The four of us returned to our respective homes. I felt especially bad for Kate. Unlike Matthew, Evan, and me, she hadn’t sent out the truckloads of applications. She was just living her life and got picked out of the blue and at random, like jury duty except this wasn’t just a few days but a year. And she couldn’t say no to Judge Friedman. In her preclerking life, Kate was a staff attorney who wrote bench memos for all judges on the third circuit. She focused only on pro se cases, in which prisoners represented themselves rather than having the benefit of a lawyer.

Considering that Kate had worked for the entire court, including Friedman, she didn’t really have the option to nix the judge’s offer (i.e., demand) to be her law clerk. Judges were better extortionists than most convicted criminals. They were not necessarily more clever. Just above the law.

“Sheila.” Matthew motioned me to his cubicle. The mobile home cruise-controlled itself over. I was hoping to get the rest of the Heidi story. “Hey, do you have your bench memos and everything else?” he whispered. Oh no! In all the excitement, I’d totally spaced on the most important thing. I quickly grabbed my Nelson memo and the massive appendices that went along with it. My first day of kindergarten was less nerve-racking than this, which was no small thing, since I’d barfed all over Mrs. Dalton’s desk after snack time.

“SHEEEEELLLLLAAAA!” Why didn’t she ever scream for anyone else? I nearly crashed into Janet speeding around the corner.

“Yes, Judge.” Behind closed doors, she’d robed herself and applied lipstick. She looked like a witch trying to turn a trick.

“It’s time to go. Get everyone,” she ordered. And I delivered. We went into her office and collected everything Evan had prepared. I just hoped that he had done it in the correct fashion. There was no time to worry about that now. “Law clerks come with me on the judges’ elevator,” she announced. What a treat! Carrying stacks of paper, we followed her one floor up. Two elderly people in black robes greeted us as the elevator doors opened. Immediately, Judge Friedman started acting weird—like she liked us. She grabbed Evan and shoved him forward, nearly toppling the fragile male judge. Then again, it looked like a careless whisper could have knocked him over.

“This is Harvard. Um. Ah. E-Evan,” Judge Friedman stuttered. I was next up and unceremoniously pushed into the female judge. “And this is Columbia. She-la,” she enunciated carefully, before producing a grand smile and grabbing Matthew. “This”—she paused dramatically—“is Yale!” Then she rubbed Matthew’s back.