Back in her dorm room, she scarfed down a Kind bar as she studied the specific wording of the question about family members. It was airtight, asking for the names, addresses, and Social Security numbers of mother, father, spouse, children, and siblings. For each, it asked you to fill in place of birth, immigration status, place of employment—and whether they’d been convicted of a crime. There was no way to avoid mentioning Danny, or his drug case, other than to lie, which obviously she wasn’t going to do. Lying to the judge during the interview had been a stupid mistake made in the heat of the moment. It was not intentional. And she didn’t plan to repeat it. That would be insane when the form had to be filled out in writing and signed under penalty of perjury, and Nancy had put her on notice that she’d be vetting it carefully.
Madison read through the form again, looking for a place to explain why she hadn’t brought up Danny in the interview. But there was no way to expound on your answers. No box saying “other” or “additional information,” only specific questions with limited space to respond. That was just as well. This problem was too big to fix with a couple of sentences on a form. If she wanted to salvage her working relationship with Conroy, she needed to speak to her personally. It was the only way. Nancy had made it clear that wouldn’t be happening in the office. She’d have to approach Judge Conroy after class, at the law school. But Conroy only taught once a week. Madison wouldn’t see her at the law school for days.
The form was due tomorrow.
She slept poorly that night. The next morning, she sleepwalked through her classes with the case manager’s voice echoing in her head. Perjury perjury perjury. At noon, she walked up to the door of the judge’s chambers with the employment form still uncompleted in her backpack. She was all about her career and new horizons, and normally, onboarding at a judicial internship would have been a thrill. Instead, she felt like she was taking her life in her hands, and not in a good way.
Kelsey, the receptionist, buzzed her in. She was sitting at her desk, eating a burrito.
“Everyone’s in court. You sit in the law clerks’ office. That way.”
She waved toward the back hall.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, wait. Employment form? Nancy said to collect it from you.”
Madison caught her breath. She’d been nursing a small spark of hope that they would forget, though of course they hadn’t.
“I’m still tracking down some addresses. Can I give it to you later?”
Kelsey’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
“Nancy hates when things are late. It’s your funeral.”
Kelsey turned back to her burrito. Madison found her way to the law clerks’ office with a sour taste in her throat. But the office was everything she’d imagined. Large and bright, with a great view of the city, yet messy and wonderfully lived in. Scuffed government-issue furniture, shelves of law books, and old metal filing cabinets that held the wisdom of the ages. It was a dream. There were three desks—two of them clearly occupied, covered in books and papers, coffee mugs, half-drunk bottles of water. The third desk was crammed in a corner, its surface clear except for a desktop computer and a folder with her name on it. She threw off her coat and sat down eagerly, opening it to find her first assignment, a jurisdictional issue she recognized from first-year Civil Procedure. She was officially a judicial intern, and it was going to be great. The Danny problem receded from her mind in her eagerness to get started.
There were footsteps in the hall. A moment later, the two law clerks spilled through the doorway, laughing. Imani was tall and stylish, with braids that skimmed her shoulders. Sean wore his hair in a man-bun and had on a Hawaiian-print tie with his business suit. The courtroom was the last refuge of formal business attire, and Madison was here for it, wearing a skirt and blazer herself. She got to her feet with a smile. They were her supervisors, but she expected they’d become friends.
“Here’s the fresh blood. Hard at work already, I see,” Sean said.
Imani gave Madison an appraising look. “Have we met?”
“You probably don’t remember, but I was one of the peons on law review last year, when you were in charge.”
Recognition dawned in her eyes. “Oh, I do remember. You’re the girl who was dating Ty Evans.”
Madison laughed in astonishment. “That’s how you remember me?”
“Hell, yeah. Ty’s like king of the law school.”
“No. I’m the queen, and he was my consort.”
“Was? You let that boy slip away?”
“Yep. He’s with Chloe Kessler now.”
“Humph, I know her. Legacy admit,” Imani scoffed.
“Imani, give it a rest,” Sean chided. “You’ll drive Madison away, and we can’t afford to lose another intern.” He turned to Madison. “Please forgive my co-clerk. She can be quite opinionated, but she has a heart of gold.”
“Oh, we want to keep you. Ty’s not the only thing I remember about you. You were a good little researcher if I recall.”
They joked around a minute longer. Madison felt comfortable enough to ask the awkward question.
“Hey, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what happened to the last intern? Is it true she was fired? I’m trying to figure out what not to do.”
Sean threw an anxious glance over his shoulder at the hallway.
“I’m not sure we should get into that,” he said.
Imani gave him an impatient look, lowering her voice to a near whisper.
“C’mon, Sean. We have to give her a heads-up, if only out of self-interest. I’ve got a pile of research I need done.”
“All right, but can we talk somewhere else? I’d feel more comfortable.”
“She should come to lunch with us,” Imani said.
Sean nodded. “We usually go to the salad place. Come along, and we’ll give you some survival tips.”
Survival tips? That didn’t sound good.
“Great,” she said.
In the reception area, Kelsey’s desk was empty. The door to Judge Conroy’s office stood open, and Madison could hear her voice, low and calm, talking to someone. She craned her neck toward the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the judge.
Imani noticed the direction of her gaze.
“The judge doesn’t eat lunch with us except for special occasions like birthdays and so on.”
“Though you will get to sit in on court regularly, so you can observe her there. It’s just, when it comes to the judge, interns are expected to be seen and not heard,” Sean said.
“Oh, yeah, I got an earful from Nancy—”
Imani looked horrified, drawing a finger across her throat just as Nancy’s flinty voice rang out from the judge’s office. They quickly left chambers.
“Sorry,” Madison said once they were outside.
“Oh, no worries as far as we’re concerned,” Imani said. “But watch your back with Nancy. That woman has nooo sense of humor.”
Outside, it was raining again, with a bitter wind coming from the north. They ran across the street and ducked into an office building that had a takeout salad place. Lunch out wasn’t in her budget, but sometimes you just had to network. She looked forward to the day she was a real lawyer, when money would not be an issue. They got their salads and found a table under a glass atrium streaked with rain, making small talk about the usual subjects as they ate. Which classes Madison was taking, gossip about people they knew in common at the law school, that sort of thing.
“It’s amazing that you’re taking a class from the judge,” Sean said. “What’s she like as a teacher?”
“Very charismatic. Really organized. Lots of inside scoop on the justice system. It’s amazing. I’m lucky to have the chance.”
“I suppose you got a leg up in getting the internship, since you knew her from school.”
“It definitely helped. Although I can’t say I know her. It’s hard to get a word with her after class, and she doesn’t do office hours as much as some of the other professors.”
“Well, she’s got her plate full here. The truth is, we don’t get much face time with her either. It’s not the sort of chambers where the judge socializes with the law clerks.”
“Yeah, Nancy made that clear.”
“She’s pretty possessive of the judge,” Imani said.
“Protective is a better way to put it,” Sean said.
Once the food was gone, Imani pushed aside her miso bowl and looked Madison in the eye.
“About your question from before,” she said, “we do want to give you a heads-up. But anything we say about chambers culture is absolute cone of silence. Agreed?”
“Of course. I know all about the confidentiality requirement. I had to sign that crazy NDA.”
Imani and Sean exchanged glances.