A/N: I redid this. I must've been in a terrible mood when I wrote this the first time, because, boy, was it boring. I hope it's better now!
Classes & Coffee
8:30 AM, his alarm clock noisily declared. Time to get up. Wes groaned at the thought. Usually he woke up much earlier and didn't mind, but he'd spent nearly all night in the library. It was only his fourth day of his last year in law school, and he already had piles of work to do.
He'd have slept much later, except that after he left the library around two that morning, he'd checked his answering machine. He'd received a call about a new client from Stanford's tutoring services. Now he had to go meet her- it was probably a her- and help her with the First Amendment.
He didn't mind, except these girls were a bit annoying. All of them wanted to prove themselves; all wanted to be seen as serious lawyers-in-training.
They all knew the Constitution. They all knew history, world and American. All had read the classics of English literature and most could quote easily from any author.
Also, they were ridiculously proud of this knowledge, as if they were worth the weight of the books they'd read in gold. More importantly, they never wanted to talk about anything else.
Don't get me wrong, he thought. I like smart women. Just not boring ones.Wes had been just like that, desperate to be viewed as part of Stanford's intellectual elite, in his first year here. Now, two years later, he still enjoyed learning, but frankly the idea of doing this forever bored him to tears.
Hopefully it would be more exciting when he started taking actual cases, instead of only reading about them. The six-figure salary wouldn't hurt either, he reflected.
Wes sighed as he finished his coffee. Standing, and shaking off his thoughts, he snatched his laptop bag and headed out the door. Then wheeled around and went right back in. He scribbled a note to his roomate, tacking it to the fridge:
I cleaned up the last 3,495 times. It's your turn.
He knew perfectly well his roommate, an obnoxious commercial law student, would ignore the note, but it was the principle of the thing. Besides, this way at least Ed couldn't claim to have simply forgotten.
Having reminded Ed Portman of his roommate duties, Wes began his walk to one of a thousand red brick buildings, where the tutoring sessions met. He wound his way through the hallways, arriving at the correct room twelve minutes early.
As usual, he used the extra time to study for his own classes. No point in tutoring if he ended up needing a tutor himself.
The girl arrived, and fit Wes's expectations neatly. She didn't need that much help, just a little hand-holding as she adjusted to life in law school. Nothing unusual about that. In fact, that was usually all the first-years really needed. They were wrapping up around 10:30, and Wes was mentally preparing for his own class.
"My friend's picking me up." She told him, as he looked at his watch.
He feigned interest in her personal transportation for a moment, but luckily a knock at the door saved him from having to do so any longer.
"That's probably her now."
Preoccupied with gathering his things, Wes looked up briefly to catch a glimpse of dark hair in a ponytail, glasses, a blue-and-white jersey, and a royal blue backpack.
He nodded politely as he was introduced to the possessor of those items, and was heading to the door when the blue jersey girl spoke suddenly,
"You know, if you could take on another person, I could really use some help too...Um, I have a class with Hannigan, and half the time I don't even know what she's talking about."
More of them? Wes thought. Then he promptly reprimanded himself and replied,
"Uh, OK. You have to talk to Mrs. Roth, though. She runs the program."
He informed her of his prices, class and work schedule, and materials to bring. She enthusiastically nodded her understanding, and Wes left for class with a sense of accomplishment.
Not that this job paid tuition or anything, but it did help a little. And it looked great on a resumé. Really, it would be too much to expect for it to all that and be enjoyable.
Besides, he'd never minded having work to do. Not when the alternative was sitting in his apartment alone, or worse, with Ed and his irritating girlfriend, who constantly tried to set him up. Contrary to their opinion, Wes did date, but he preferred meeting the girl himself.
That way, if they turned out not to get along, he didn't have to worry about upsetting Ed and his girlfriend as well as himself and his date. Or about being humiliated by a messy break-up. Things were just simpler that way. Keep the possible complications to a minimum.
That was just the way his mind worked, always mapping out every potential drawback or pitfall in a situation, analyzing carefully to ensure things went as smoothly as possible. Especially if said drawbacks or pitfalls involved looking foolish.
This ability to spot problems before they occurred gave him a unique perspective on things, and he had a feeling the skill would profit him greatly as a lawyer.
Of course, there was also the fact that he'd only broken up with his previous girlfriend a little while ago. He still couldn't see himself with anyone else, but naturally he wasn't about to tell Ed or his girlfriend that.
As he arrived at class, he put all these thoughts out of his mind and focused on the lecture. He was good at that too- another useful skill for a litigator.
The next day, in the campus bookstore, Wes was picking up a book a professor had failed to mention was required until yesterday. Looking at the price, he was again grateful for his tutoring job. The restaurant paid better, but he'd take anything he could get.
For the nth time, the idea of asking his parents for money crossed his mind. And, as always, he shot it down. They would give him whatever he needed, but he was almost 23 now, he could, and, more importantly, should pay his own way. All the sudden, a female voice interrupted his musings.
"Wes?"
He looked up to see the blue jersey girl. Well, she wasn't wearing the blue jersey today, but still.
"Yeah?"
She still had the glasses and ponytail, but today was dressed in dark jeans and a loose, billowy white top that left her arms bare to the California sun. It was quite attractive, and Wes found himself hoping Ed would walk by and see her talking to him. Oh, he forgot to listen:
"...nesday OK? At two?" She asked eagerly. She was biting her lip. Wes tried not to stare.
"Huh?...Oh, for tutoring. Sure. I'm free then."
"I know," she replied, amused. "You gave me your schedule, remember?"
"Right."
Oops. Still, she didn't seem to be laughing at him or enjoying his forgetfulness. Or distractedness. In fact, she seemed friendly. And cute, now that he thought about it.
The ponytail was holding back a mass of wavy almond-colored hair, and the eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses were bright blue. They were on him. Probably because he was staring at her. Kicking himself mentally, he said,
"Well."
Brilliant, Wes. He said to himself. How could she resist that? Now she was definitely enjoying his awkwardness. Obviously holding back a smile, she returned,
"Well."
Clearly, she wasn't going to save him from this moment by just moving on. He was about to say, "Good bye" and get the hell out of there, when he remembered the book in his hand.
Now his resentment for that professor doubled. He had to pay for it, and he couldn't just put it back down and leave, either. She'd notice.
He wouldn't have another chance to get it until after the first assignment for that class was due. He was just going to have to put up with the silence until he paid for it. Then, he assured himself, he could escape this moment. Until -nesday. That had to be Wednesday. At...what time? Damn it.
"Uh, I'm sorry. What time did you say?
"What?"
After receiving this less-than-brilliant response, he looked up and noticed she was blushing. Aha! At least he wasn't the only awkward one.
"I said, what time did you say?"
"Oh! Um, two." She looked flustered. And now even cuter.
"Right." He nodded knowingly, enjoying her slight discomfort.
Now he felt he had a little power over this situation again. He strode up to the countertop, the girl- what was her name?- following him. Abby, Ally, Alexa. No, Alex. Alex McFarland. The transaction completed, he tucked the receipt into his shirt pocket and, for reasons he never could recall accurately, blurted out,
"Do you want coffee?"
"What?" She appeared to have been lost in her thoughts, which he could relate to.
He tried again.
"Coff-"
"Oh, sure. Um, where?"
Now that part he knew, even if he had no idea why he was asking her there. Still, now she seemed more nervous than him. Maybe he could handle this.
"There's a place across the street, one building over. I'll walk you there."
On the way over he asked her the obligatory questions about her concentration. Public interest. For once, he didn't have the usual thought when first-years told him that: Yeah, right. See me again next year. It'll be intellectual property, or commercial, maybe labor.
First-years typically started out with grand intentions of saving the world from internation human rights violations. Then they, like all law students, took another look at their student loans, fainted, and woke up with a sudden appreciation for the more lucrative areas of the legal profession.
He told her his own, and expressed his concern with whether he'd be a good litigator.
She warmly supported his choice, and, despite her lack of enough knowledge about him upon which to base that judgment, he appreciated the encouragement.
He seemed to have made a mistake by not noticing her yesterday- she was obviously smart, but more than that, unlike the majority of the girls he knew, she seemed warm. Genuine.
He shook that thought off, deciding it was a bit early to know something so profound about her. Besides, it was cheesy, and he didn't do cheesy.
They had coffee at the campus shop- two creams, no sugar for him; a latte for her- and continued chatting. He learned she was from Wisconsin, that the blue jersey he'd immediately associated with her was in Lawrence University, her undergrad alma mater's, colors.
He found himself telling her about his time at UCLA, and giving her advice for her time at Stanford. Which professors to take, which ones to avoid at all costs. This led him to the instructor who had just cost him $209.
Without really intending to, he let her know his real thoughts about the jerk who had assigned a book two days before an assignment based on that book was due. She laughed in surprise at his obvious frustration, and he caught himself enjoying the sound of it. It wasn't "musical," or anything silly like that.
Really it was a little masculine, like if she laughed any harder a snort would come from it. It was obviously her own laugh, not something reserved for guys, that she thought sounded better.
Before he knew it, he was running late for work, and she for class. The awkwardness had dissipated, his anxiety was gone. Well, mostly. He asked,
"Do you have dinner plans?"
"I'd be happy to." Her eyes were twinkling, reflecting her smile.
"Would you-. Wait, what?"
She laughed again. Smiling- which he had to admit was unusual- at his own mistake, he decided to take control again.
"I'll pick you up. Seven okay?"
"That sounds great. Here's my address." She said breezily, her eyes still sparkling.
She wrote it on a napkin, handed it to him, and started towards the door. Grinning, he paid for their coffees and drove himself to work. He was so excited about the prospect of dinner with her, he didn't even think how much fun it was going to be to tell Ed and his girlfriend until several hours later.
Seven sharp, his watch said. He knocked on Alex's door in his nicest pair of gray slacks and a white button-down, hoping she was ready to go. The anxiety had returned, with a fair amount of excitement, and he feared any little change in plans would make it worse.
"It's unlocked," He heard her yell from inside. Then,
"You can wait on the couch."
No such luck. Of course she wasn't ready to go. That would be breaking some sort of universal code embedded in the second X chromosome. He let himself in, noticing his hands were shaking as he worked the doorknob. Stop that, he ordered himself. She's a sweet girl from Wisconsin, not a serial killer. His muscles were more suspicious, however, and his leg jumped furiously the whole time he sat on her little couch.
He decided to steady himself by studying her apartment. This little couch, a chair, and a single, plain coffee table were the only furniture in the living room. The kitchenette adjoined to it, and he could see it was clean, painted yellow and pale blue, and clearly looked after. Like his own kitchen, except his was white and pink. He hadn't painted it.
Photos were hung on the walls, even though he assumed she hadn't been in California for more than two weeks. Maybe she had a roomate. That explanation seemed more likely as he surveyed the photos: none were of her.
At that, he started fearing interruption by a female (he hoped) version of his own roommate, and his nerves came back. And they brought their friends. Was he really doing this? Maybe Ed was right and he wasn't good at this. Maybe…The sound of Alex's voice, thankfully, derailed this train of thought.
"Hi, Wes. Ready to go?"
"Yeah. Uh, how do you feel about Italian?"