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Family Law Serviceswas the name of the small, single-floor clinic housed in a run-down brick building just off Washington Street. It was a collaboration between several HLS donors and the law school, located in a part of the city where rent was reasonable, and people needed cheap legal advice. A far cry from the manicured lawns and white pillars of Harvard Square, Jamaica Plain was one of the parts of Boston that were gradually being gentrified but was still home to a lot of pawn shops and bodegas. FLS was sandwiched between a check-cashing shop and expensive French bakery. The diverse neighborhood actually reminded me a lot of Flatbush.
The five of us who showed up for the afternoon orientation were ushered into a conference room, where we were told to wait for the director.
“I heard she’s a hard-ass,” whispered one of my classmates, Alex. “I hope she’s not a giant bitch.”
Alex was a tall, brown-haired kid from Brookline who had attended Boston College before coming to Harvard. His father was one of the top-rated divorce attorneys in the city, and Alex was planning to join him at his firm.
“You sound like an asshole,” I whispered back. “The people who come into this clinic deserve to have a hard-ass representing them. All the better if she teaches us how to do it.”
Before Alex could turn his arrogant frown into a retort, the door to the conference room flew open. A tall, thin woman with black hair, a razor-sharp nose, and red lips pressed into an intolerant line purposefully entered.
“First of all,” she said as she came to stand at the front of the conference table. “Let me say that just because this is a pro-bono clinic, your level of professionalism won’t be pro-bono too. Anything even slightly below what you would demonstrate at a for-profit firm, and you can kiss your clinic grade goodbye. These people need our help, and some are literally putting their lives in our hands. That deserves patience, diligence, and above all, respect.” She stared around the table and lingered on Alex, making me wonder if she had somehow heard our exchange. “Is that clear?”
We all nodded. She glared at Alex before continuing.
“I’m Kieran Beckford,” she said, “the director of FLS. I’m also a partner at Kiefer Knightly. In other words, I’mbusy, so the second rule here is don’t bother me unless you absolutely have to. Got it?”
Again, we all nodded, and Kieran looked at the sign-in list.
“Today I’ll assign each of you to a volunteer attorney. You’ll need to arrange your scheduled hours with them. Since you guys are the early birds, you have the privilege of first dibs. So, Christian Vegas?”
Christian, a small, unassuming kid with a weak chin, raised his hand. “Ah, here.”
“This isn’t fifth grade,” said Kieran. “I’m assigning your mentor, not calling roll. You’ll be with Rodrigo Almodóvar. He’s here now at the front desk. Eric de Vries?”
Eric waved his hand slightly and smiled. Kieran pursed her lips and did not smile back.
“You’re with Almodóvar too.” She quickly assigned Alex and the other girl, Tina, before she looked at me. “Skylar Crosby?”
Recognition flashed across her sharp features, and suddenly I realized I knew her too. She was with the other two men who came into Brandon’s house the night we met. She had not been happy to see me.
“That’s me,” I said a little too loudly.
Kieran blinked. “Right. You’ll be with me.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. This woman could make or break my job prospects at the end of this semester. If she thought I was the type of girl who screwed her boss, then I was the one about to be screwed.
“The rest of you, go meet with your mentors. Skylar, stay here.” After my classmates filed out of the door, Kieran turned to face me. “You were at Brandon Sterling’s house two weeks ago.” It was a statement, not a question.
I gulped. “Yes.”
“Do you know him?”
“No. Not really. I was an intern at Sterling Grove last semester, but that night was the first time I’d seen him.” I couldn’t say it was the only time we’d met, but hopefully, Kieran didn’t catch that. “I was there with a friend of his housekeeper’s. I came upstairs to get cell service.”
“It didn’t look like you were on your phone. It looked like you were making yourself comfortable in his living room.”
I blanched. Well, I had two options here. I could act contrite and admit guilt where there wasn’t any. Or I could do what my instincts were telling me. If she was anything like the hard-faced girls I knew back in Brooklyn, Kieran was a wolf, and it was important not to show fear. So, I met her face-on with my best canine expression.
“I live in student housing. And it’s a comfortable living room.” I prayed my gamble would pay off.
Kieran narrowed her eyes briefly, evaluating my response. For a minute, I thought she was going to tell me to get out, but then her crimson lips spread into an unlikely smile. She barked a short laugh.
“That it is,” she chuckled. “Good for you. Well, let’s get to work.”
I followed her back into the main office, which was split into about ten cubicles shared by the volunteer lawyers. In the front was a small receptionist desk, behind which a few staff typed away at their desks. She led me into an office just off the receptionist area.
