I shake it automatically, unsure of why he’s here while at the same time wondering why anyone would ever name their kid Kale. “I’m Sabrina James.”

“Great. Welcome to Harvard Legal Aid. Here’s our intake form. If you need any help, give me a holler.”

He shoves a clipboard toward me. I scan the document, not quite understanding why I need to fill out a form to see Professor Fromm. I tug the pen out from under the clip and start to print my name. Then I stop. While I’m not a fan of looking stupid, I figure it’s better to ask what the hell is going on. “Is this Legal Aid? Because I’m not—”

He cuts me off. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what legal aid is for. For the indigent.” The last word drips with condescension.

My neck hairs bristle. “I know what—”

“Do you not read English? Hablo español?” He jerks the clipboard out of my hands, flips the paper over, and then shoves it back toward me. The form is now in Spanish.

“I speak English,” I growl between clenched teeth.

“Oh, okay. I can fill out your form if you can’t read or write. There are many people with your kind of problem here. Is it a domestic issue? Landlord/tenant? We don’t handle torts here.” Again, he gives me a patronizing smile.

“I’m a student,” I tell him. “I mean, I will be a student.”

We stare at each other for a moment as I wait for my words to register. I see the moment that they do, because the pale white guy grows even whiter. “You are? Christ, I thought…”

I know what he thought. He took one look at my frayed coat and pegged me as a poor person in need of free legal services. And the most humiliating part of this is that he isn’t wrong. If I needed a lawyer, I wouldn’t be able to pay for one.

“Is there a problem here?” a new voice interrupts. A giraffe of a woman appears behind Kale, her hands clasped behind her back.

“No, there’s no problem, Professor Stein.” Kale gives me a tight smile, but his eyes flash a warning, as if to say to not fuck this up for him.

The smile I give him in return is full of teeth. “Dale here thought I was a client, but I’m actually here to see Professor Fromm.”

The professor studies me, quickly assessing the situation. As she relieves me of the clipboard, she tilts her head toward the stairs. “Second floor, first door on the left.” She hands the clipboard back to the Kale.

“It’s Kale,” he hisses as he stiffly marches away.

The professor shakes her head. “New students,” she says in a flimsy apology before walking off in the opposite direction.

As Kale disappears down the hall, I hear a high-pitched voice greet him. “Oh my God, that was too funny. Did you actually mistake that girl for a Spanish-speaking immigrant?”

I should move on, but my feet are rooted to the spot. The receptionist gives me a pained look.

“Did you see what she was wearing?” Kale protests from the corridor. “Looked like a reject from the domestic violence clothing drive we have each year.”

A new voice chimes in. “What are you guys laughing about?”

“Kale mistook a student visiting Prof Fromm for a homeless person.”

With burning cheeks, I meet the eyes of the receptionist. “You gotta do something about those acoustics.”

She shrugs. “If you think that’s the worst thing I hear every day, you’re in for a sore surprise.”

What a cheerful thought. The idea of lingering here isn’t so appealing anymore, so I take the steps two at a time. Professor Fromm’s door is at the top of the stairs. She’s talking on the phone but notices me right away.

“Sabrina, come in.” Placing a hand over the receiver, she gestures for me to enter. “I’ll just be a minute.” To the person on the phone she says, “I have to go. A student walked in. Don’t forget to pick up the dry cleaning.”

The office is lined with books, most of them legal publications marked by the olive hardcovers with the North Eastern Reporter words in gold lettering on the spine.

I take a seat in the black leather chair in front of the desk and wonder what it’d be like to sit on the other side. It would mean I’d arrived, and no one would mistake me for a legal aid recipient ever again.

“So… Congratulations!” She beams at me. “I wanted to tell you the other night, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am.”

“Your credentials are impeccable, but…” She pauses and my heart starts beating wildly.

She can’t take away my acceptance, can she? Once it’s mine, it can’t be revoked, right?

“Kelly mentioned that you work two jobs?” she finishes.

“Yes, I wait tables and sort mail.” Professor Gibson knows exactly where I wait tables, but she told me it wasn’t necessary for Harvard to know, so I keep that under wraps. “But I plan to quit both jobs before classes start this fall.”

This makes Fromm happy. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that. While the old Paper Chase saying that if you look to your left and right and one of you won’t be here next year is no longer the case, we do have a few students that drop out after the first year. I don’t want you to be one of them. Your focus this coming fall needs to be on your studies. You’ll be expected to absorb more information in one night than most undergrads do in a semester.”

She plucks two books off a stack on the floor and pushes them across the desk. According to the titles, one is on administrative law and the other is on the art of writing.

“When you have time, and I suggest you make it, practice your writing. The pen is your strongest weapon here. If you can write well, you’ll go places. The other is on ad law. A lot of people get stumped on regulatory practice versus corporate and tort law. It’s good to be a step ahead.” She gives the books another nudge toward me.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully, gathering the books and placing them in my lap.

“You’re welcome. Tell Kelly I said hello when you get back to Briar.”

Okay then. I’m clearly dismissed.

“Thank you,” I repeat awkwardly, and then I take the books and rise to my feet.

I skipped class, rode the subway, and endured a humiliating encounter with a jerk named Kale, and for what? A five-minute conversation and two book recommendations?