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The teen across from me nods, fiddling with his work shirt. There’s a badge for a gas station on his breast pocket. Scott, the head of the LGBTQ+ community center where we’re meeting, told me Phillip is eighteen, but the kid looks a good couple years younger than that.
I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Phillip. I’m Teddy.”
He shakes my hand quickly before resuming his nervous fidgeting.
“Scott said you could use some help,” I say, hoping to lead him into discussing why he’s here. Or, rather, why I’m here.
“Um, yeah,” he says. “But I don’t know what you can do.”
“Well,” I say, opening my palms. “Why don’t you explain what’s going on, and we’ll figure it out?”
“Okay, so…” More nervous shirt tugging. “I moved into a place earlier this year when I turned eighteen.”
I nod, encouraging him to go on.
“Um, and my landlord keeps raising my rent. He says it’s normal, but I don’t know anyone in the building well enough to ask. And, uh, he keeps making comments. About me being gay.”
“You think he’s discriminating against you because of your sexual orientation,” I say gently.
The kid nods before shaking his head a little and shrugging. “I don’t know.”
“Well, in Nevada, a landlord needs to give their tenants notice before implementing a rent increase. At the very least, that would be fifteen days, depending on your lease agreement. Is he giving you any notice?”
Phillip shakes his head. “No. He just tells me the price when the rent is due.”
Yeah, that’s certainly not legal.
I give Phillip a gentle smile. “First, let me assure you I can help with this, okay?”
He nods, and I open my notebook.
“All right, then. Let’s start at the beginning.”
Phillip and I chat for a good thirty minutes before he needs to leave for work. After our brief preliminary meeting, I have a list of rent payments Phillip made to his landlord, price hikes included, an emailed copy of his original lease agreement, and as many details as the kid could remember of his landlord’s bigoted comments. It’s enough.
Scott catches me as I’m packing up my things in the small sitting room Phillip and I were using. “Hey,” he says, tapping the doorframe. “Everything go okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’ll take his case.”
Scott exhales in relief. “Thanks, Teddy. I honestly don’t know what we’d do without you.”
I give him a smirk. “You’d find some other lawyer to do pro bono work for you.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. “But you’re the best.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
He laughs at that, and we walk down the hall. “Coffee before you go?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Scott and I detour into the community center’s small café. It’s set up like a real coffee shop, with espresso machines and a couple employees who serve drinks and a limited selection of bakery items. It’s free for the kids and young adults who come here. At the moment, there are a few college-age students on a couch in the corner, working on homework. Another sits at a table, scrolling through their phone.
Scott grabs me a black coffee and orders a latte for himself, and we take a seat. “How’ve you been since the last time I saw you?” he asks.
“A whole month ago?”
He chuckles. “Plenty can change in a month.”
