26. #2
"That's an argument," she said. "But right now it's an argument built primarily on conclusion."
The student's expression shifted slightly.
Professor Platek continued before she could respond.
"If you want to argue that a particular policy disproportionately harms a protected class, show me the policy. Show me its application. Show me the data. If you're making a constitutional argument, tell me what constitutional principle you're relying on."
Her gaze swept across the rest of us.
"Personal feelings about an administration aren't legal analysis. That distinction is going to matter in this room."
Some of the pressure in my chest loosened.
Not much.
But enough that I finally stopped pulling at the scrunchie.
Professor Platek returned to the syllabus as though nothing unusual had happened.
Maybe to everyone else, nothing had. I tried to do the same. I made myself look at the screen. Read the grading breakdown. Typed when everyone else typed.
When Professor Platek mentioned the first assigned reading, I wrote it down even though it was already printed directly in front of me.
Anything to keep my hands occupied.
By the time class ended, I'd filled almost two pages with notes.
I couldn't remember half of what I'd written.
Students started packing around me, conversations immediately picking back up as chairs scraped against the floor. I waited longer than necessary before closing my laptop, giving the aisle beside me time to clear.
This morning, I'd walked into the building wondering whether I'd still remember how to be a student.
That wasn't what bothered me anymore.
I knew I could do the work.
I just hadn't considered how difficult it might be to convince everyone else in the room to see me long enough to find that out.
By four, I had decided law school was a terrible idea.
It was dramatic.
I knew it was dramatic.
That didn't stop me from thinking it as I pulled into the parking lot behind Lennox Group and shut my car off.
The rest of my day hadn't been nearly as bad as that first class.
If anything, it should've made me feel better.
Nobody else had indirectly accused me of betraying my race.
No professors had announced my presence like Georgetown had accidentally enrolled a foreign dignitary.
I'd spoken to a woman in one of my later classes who seemed perfectly normal about who I was, and I'd even managed to answer a question without embarrassing myself.
Still, every time my mind wandered, it went back to that room.
To the looks.
To Professor Platek's tone when she'd called me the First Lady.
To the girl across the aisle.
I'd heard worse.
Much worse.
That wasn't what bothered me.
What bothered me was that I couldn't completely dismiss what she'd said.
I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and got out.
The back entrance was easier.
Grant had shown me how to use it a while ago, mostly so I wouldn't have to walk through the lobby whenever I stopped by during business hours.
At four, there shouldn't have been many people left anyway.
Grant usually scheduled his last patient earlier on the days he planned to finish paperwork afterward, and most of the staff had already gone home.
The hallway was quiet when I stepped inside.
I still peeked toward the front desk when I passed the opening leading into reception.
Empty.
Isabel was gone.
I continued down the hallway until I reached Grant's office.
Two knocks.
Then I opened the door.
He was behind his desk, attention fixed on one of the monitors in front of him while his fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
"Hey, baby."
The greeting came before I even turned around.
Something about hearing his voice after the day I'd had loosened a knot I hadn't realized was still sitting between my shoulders.
"Hi."
When I faced him again, he'd stopped typing.
Grant pushed his chair back and stretched as he stood, lifting his arms briefly above his head before rolling one shoulder. His shirt pulled tighter across his chest with the movement, and despite everything currently occupying my mind, my eyes still managed to follow it.
Apparently humiliation hadn't killed all of my interests.
His mouth twitched slightly as he walked around the desk.
He reached me before I could say anything else, one hand finding my waist as he leaned down and kissed me.
It was supposed to be a greeting.
At least, I assumed it was.
His mouth lingered against mine long enough to make me forget whatever smart comment I'd been preparing, and when I leaned into him, his other hand settled against the side of my neck.
The kiss deepened naturally from there, warm and familiar, his thumb brushing beneath my jaw while my hand caught lightly against the front of his shirt.
When he pulled away, I followed him without thinking.
He looked at me for a second before leaning down again.
The second kiss was slower. Less hello and more because neither of us had apparently gotten enough from the first one.
I let my eyes close, my fingers sliding higher along his chest until they rested near his collar, and for a few seconds the entire day narrowed into the warmth of his hand against my waist and the soft drag of his mouth against mine.
By the time we separated again, I felt considerably less interested in discussing law school.
Grant brushed my hair away from my face.
"So?"
I sighed. "It was terrible."
His eyebrows lifted. "Terrible?"
"Yes."
"I thought you were excited," he said cupping the back of my head against his chest.
"I was. That was before I found out approximately seventy percent of Georgetown hates me."
A dry laugh escaped him.
My mouth fell open. "Why are you laughing?"
"I'm not."
"You literally just laughed."
"I choked."
"Grant."
That made him smile.
"I'm serious." I pushed lightly against his chest. "My professor hates me. Half the class hates me. Some girl basically called me a racial traitor without actually saying the words, and I'm not going back."
I tried to pull my hand away after hitting him again, but Grant caught my wrist.
"Alright."
"I'm serious."
"I know you think you are."
"I am."
He used his hold on my wrist to pull me closer until I had little choice but to step into him. His other arm wrapped around my back, and despite still being annoyed that he wasn't treating my withdrawal from Georgetown with the seriousness it deserved, I let myself fall against him.
His chin rested briefly against the top of my head.
"You're going back."
I frowned into his chest. "You're very unsupportive."
"Extremely."
"I came here for comfort."
"And I'm comforting you."
"By telling me what to do?"
"No." His hand moved slowly along my back. "By stopping you from making a decision I know you don't actually want to make because somebody hurt your feelings."
I pulled my head back.
"They didn't hurt my feelings."
Grant looked down at me.
I lasted maybe two seconds.
"Okay, they hurt my feelings."
"I figured."
I let my forehead fall against his chest again.
For a moment, his hand continued its slow path along my back before he asked, "What actually happened?"
I explained it properly this time.
Professor Platek introducing me. The way the room had changed afterward. The discussion.
By the time I finished, I could hear how much less dramatic it sounded than the version where seventy percent of Georgetown had collectively voted to have me removed from campus.
That didn't make it feel much better.
"I don't think they all hate me," I admitted. "But I know what some of them are thinking."
"What are they thinking?"
I hesitated.
"That I'm like him."
Grant's hand slowed against my back.
I pulled away enough to look at him.
"And I understand it. I do." I hated how defensive I already sounded. "They don't know me. They know Rodney. They know the things he says and the policies he supports and whatever insane thing he's done that week. Then they see me standing beside him smiling at some event."
I looked down.
"What else are they supposed to think?"
Grant didn't answer immediately.
I continued before he could.
"I'm a Black woman married to a Republican president who says things that pisses off half the country. I know what that looks like. Especially to other people."
I swallowed. "They don't know that I disagree with him. They don't know anything that happens when we're not in front of cameras. All they know is that I'm his wife and I've stood next to him through all of it."
The words felt uglier once they were outside of my head.
"To them, I'm probably some sellout who got close enough to power that nothing else mattered anymore."
Grant's expression changed slightly.
"Is that who you are?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"Okay."
I frowned. "Okay?"
"Then that's your answer."
"That doesn't change what they think."
"No." His hand settled against my waist again. "It doesn't."
I waited for more.
Grant leaned back against the edge of his desk, pulling me with him until I stood between his knees.
"You want me to tell you why I think you should go back?"
"I have a feeling you're going to regardless."
"Probably."
I rolled my eyes, but his hands tightened gently at my sides before I could move away.
"Law school is yours, Naomi."
Something about the way he said it made me stop.
"You applied because you wanted to. Nobody scheduled it for you. Nobody told you it would look good for an interview or help Rodney's approval ratings. You wanted this badly enough to apply even though you were scared of what would happen if you got in."
My eyes dropped briefly to his tie.
"You got accepted because you earned your way in."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I looked back at him.
"Because this morning you were nervous about whether you could handle being back in school. Now you're talking about leaving because some people in one classroom have already decided who you are."
When he put it like that, it sounded annoyingly stupid.