Other reviews were much sparer, much more clearly written. The best of them had been written by someone cal ed Sean Warner.
There was a confidence about his writing that made it stand out.
Time went by quickly. Lunchtime came and went. Rachel asked if she would like to go to student services, eat together. Hannah demurred. She had brought a sandwich. The afternoon wore on.
Hannah worked her way through applications. If she wanted to be noticed, she had to do something worthy of attention, something that would make her stand out from the crowd. Her approach would be ruthless. She would seek out low-hanging fruit, those applications that clearly failed the base criteria and cul as many as possible. She was aiming for volume. From what she had seen, Rachel barely got through two applications a week. Hannah saw no reason why she couldn’t clear ten or more by the end of the day, if she put her mind to it. If an application backlog was an issue for the Project, she would be the most efficient backlog clearer Robert Parekh had ever seen.
And as she worked, she would keep an eye out for applications with real potential.
At one point late into the afternoon, Hannah looked up, blinking, from her screen. Rachel was staring at a smal group standing outside Parekh’s office—Robert Parekh himself, and three students.
A very pretty Hispanic girl wearing jeans and a black sweater that hugged her curves; a blond girl, expensively dressed but with a pinched look about her; and a tal boy with tousled dark brown hair, wearing a blue shirt with the sleeves rol ed up. They were deep in conversation with Parekh and after a moment or two they disappeared into his office and shut the door behind them. Rachel stared after them with a look of such naked longing and frustration that Hannah looked away fast.
“You asked about death row cases. We only have the Dandridge case right now, and only the A team wil get to work on it: Camila Martinez, Hazel El ison, and Sean Warner. As far as Parekh is concerned, they’re the best of us. Even though Hazel’s virtual y the only student who didn’t get a job offer after her summer internship, so what does that tel you?”
“I don’t know.” Hannah said it flatly. She didn’t have a job lined up, not yet. But then Maine Law wasn’t a top ten school . . . and she’d had other priorities.
Rachel shrugged and looked back down at her keyboard. “I’m just saying, maybe they aren’t the best. Maybe there are other reasons they’ve been selected.”
“Why do you think they were chosen?”
Rachel rol ed her eyes. “Wel , Camila’s Hispanic and he’s gay, obviously. It’s just tokenism. A diversity effort.”
Hannah took a breath. She didn’t want to make enemies this early. She didn’t want to make enemies at al . She couldn’t afford them. But Rachel was a pain in the ass. “I’ve read some of Sean Warner’s recommendations,” she said. “They’re sharp. He seems like a smart guy.”
Rachel flushed. “What are you doing reading his stuff?”
Hannah shrugged. “Learning,” she said.
Rachel’s blush deepened. “Whatever.” She turned back to her computer and ten minutes later packed up and left without another word to Hannah.
Hannah kept her eye on Rob Parekh’s office door. She waited for the so-cal ed A team to emerge and settle back at their desks. They worked, it seemed, at three desks pushed together at a corner by the window. Hannah stood up, took a breath, and walked over as casual y as she could manage. Only one of them—Camila—looked up at her approach.
“Can I help you?”
“I wanted to say hi,” Hannah said, smiling warmly. “I’m Hannah. I just started here.”
“Camila,” Camila said. She nodded toward the others by way of introduction. “Sean. Hazel.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hannah said. Sean smiled back at her. He was tal , in shape, and very handsome. As wel as the artful y tousled hair, he was working scruffy stubble and deep blue eyes. Hazel barely glanced up before returning her attention to papers spread out on the table in front of them. “Uh, I just wondered if you guys wanted to get a coffee some time?” Hannah had to work to maintain her light and breezy tone in the face of Camila’s flat stare and Hazel’s indifference. “I’ve got so much to learn, and I’m told you guys are the experts.”
“Who told you we were experts? Rachel?” Camila said. Her tone was disbelieving.
“I . . . yes,” Hannah said. Shit. She’d handled this al wrong.
Camila stared her down for a long moment. Sean seemed bemused and now even Hazel was looking at her. Hannah felt her cheeks redden.
“I could use a coffee,” Camila said eventual y. “There’s a place down at the corner that’s pretty good. I’l have a large cappuccino, two sugars. Hazel?”
“Same,” Hazel said promptly.
“Sean?” Camila said.
He frowned. “Camila, come on—”
“It’s fine,” Hannah said quickly. “I’m happy to grab them. It looks like you guys have work to do.” She let her eyes drop to the papers on the desk. They weren’t pleadings. They looked like photocopied witness statements. From the Dandridge case? Hannah’s heart beat faster.
“Yeah, Sean. She’s fine to get them,” Camila said.
Sean took a little more persuading, but when Hannah insisted, he asked for a black coffee. She smiled at him, got her coat, and went to find the coffee shop. The place on the corner was a ten-minute walk. Hannah ordered the coffees. She’d screwed up. It was obvious she wasn’t going to charm her way into the inner circle. When she got back to the office, she should drop the coffees off quickly and retreat. Find another way in. Shit. She had so little time. She may need to do something drastic.
HANNAH WORKED THROUGH THE AFTERNOON AND INTO THE
LATE evening. Completely focused on what she was doing, she barely noticed as the room emptied out and she was interrupted by Marianne Stephenson at eight o’clock.
Marianne cleared her throat. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”
she said, but there was warmth in her tone and a definite suggestion of approval.
“I’m so sorry,” Hannah said. “Have I been keeping you? I lost track of the time.”
“You’re the last one here, but I always work late on Mondays.”
Hannah started to pack up. “I’l be ready in just a minute,” she said. Marianne nodded. She went idly to the window and looked out into the darkness while Hannah packed away her notebook and pens and water bottle.
“I guess you’re not kidding around,” Marianne said, over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry?”
“We get a mix of students here,” she said, stil not looking at Hannah. “Most of them appear to have a genuine interest in helping people, but scrape the surface and they’re here for the course credit.
Stil , we get at least one true believer every year. They’re usual y the ones I see here late, burning the midnight oil.”
“Right,” Hannah said.