2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
Frankie
T he class continued (painfully) the same way for the following two hours, and Frankie was utterly lost the entire time. Every other word, in the context of the cases, was new to her, and when they were finally dismissed for the day, she had a list of nearly fifty terms to look up.
Watching her peers pack up, she noted the mix of expressions ranging from overwhelmed—like hers—to arrogantly unfazed. Despite the fleeting reassurance that others were almost as dazed as she, everyone else had at least appeared to have done the reading. But the perk of being the only student flopping around at rock bottom was that the only direction to go from there was up.
Or out.
The waitlist is a mile long and full of students hoping that someone like you will wash out quickly so they can take your place.
She held back until the last student left the auditorium and approached the lectern, where her terrifying instructor huddled over some documents.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “Excuse me, Professor Clark?”
He didn’t bother to look up. “Miss Miller.”
Frankie wrung her hands together. The session had been brutal, but this class was crucial to her studies. She had a lot to gain, and it wouldn’t be easy. But instead of bolting with her tail between her legs, she summoned the bravery to say, “I want to apologize again for being late to class today.”
He didn’t look up.
“And for not reading the assigned cases.”
He continued to study the papers laid across his podium. The heat of frustration began to overshadow her nerves and gather in her belly. She was trying to apologize, and the least he could do was make a little eye contact.
“I had no idea there was reading for the first day of class,” she continued.
Shoulders tense, he clenched his jaw yet carried on scanning and scribbling, not bothering to give her the time of day. “How does an L2 not know there would be cases assigned for the first day of class?” he scoffed.
Professor Clark’s pen halted abruptly, and he looked over the rim of his glasses and up through his thick black eyelashes and brows. With his chin still dipped low, his appraisal of her was intimidating, sending another prickle of discomfort up her spine to the roots of her hair.
Suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, Frankie cursed herself again for oversleeping. She’d intended to put a little effort into what she wore the first day. At the very least, she could have put on an unwrinkled, fresh-from-the-dryer shirt instead of something from her floor that barely passed the sniff test. And while her light boyfriend-cut jeans with a few too many holes were perfect for moseying around Leavenworth on a Saturday, they didn’t exactly scream, “Take me seriously.”
Professor Clark, on the other hand, was groomed immaculately. His suit was sculpted by the gods, under which he wore a pressed white button-down and expensive-looking tie a few shades lighter than his eyes. Frankie could practically smell the fresh shower on him, mixed with clove and cinnamon. He’d clearly shaved—his skin had that moisturized gleam to it—but the five o’clock shadow was already starting to peek out.
How is this guy real?
“Miss Miller,” he scolded.
What had he asked? She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs.
“Sorry, but what’s an L2?”
His eye twitched, but only once. “A second-year law student.”
“Oh, I’m not a law student.”
“Then what are you doing in my class?” His voice rumbled low in his chest, displaying the loosening grip he held on his already dwindling patience.
“Dean McCaffery approved my request to take this class. I’m in the master of social work program, and he agreed that family law would be helpful to my studies,” Frankie explained. She’d been so excited when she got the ok to attend. She knew firsthand how confusing the legal system was—especially for foster kids—and having a decent grasp would give her a leg up after graduation. The dean had been ecstatic when they’d finally met after she’d submitted her formal request; something about co-mingling disciplines and the dawning of a new era .
Professor Clark appeared to consider this new information for a moment while his expression gave little away.
“I have no intention of making this class easier for you. I expect you to keep up. No touchy-feely vibes like what you'll undoubtedly experience in the rest of your MSW courses. Law classes are cutthroat. Students are ranked against each other, and the weak are culled. As I mentioned earlier, there are a lot of talented students on the waitlist who would kill to take your seat in the class.” A bit of nostril flaring emphasized his words, and then he returned to his notes.
“Yes, sir—er, Professor Clark. I have every intention of keeping up. It’s just . . .” Silence and tension crackled in the air.
“Out with it, Miss Miller, I have another class in fifteen minutes.”
“Well, there were so many terms that felt foreign to me. Is there a book or something you can suggest for me to catch up with the rest of the class?”
“You mean a book that will substitute for an entire year of formative law classes?”
Frankie chuckled nervously. “Yes?”
He removed his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief to buff them clean. His dark blue eyes settled on her face. She squirmed under his scrutiny as her agitation steadily built.
We get it. You think I’m beneath you and your precious class. Can’t we move on from that so I can prove you wrong already?
After replacing the black frames, he jotted something down on a yellow sticky note. He peeled it off and held out a finger with the little square sticking to the tip.
“Take this to the law library downstairs and ask someone at the front desk to help you find it. It isn’t Civil Procedure for Dummies , but it is close enough that even you should be able to follow it.”
Her eyes narrowed momentarily at the overt dig, hoping the tight smile hid her grinding teeth. “Thank you. This is exactly what I need to—”
“And get yourself a tutor,” he cut in. “Don’t be against paying for a good one either.”
“Right. Thanks again.”
No you’re welcome , no smile, not even a little nod. Instead, Professor Clark looked back down to his papers, dismissing her with his silence.
Frankie clasped her hands together so as not to give in to the impulse to flip him the bird on her way out. Once in the hallway, she breathed a sigh of relief and headed downstairs in search of the library.
Another text buzzed in her pocket.
Oh my god, can’t he tell I’m busy?
She crammed the phone deep into her bag and ignored the tug of shame in her chest. Avoidance wasn’t her typical MO, but focusing on salvaging her educational career seemed to warrant the temporary personality shift.
The law library was so silent that Frankie worried her slap-happy flip-flops would get her kicked out. Overcast light spread in through the windows, bathing the rows and rows of study tables in a subdued glow. Straight ahead, a glass-sided stairwell led further into the depths of the book basement. Glass half-walls rimmed the balcony overlooking the lower level as more of the frosted panes enclosed meeting rooms and small alcoves meant for studying. Everything, aside from the shelves and a few interior walls, was translucent, perhaps to welcome as much natural light as possible and detract from the library’s subterranean location.
To the right stood the circulation desk. A young woman with teal hair and a pierced septum approached with a gleaming smile.
Finally, someone warm . She could use a pallet cleanser after being trapped in a classroom for the last two hours with nothing but an umbrella of pretension and her own panic.
“Hi. Can I help you with something?”
“I hope so.” Frankie eyed her name tag. “Rayne, I’m Frankie. I’m looking for this book. ”
The library intern took the sticky note and read the scribble. She grimaced. “Family law with Clark, huh?”
Frankie nodded, trying to camouflage her wince with an excessive grin.
She failed.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to him.”
“God, I hope so.” She didn’t anticipate becoming accustomed to the snobby dickhead, but she didn’t need to. Developing enough of an understanding of the justice system to become a good advocate and social worker was all that mattered. Not some tall, scowling, navy-eyed professor who oozed toxic masculinity.
“Gimme a sec. I’ll grab that book for ya,” Rayne piped. Spinning on her toes, she and her shiny blue-green ponytail disappeared into the stacks.
In the depths of Frankie’s bag, her phone buzzed again. She fished it out and read the notifications.
Sheriff Howards:
I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.
Please respond at your earliest convenience.
She rolled her eyes at the sheriff’s message but grinned at the most recent text from her mother.
Mom:
Good luck today, smarty pants!
Frankie :
Thanks. Love you!
She pocketed her phone as Rayne returned with a substantial pile of books.
“Woah. I don’t think I need”—she counted—“seven books.”
“It seems like a lot, but based on the recommendation from Clark, I think these would be helpful too. This one in particular”—she tapped one entitled Law for Non-Lawyers —“will give you a solid orientation.”
“Is it that obvious that I’m not a law student?”
Rayne waved her hand dismissively. “Pfft. Take it as a compliment.”
Frankie left a few minutes later with textbooks in hand and a bonus list of third-year students offering tutoring services. Her new favorite librarian drew pink stars next to the ones she could vouch for personally. The exchange with Rayne had been her first positive interaction of the day, and it helped take the edge off her frustrated mood. Armed with enough books to start her own library, Frankie hurried home to drop off her loot and eat lunch before the start of her next class.