“We don’t need to, but you can if you want. I’m here.”
You sure as hell are.
I shifted in my chair. Talking about myself was like trying to get a rusted engine to turn over.
“I’m trying to win a clerkship with a federal judge after I graduate. It’s between me and another guy, and I’m just stressed out that the judge is going to choose my competition. If he does, I’m fucked. And on that note…” I went to the fridge. “I need a beer. You want one?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “What’s a clerkship?”
“It’s a job in which you act as a sort of assistant to a judge.” I popped the cap off an IPA and rejoined her at the table. “A Clerk of the Court advises them on codes and precedents and procedures during a trial.”
I took a pull off my beer. The cold ale went beautifully with Darlene’s casserole.
“Sounds like an important job,” Darlene said.
“It’s a vital stepping-stone on a path to a career as a federal prosecutor. To have a clerkship on your résumé, especially for a judge like Miller, is a big deal.” I took my last bite of casserole and pushed the plate away. “Moreover, I need the salary. I’m on a scholarship that’s going to run out right about the same minute I’m handed my law degree. If I don’t have this job waiting for me, I’ll have to find something else.”
“So what makes you think you’re not going to get this job?” Darlene asked. “Doesn’t this judge know about your mega-mind?”
“Maybe. But the competition isn’t just about academics.”
“No? Is there a talent portion, too?” Darlene speared the last pea on her plate with a grin. “Does your opponent look better in a bathing suit?”
My thin smile morphed into a full-blown laugh. “Probably.”
“I find that impossible to believe,” she said. Darlene’s cheeks turned pink and her eyes widened. “Why yes, I did say that out loud...”
She shook her head at herself. The nervous sadness was gone from her now that she’d shared her news
I did that. I made her happy.
I took another sip of cold beer. A long one.
“But for real,” Darlene said, “why on earth wouldn’t he pick you?”
“He’s eccentric,” I said. “Hard to know how to please him sometimes.”
I took another sip of beer to wash the lie from my tongue. But talking about Miller’s assignment would lead to talk of my mother, and that wasn’t going to happen.
A short silence fell that lasted as long as Darlene could tolerate—all of three seconds.
“So Elena says you’re about ready to graduate.”
“Yeah, I have finals over the next two weeks, then the bar exam. I think I’m good with the finals, but the bar,” I shook my head. “The pass rate is only 33% right now, which is pretty fucking scary.”
“What does that mean?”
“Only 33% of everyone taking the test will pass. The state puts a cap on how many lawyers will get a license per year. The cut score is 1440 out of 2000, which is insanely high. So I could answer all the multiple choice questions correctly and write essays that show I know my shit and still not ‘pass’ the exam on paper. If my work isn’t first rate, it’ll get tossed in the fail bin.”
Darlene’s eyes widened. “So it’s not even a matter of your mega-mind getting most of the answers right?”
“It’s a matter of getting all of the answers right and writing the most exceptional essays. And that,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “is what keeps me up at night.”
“Wow, I’ve never heard of a test where you could be good enough to pass and still fail.”
“Well, it’s technically a fail if you score below the cut, but the cut score has never been this high. The standards have risen. Which is a good thing—no one wants a bunch of shitty lawyers running around—but it’s still fucking scary. My buddy, Jackson, took the exam last quarter and barely passed with a 1530. And he was top of his class.”
Darlene toyed with her fork, scraping it lightly on her empty plate. “So you have Judge Miller’s decision, finals, and a bar exam with a crazy low pass rate, all the while taking care of a one-year-old.”