extremely powerful. And extremely excited. Today, I get to watch Sandra Fray, a partner at the firm I intern for and bad ass extraordinaire, do her magic in court.
I’ve only been allowed to come to court and watch two other times, and neither of those times did I get to watch The Fray in action. Sandra Fray is legendary. She’s ruthless in the best way, knows the law better than anyone, and can craft a closing statement like no other. Getting to witness Sandra Fray at work is a gift, getting to see her cross examine witnesses and present evidence is better than any birthday I’ve ever had, and it’s not even my birthday. I can not wait for this.
I pass through security and make my way to the courtroom I’ll be in today. I skirt my way to the front and take a seat in the second row of the gallery near the walkway. My only job today is to take notes, observe the proceedings, and learn. All things I am very comfortable with and excel at. I have my notebook and pens in my bag–a bruno, black leather, creaturesof the future, Min and Mon bag Miranda and Will got me after I was offered my internship at Fray and Wilkman–and pull them out onto my lap.
Sandra is already behind the partition with some other attorneys talking. She’s also the only woman behind the partition today besides the plaintiff, making her even more of a badass extraordinaire in my mind. Sandra is a personal hero of mine. She practices family law, with a speciality in women. Some people fangirl over singers or celebrities, I fangirl over Sandra Fray. It was a stroke of pure luck that my lawyer for the Carter situation happens to be a close personal friend of Sandra’s, and put in a good word for me. Getting offered the internship here might be in the top five best moments of my life. And it definitely helps with the law school applications.
Sandra commands the courtroom with her burgundy power suit, matching lipstick, and black leather stilettos. With my notebook in my lap I write down the details of her outfit so I can look it up later. I already know it’s going to be way out of my price range, but not only is she my personal hero, she is a courtroom fashion icon. I can only hope that one day I’m able to amass one tenth of her closet.
Sandra sits down next to a man in a suit, indicating we’re about to get started. I flip to a new page in my notebook and label the header with the date and the name of this case. I'm excited to see her work, excited to be in the courtroom, and excited to see how this case will go. The firm is working on a very messy divorce case in which the plaintiff's husband forced her to quit her job after pressuring her to have a baby. Scumbag. Usually these kinds of cases are settled outside of court, but the shitty husband refuses to agree to any terms and there was no pre-nup.
Despite having a lot of evidence in our favor, the judge on this case is known for being inconsistent.
I helped research for this case, finding, reading, synthesizing, and analyzing similar cases and their outcomes. There is one case in particular that I think will help craft the argument. That case had a judge similar to ours for this trial, so I’m more hopeful than worried.
After about 30 minutes of Sandra questioning the defendant, the shitty, soon to be ex-husband, my phone vibrates in my bag with a text notification and I pretend not to notice. While it's technically not illegal to have a phone in the courtroom, using it for things other than emergencies is definitely frowned upon and considered distasteful. It's probably just Miranda texting me a meme or a link to a funny video. I’m an only child and my parents are in their late fifties, so a small part of me is worried it might be something serious, but the logical part of me knows if it was, I’d be getting a call right about now too.
As if on queue, my phone starts continuously vibrating, sounding a buzz throughout the gallery. In a hurry I stuff my notebook back in my bag, quietly sort myself, and step into the hall. I dig through my purse until I can pull my phone out toWillcalling. What the hell? Will doesn’t call me.
“Is Miranda okay?”
“What?”
“What’s wrong? Who's hurt?” I can feel the panic in my voice as I say it.
“Nothing. Miranda’s fine. Everyone’s fine. I was just calling to ask how your LSAT went. You should have your scores back now right? It's been, what, three and a half weeks?”
“Oh. It went really well. I got a 169.”
“Congratulations,” he says almost like a question. “That’s a good score I'm assuming?”
“Yeah, it's a really good score for my first official LSAT.” My stomach is doing a weird swooping thing. Will is calling toask about my LSAT? Will’s a good friend, one of my closest, maybe even my best friend on some levels, but Will and I don’t call and talk to each other on the phone about our life like this.
“Does that score mean you don’t need to take it again?”
“No. But I’m taking it again in October, anyway. I want to get a 172 at least. I’m sorry, but is there something you need? I can’t really talk right now. I’m at court. Can I call you back later?”
