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Jonah
“I didn’t realize we came up here for a fucking safari,” Elliott observes from the top of the riverbank, almost out of sight behind a tangled mass of alders.
I slip on a patch of molding leaves and grab a branch just in time to keep from sliding into the creek. The water wouldn’t reach my waist, but I’d rather not wander around soaking wet in the middle of October. “If I find a fox or a beaver, you’ll be jealous.”
“You could find the baby Jesus himself down there and I wouldn’t care. Sophie is going tokillyou when she sees your clothes, dude.”
Twisting around, I get a look at the wide stripe of mud that runs from my ass all the way up the back of the dress shirt Sophie picked out for me last weekend. “Shit.”
“Get your dirty butt and your stupid binoculars back up here, Crocodile Hunter.”
I choose my next foothold more carefully and clamber down the overhanging strip of bank where I spotted the animal den. A breeze teases at my hair, rippling through miles and miles of red and orange and yellow trees all around us, saturated against the pale slate sky. It’s so peaceful, aside from Elliott’s nagging.
“It’s almost four fifteen,” he gripes.
“So?” My shirt’s already ruined, so I lie down on my stomach and crawl to the edge of the bank.
“Professor A told us the opening session would start at four.”
“We’re on a class retreat, Elliott. The schedule doesn’t mean anything. He’s probably still in the kitchen trying to make coffee.” The den looks abandoned, except for a small, intact animal skull. Hooking one leg around a stump, I hang upside down and swipe it.
“I’m gonna ask Avery if he has the keys to the kayak shed,” I comment as I sit up and let the blood rush out of my head. “We can go out in the morning.” Elliott knows me well enough not to bother asking whether I can paddle a kayak with one hand.
He sounds truly fed up now. “Do youwantSophie to date you, or is that less interesting than a stupid molehill or whatever the hell you found?”
“It might be a mole, I guess.” I turn the skull over in my hand, examining it. “I think it’s too big.”
“You don’t deserve that girl.”
“I know.”
Sticking it carefully in the pocket of my cargo shorts, I climb back up the bank. When my roommate sees me, he just massages the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry.” I really mean it. I always do, once the adrenaline wears off. “I’ll go change real quick.”
He grabs my wrist before I can jog in the direction of the bunkhouse where my first-year law class is sleeping for the weekend. We’re pretty sure that Professor A didn’t intentionally book a shitty, off-season summer camp when he opted for the cheapest possible “retreat center” in upstate New York, but with him you never know.
“There’s no time. You’d better hope your nasty squirrel head is cool enough to make up for the state of you.”
“It’s way too big for a squirrel.” I take it out and try to show it to him, but he just drags me through the woods until the main building appears between dappled tree trunks.
“Who do you think the special guest is going to be?” Elliott asks, falling back to walk next to me. “He’s been gushing about them for weeks.”
“Probably his wife. I’m not sure he can function away from her for an entire weekend.”
He snorts. “No, he said they were going to run our mocks.”
At the mention of mock interviews, I feel very aware of the mud smeared down my arms, the dumb animal skull clutched in my palm, the scrape on my knee. I look like a misbehaving ten-year-old instead of a 1L who turned twenty-four last month. If Sophie sees me like this, we’ll be over before we’ve even started.
Professor Avery’s mock interviews are the most famous part of the first-year experience at B.H. Tyler School of Law. They’re just fake interviews to help us prepare for internships next summer, but they’re worth seventy percent of our grade. Avery also helps the top students network with prestigious law firms. He brings us on a retreat to make the experience more exciting, but I know everyone’s just going to study the whole time like we’re holed up in our apartments.
“Go ahead,” I tell Elliott as we come to the corner of the building. “I’m going to sneak to the bathroom and wash up.”
He eyes me up and down. “Good luck with that.” When I brush a hand through my hair, I feel the crunch of dried mud.
My heart drops when we reach the front lawn and discover the nine other members of our class spread out on the grass. “I’d like to introduce our extremely experienced, brilliant, and successful guest,” Avery lectures, pacing back and forth in bare feet like some kind of cult leader. Sophie, perfectly poised in business casual, shoots me a horrified look. “You’re the luckiest fucking 1Ls in the world to get one-on-one time with him. I’ve brought a rock star to a beginner’s guitar class, so don’t embarrass yourselves or me, please.” A couple of students, the ones nerdy enough to have favorite lawyers, start speculating.
Three things happen at the same time.
