Free The Faculty Club: A Novel by Danny Tobey Page A

Daphne and I spent weeks in the library, revising our motions and studying trial tactics. Outside, the days got darker and colder.
    I passed the ancient man who worked the front door at thelibrary. As usual, it seemed that if I breathed too hard, he'd blow away like sand.
    Moments later, I was back at my favorite table, watching Daphne read my section of a new brief, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail, a pen tapping against her mouth. She didn't make a single mark. She read the entire thing and looked up.
    "Start over," she said, and went back to work on her own section.
    I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in days. I'd developed a searing headache I couldn't shake. Twice in the last two weeks, when I stood up too quickly I felt the world go blurry. Between the trial prep and the endless research for Bernini's opus, I wasn't even attending class anymore.
What did it matter?
I asked myself.
I've discovered the real channel to success in this place, and it has nothing to do with the straight A's and summer jobs my classmates are pursuing like lemmings.
    Around midnight, I was in one of the darkest corners of the library, looking for a rare volume. But on the shelf, I found an empty space where the book should've been. I felt a surge of panic, then anger: was someone using
my
book? Or worse, had someone hidden it?
    I started walking the deserted floor, searching for the book.
    That's when I heard the strange sound of crying.
    I followed it to a deeper recess, and through a crack in a shelf of books, I was shocked to see Nigel bent over a table, his eyes red, his hands slamming a stack of books off the table onto the floor. The crash was jarring. Without thinking, I walked toward him. He looked up, and a wave of humiliation and anger spread across his face.
    "What do you want?" he snapped at me.
    "Nigel, what's wrong?" I took a step toward him.
    "Don't patronize me," he said.
    "Nigel, we're friends, right?"
    His eyes burned right through me.
    "Friends." He turned the word over like a moldy peach. "I thought you and Daphne were friends now."
    "It's not like that."
    "You think I don't see what you're doing?"
    "I'm not doing anything."
    He ignored me and turned back to one of the books he hadn't knocked to the floor.
    What the hell, I thought. "Say, you don't have Goldman's
Theory of Criminal Justice,
do you?"
    Nigel laughed bitterly. "Like it would help." He smirked. "I've already read it."
    "Look, Nigel, it's after midnight. Let's call it a day. We can grab a beer. Get some food. Sal's is still open."
    Nigel shook his head without looking up. His movements were quick, jerky. What happened to the suave, graceful gestures of Nigel Manning, son of an ambassador and a movie star?
    "How can I call it a day," Nigel said, "when it takes an hour to read a case, and I've got a hundred more cases to go?"
    I did a double take.
    "Why does it take an hour to read a case?" I asked.
    He looked wounded. "How long does it take
you
?"
    "I don't know. Ten minutes? Twenty?"
    "That's
impossible
. Half the time it's not even apparent what they're talking about. Who taught these judges to
write
? It's all gibberish."
    He sounded frantic. All the pressure and strain of three months of law school was pouring out of him like bile.
    And that's when I realized, at this moment, Nigel
was
Humpty Dumpty: infinitely fragile, a web of invisible cracks running through his handsome face. He was
crushable
. Motions were due in a week. All I had to do was turn around and walk away, and he and John were finished.
    Instead, I sat down. I didn't say a word as he wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and composed himself.
    Then, I taught him how to read a case. I showed him how to skim through the pages of words and tease out the key elements--the
issue,
the
posture,
the
holding,
the
rationale.
I showed him how meaning could emerge from the chaos, the way constellations emerged from a dispersion of stars.
    When we were done, Nigel frowned at me.
    "I envy you, you