Laura came tapping instantly. She was breathing more heavily than usual with one finger extended. Then bent. Then extended again. On my shoulder. Tap, tap, tap. I took a deep breath and rotated my chair. I wanted a cheeseburger, not a lecture.

“Sheila. I’m quitting.”

I was confused. Quitting what? Her nightly sermons?

“What?” I asked, totally at a loss.

She just stood there speechless, not realizing I wasn’t accusing but was actually asking a question.

“Laura, I’m asking you a question. What are you quitting exactly?” I slowly enunciated.

“This fucking job.”

My head was spinning.

“I just can’t take it here. That woman is such a bitch.”

This was serious. She was serious. The whole week, while she bitched about Janet, Roy, anybody, everybody, not once had she mentioned the judge. I had figured Laura was like all the other peons around the courthouse who’d never breathe a bad word about a judge and would take any and all judicial abuse. I was wrong. Again. My arms dropped, along with my jaw, heart, lungs, intestines, and maybe one kidney. Nobody quits clerkships.

NOBODY.

Laura could have told me that she was actually a black man or that she had just bitten off the head of a small horse. She even could have said that she’d just given birth to a child in the bathroom, clipped off the umbilical cord with a stapler, and FedExed the baby to Argentina. All of these things were more plausible than her actual words.

I’m quitting. I just can’t take it here.

Sensing I wasn’t going to respond in this century, Laura plowed ahead.

“I mean, I’ve spent my entire life getting comfortable with my weight. With who I am”—she started crying—“and that—that bitch—has destroyed me in one week. And I thought my dad was bad. I mean, I’ve had diarrhea all week.”

I reached for Laura’s hand, encouraging her to continue, while shutting out the damaging imagery.

“I mean, you can’t say you haven’t noticed, Sheila. She practically calls me fat to my face. And this after I’ve worshipped that woman and her Leffert opinion”—sniff sniff—“I mean, I practically memorized every word of that thing. For someone who’s done”—sniff—“so much for women’s rights, she’s totally destroyed this woman!”

So, Laura had caught on after all. She wasn’t stupid. She was Chicago Law’s valedictorian, something she managed to remind me of even in her darkest hour.

“I mean, I only graduated at the top of my class! I don’t deserve this shit.”

And she didn’t. But neither would the person who graduated at the bottom of her class. The fact is, nobody’s boss should make them feel bad about their weight. I understood. I didn’t even try to stop her.