“OK. As for Drexel. Please just correct any mistakes.” The judge raised her sunglasses, her eyes glimmering. “Drexel is a ninth circuit decision, from two years ago. A unanimous panel found that the lawyer was ineffective in an almost identical fact pattern as we have in this Drell Nuxel case—”

“Judge, it’s Dell Nelson. Dell. Nelson.” Getting the defendant’s name wrong during today’s hearings would be deadly.

“Dell Nelson,” she said, nodding. “An almost identical fact pattern as we have in this Dell Nelson case. The lawyer slept through large portions of the sentencing phase, failed to cross examine the state’s witnesses, and failed to present mitigation witnesses even though many family members and friends offered to testify to spare the defendant’s life. Just like we have today in Dell Nelson’s case. The ninth circuit properly found a violation and gave Luther Drexel another hearing.” She spoke eloquently, using one hand to make her point to her moot court—Matthew and me. It finally made sense to me that President Ford had nominated Helga Friedman to the federal bench—she’d clearly been a brilliant orator back in the day. “Are we, the judges of the third circuit, going to say that Dell Nelson deserves fewer constitutional protections than his fellow citizen, Luther Drexel in California? I think not.”

The judge was on. Matthew and I were speechless.

“Well,” the judge said, patting her bun. “I think I’m ready.”

Evan and Kate entered the clerks’ cave, all suited up.

“You two”—the judge dismissively pointed at them—“collect my briefs and appendices from my desk and meet the three of us in the courtroom.” I didn’t know much about pregnancy, but it didn’t seem like Kate was in any position to do heavy lifting.

“Judge, I’ll meet you and Matthew upstairs, I just need to run to the restroom,” I lied, as Matthew escorted the Honorable Helga Friedman to her throne.

“Hey, Kate, why don’t you take it easy. I’ll help Evan. We’ll see you in the courtroom, OK?”

“Thanks, um, Sheila,” Kate said, placing her hands on her hips to support her back.

“Hey, Evan. Did the clerk say anything?” I asked, following him to the torture chamber.

“Good morning to you, too, Ms. Teacher’s Pet,” Evan said, smiling.

Medieval Roy was standing in the middle of the judge’s office, mumbling to himself.

“Ah, good morning, Roy,” I said. “What, what are you doing?”

“Sheila.” He bowed. “Evan.” Another bow. “Is the judge here? I came in early today to bestow upon her Gothic greetings of good luck.”

“She’s already left for court,” I explained, wondering what the future held for Roy, “but I’ll pass along your, er, your Gothic greetings.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Roy, Sheila and I have work to do,” Evan said pointedly.