“You definitely passed, Sheila. I failed,” James answered for the fiftieth time, motioning the waitress for another round. At this rate, we’d all be passed out before midnight.

“Jesus—we all did fine,” Matthew blurted. “And I’m going outside for a little air.” He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. I followed him out just as James and Kevin resumed the pass/fail intrigue.

“Hey, you OK?” I tapped Matthew on the back. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and was rocking back and forth on his heels. Matthew’s mannerisms were often louder than his words.

“Hey, sorry about that, Sheila.” When he turned, I could see anguish riddling his face. “Look—this bar exam is really freaking me out. I can’t fail. My parents would be devastated—they’ve been so proud of my having gone to Yale. Nobody in my family has ever gone to grad school. I’m the first”—he rocked—“and Heidi. God—she’d be so horrified if I failed. We studied together—and she consistently did better on those stupid practice tests.” He bowed his head in premature defeat. Hulking insecurity—both advertised and internalized—seemed to be a prerequisite to the legal profession. Most cases of the internalized sort bred bogus bravado of the Brian/Evan sort. Since Matthew had consistently exhibited self-assuredness without an ounce of arrogance, I’d assumed he was the one lucky law school student who’d escaped with healthy self-esteem.

“Matthew—I’m sure you did fine. Stop worrying about disappointing everyone else. As for your family—you could always lie, tell them you passed and then just take the bar again, right?” Finally, the beginnings of a smile. “And really, that would be the worst part about failing—taking that exam again, not the humiliation.” I paused. “Actually, the worst part would be having to tell Judge Friedman you had to take the exam over again.”

“Ha—I hadn’t even thought of her for some reason.” Matthew chuckled. “Something about the woman’s mayonnaise-crusted lips makes her less scary to me. Actually, I think I hate her too much to be afraid of her.” Matthew shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“I have to say—I wish that hate and fear were mutually exclusive things in my book, but unfortunately the two seem to go hand in hand,” I explained. “And as for Heidi, she wouldn’t really be horrified as much as sad for you, right?”

Matthew pursed his lips and resumed rocking just as the clock at Independence Hall struck 11:30. It was almost midnight and we were about to turn into pumpkins.