Chapter 9 #2
"In Okonkwo's class. Constitutional Law. He always does a major debate project in the second half of the semester. Partners argue landmark cases in front of the class." I could feel my pulse picking up as the idea crystallized. “He assigns the partnerships randomly, but..."
"But you're thinking of stacking the deck," Elijah said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm thinking of creating an opportunity." I looked at the photo one more time, at Jesse's desperate, trapped expression. "If I could get us paired up, arguing the same side of a case... he'd have to work with me. He'd have to engage with the material, with the arguments, with me."
"What case?" Sam asked, though their tone suggested they already suspected.
"Something that would force him to confront his own beliefs.
Something that would make him argue for what he's been taught to condemn.
" I grinned, feeling the familiar rush of a plan coming together.
"Marriage equality. Obergefell v. Hodges.
Make him argue for the right of same-sex couples to marry. "
The room erupted.
"That's evil," Phoenix said admiringly.
"That's brilliant," Jamie breathed.
"That's cruel," Andrew said firmly.
"That's perfect," Sam admitted reluctantly.
"That's dangerous," Elijah said quietly, and his voice cut through all the others. "Adrian, if you do this, there's no going back. You'll be forcing him into a corner where he has to choose between his beliefs and his grade, between his programming and his education. That's not giving him options."
"Sometimes people need to be backed into corners," I said. "Sometimes that's the only way they realize they have the strength to fight their way out."
Elijah was quiet for a long moment, studying my face with those sharp eyes that never missed anything.
"And if he doesn't fight his way out?" he asked finally. "If he just breaks instead?"
I looked at the photo one more time, at Jesse's face frozen in that moment of desperate longing, and made my choice.
"Then I'll help him put himself back together," I said. "Differently this time."
Monday morning arrived with the kind of crisp air that made everything feel possible.
I got to Constitutional Law early, choosing a seat with a clear view of the door so I could watch Jesse's face when he walked in.
I'd spent the weekend researching partnership manipulation techniques and had what I considered a foolproof plan.
Professor Okonkwo was already at his desk, organizing papers with the same methodical precision he brought to everything.
He was one of those professors who commanded respect without demanding it, the kind of teacher who could make you rethink everything you thought you knew about the world just by asking the right questions.
Students trickled in gradually. I spotted Jesse the moment he appeared in the doorway, scanning the room with his usual careful caution.
Our eyes met briefly—that jolt of electricity I was getting used to—before he looked away and chose a seat three rows ahead and to the left.
Far enough to avoid me, close enough that I could watch the tension in his shoulders.
"Good morning, class," Professor Okonkwo said as the clock hit nine. "I hope you've all had a productive weekend, because we're diving into the deep end today. It's time to discuss your semester project."
A ripple of attention moved through the room. Everyone knew about Okonkwo's legendary debate assignment.
"You'll be working in pairs to research and present oral arguments for landmark constitutional cases. These aren't just academic exercises—you'll be graded on legal reasoning, persuasive technique, and your ability to embody the advocacy role of a constitutional lawyer."
He moved to the board and began writing case names in his neat handwriting. Brown v. Board. Roe v. Wade. Miranda v. Arizona. And there, fourth on the list: Obergefell v. Hodges.
My pulse kicked up.
"Partnerships will be assigned randomly," he continued, and I felt my carefully constructed plan crumbling. "I'll be drawing names from two containers to ensure fairness and prevent students from choosing partners based on friendship rather than complementary skills."
Shit. All my research into partnership manipulation was useless if he was actually randomizing it.
But then he smiled slightly, the way he did when he was about to make a point.
"However, I've already reviewed your academic records and writing samples to create partnerships that will challenge you intellectually.
Some of you will find yourselves working with classmates whose perspectives differ significantly from your own.
This is intentional. The law requires you to argue positions you may not personally agree with.
Better to learn that skill in a controlled environment. "
My hope flickered back to life. If he'd reviewed our records, if he knew about our different backgrounds...
"Let me announce the partnerships and case assignments," he said, picking up a sheet from his desk. "Remember, both partners will argue the same side—this is collaborative advocacy, not debate against each other."
He began reading names. I tried to look casual while every muscle in my body was wound tight with anticipation.
"Henderson and Patel, you'll be arguing Miranda v. Arizona for the respondent..."
"Clark and Washington, Brown v. Board for the petitioner..."
Each name that wasn't mine was a small disappointment, each case assignment that passed Obergefell by was another door closing.
"Rodriguez and Chen, Roe v. Wade for the petitioner..."
And then:
"Miller and Costas."
Jesse went completely still. I could see it from three rows back—the way his shoulders locked, the way his pen stopped moving mid-word.
"You'll be arguing the petitioner's side in Obergefell v. Hodges."
The blood drained from Jesse's face so quickly I was genuinely concerned he might faint. His hand gripped his pen so tightly I could see his knuckles go white.
Professor Okonkwo continued reading assignments, but I wasn't listening anymore. I was watching Jesse's profile, seeing the moment when the full implications hit him.
He was going to have to argue for marriage equality. In front of the entire class. With me as his partner.
He was going to have to stand up and make the case that same-sex couples deserved the same rights as everyone else, that love was love, that the Constitution protected all of us equally.
The boy who'd been holding a "Save Our Children" sign days ago was going to have to argue that gay marriage was a constitutional right.
I should have felt triumphant. This was exactly what I'd wanted—forced proximity, intellectual engagement, a situation where he couldn't run away when things got uncomfortable.
Instead, watching the panic spread across his features, I felt something uncomfortably close to guilt.
When class ended, Jesse bolted. He was out of his seat and through the door before Professor Okonkwo had finished explaining the project timeline. I followed, catching up with him in the hallway.
"Jesse, wait."
He stopped but didn't turn around. When he finally faced me, his expression was carefully blank, but I could see the storm underneath.
"I need to request a partner change," he said quietly.
"On what grounds?"
"Conflict of interest. Philosophical differences. Irreconcilable—"
"He won't approve it." I kept my voice gentle, nonthreatening. "Okonkwo specifically said he paired people with different perspectives on purpose. That's not a bug, it's a feature, it's by design."
Jesse's jaw worked silently for a moment. "I can't do this," he said finally.
"Yes, you can."
"You don't understand. I can't argue for something I don't believe in."
"You argue for plenty of things you don't believe in. That's what lawyers do."
"This is different."
"Why?"
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see him struggling with how much truth he was willing to reveal.
"Because," he said finally, "some lies are too big to tell."
The words hung between us like a challenge. I should have let him walk away—it would have been kinder, safer for both of us. But watching the panic in his eyes, seeing how trapped he looked, I couldn't bring myself to let him run.
"Look," I said, pulling out the assignment sheet Okonkwo had handed us with our partnership details and contact information.
"We have three weeks to prepare this. That's enough time to build a solid legal argument without you having to compromise your personal beliefs.
Think of it as an intellectual exercise. "
He glanced down at the paper in my hand, probably noting his own phone number and email printed there alongside mine. The practical reality of our forced partnership, laid out in black and white.
"It's not that simple," he said quietly.
"Then help me understand what would make it simpler."
He was quiet for so long I thought he might actually walk away without answering. Students flowed around us in the hallway, heading to their next classes, living their uncomplicated lives where constitutional law was just academic theory.
"The library," he said finally, so quietly I almost missed it.
"What?"
"If we're going to do this..." He took a shaky breath. "The library. Tonight. Seven o'clock. Reference section, back corner where it's quiet."
I tried not to let my surprise show. I'd expected more resistance, more attempts to get out of it entirely.
"Okay," I said carefully. "Tonight at seven."
He nodded once, sharp and decisive, like he was committing to something much bigger than a study session. "And Adrian?" He looked directly at me for the first time since class ended. "This is academic. Professional. Nothing more."
"Of course," I said, though we both knew it was already more than that. Had been from the moment our eyes met in that bathroom.
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway with his contact information in my hand and the uncomfortable realization that maybe Elijah had been right.
Maybe I was about to break him after all.
But as I watched him disappear around the corner, shoulders rigid with tension and determination, I also knew there was no going back now.
Seven o'clock couldn't come fast enough.