Most of Law school is a bit of a blur now, but that first week is somehow still clear. I suppose that's what happens with those pivotal moments in life. I remember what I wore for that first day: a silk buttoned shirt, a light vest, camel-colored skirt I to this day still love and miss, and boots. My hair was mid-back long and I tied it up in a half ponytail. I wore very light makeup. I knew my outfit wasn't summery or college-y but to me it was Law-school-y and I thought it made me look cool and smart at the same time...

Or exactly like my mom in the 70s, when she quit being a hippie. That would be a compliment, thought, my mom was (is) stunningly gorgeous.

I also remember running from that introductory talk to that first official class and being late for it, because I still didn't know my way around the building. I went upstairs, downstairs, down the halls, the nomenclature was so confusing. At least I wasn't alone, Mallorie was around too and if it wasn't for her I would still be looking for that classroom. She was wiser about her choice of clothes: cool jeans and a cool t-shirt, and she indeed looked cool with her long, dark hair down but tidy. Although she was quiet and reserved, she always seemed so confident about her poise (or maybe she didn't care at all) and it made me wish I was like that—I was so self-conscious back then.

It was my first time ever being late for class (if you call 5 minutes 'late') and I remember not only because it hadn't happened to me before, but because class had already started and we got told for being late. Not really, but the professor stopped, looked at his watch and everyone turned their heads around to see us.

I laugh now, but the little nerd in me that day was a little mortified.

We had to sit down in the front row, so we had to go all the way down with everyone staring and the professor waiting and, as I came closer, I realized this professor was, actually, that neighbor. His name was Mr. Fitzgerald.

I looked at the board and at my schedule in my hand. Same name.

This guy is a professor?

Well, he was.

He pointed at his desk for us to take a bunch of photocopies papers stapled together. As I write, I can feel the smell of toner all those papers we used had back then. I can also smell my bag, when I opened and took out my brand-new school supplies: pencil case, notebook... Some people die for it—buying school supplies, even collecting them.

I was still catching my breath from all the running, my face must have been red for at least 10 minutes. My mind was trying to ease from all the ruckus, but intertwined with the idea of seeing Nathan that night play a college game for the first time. Baseball tickets were popular around campus and hard to find, but he assured me he'd have tickets for me for the entire season (true). I made sure he'd get me two tickets, for me and for Mallorie. Of course he obliged, I was taking a new girl to see him.

As I listened to the professor speak as a distant sound (although he was practically in front of me) I was also thinking back to earlier that morning, as I was trying to find my clothes between my still undone luggage, and found my 'box,' a little, worn out wooden box my mom gave me. It accidentally opened, all its contents on the floor: movie tickets, concert tickets, small notes and doodles Nathan gave me, and... photos with Brian from a photo booth. It's funny how I had forgotten I had those there. I was sure I had hidden all of our photos together and left them home.

I still have that box. Not with photos of Brian, of course, but it's still where I keep my memories and mementos. So my mind was in my room, with my things still in boxes and bags. A bunch of papers, etc. on a small table. At least I had my TV and my stereo out. Priorities.

This class was Legal Writing and Research which is basically where you learn to read cases and discuss them. In fact, practically all of Law school is about discussing cases and reading too much and preparing for class. The structure and language of those texts were familiar for me. Because I was always curious (nosy) I went through my stepdad Rick's briefcase and read them all the time back home, since I was little. He let me after telling me to put them back exactly how I'd found them. I was always interested and a good reader and analyzer from an early age and perhaps that is why Rick though I would be fit to take after him. I did too. As I mentioned before I had been helping him around the office, getting accustomed... it would be my office eventually as well. It's not that I didn't like the whole ordeal, but I felt like I had taken this specific class already, and had been taking it for many years.

So in the midst of wandering I hear a question and my mind comes back to the classroom. For the life of me I can't remember what the question was, probably about the meaning of a word or a phrase in Latin or why this word was used instead of another but all I know is that I answered on the spot. No hand up, just replied as I would do at home with Rick.

From the expression on his face, the professor seemed impressed. "Exactly—" he asked my name, I told him, "Robin Morgan" (I still went by Morgan back then). "Exactly, Miss Morgan," he said.

So I figured I was still the teacher's pet and, most likely, my classmates would not precisely love me. But that lasted a millisecond. Something changed in me, right then: I didn't care. I just didn't care what other people thought.

I suppose I'm remembering and telling you this much just to paint the picture for you and say that this was my first interaction with Mr. Fitzgerald.

He was, you know, a bit of a looker. Blonde, tall, slim and he seemed young. His hair was wavy and long enough to make him keep running his hand through it. He wore a polo shirt and light colored trousers which differed from the usual professorial attire of, say, vests, suspenders and so on. He paced from one side of the room to the other as he spoke. His voice in class was loud and firm but his tone was soothing. He wrote something on the board and I noticed he was left-handed. My mind took a break from all the racing and stayed there. My eyes too.

I felt the class lasted a minute. Again, these were things I was so used to seeing. That made me hopeful: maybe Law school wouldn't be too hard after all. Oh, little did I know.

"Miss Morgan?" the professor asked as I stood up from my seat and people were leaving.

"Yes?"

"Well done today. I see you're familiar with this." He kept tidying up a ton of papers and putting them into a folder. What's with professors always carrying a bunch of papers crammed in a folder?

"Yes, a little bit."

"So, Morgan. Any relation to Rick Morgan?"

Here we go. I took a deep breath.

"He's my fath—stepfather."

Rick Morgan was my father, legally. He had adopted me when I was six years old, when he married my mother. But when I mentioned him to people I kept calling him my stepfather, and I never called him dad.

"Ah, I see. I was an intern at his firm. Many years ago."

Many years ago?

"Certainly not that many." I thought to myself, except I didn't, I actually voiced it out loud. I though I could actually hear Mallorie swallow hard over the professor's chuckle and the first of his smiles I saw.

"Enough years." He keep looking at papers in his hand. Still smiling. The blood had drained from my face. "Please, tell him Alex Fitzgerald says hi."

Alex.

I must have nodded, but I wasn't going to tell Rick. He wouldn't remember anyway, I knew him. He talked trash about the interns he got and how that, if he were up to him, there would be no interns in his office.

But that's when I first saw his eyes properly and noticed they were light brown, and that he had a small chickenpox scar under his right eye that from afar looked like a freckle.

I have no idea what I said after that, I just remember leaving and in the rush of the moment, I mentioned to Mallorie that this professor lived in my building. She would become my confident in everything that would come after.

We of course had other classes that day and luckily, Mallorie was with me for most of them. I tried to focus, but my mind wanted a ping-pong match instead between Nathan tonight and... that interesting first class I had that morning.

Sure enough we went to the baseball game (attired with our team shirts) and I can still feel the excitement of seeing Nathan there, playing a proper college field and not a school one. We sat right over the team's dugout so between innings he looked up at us and smiled. The girls cheered. He was having the time of his life, exactly how I imagined. But sometimes as he walked back to the mound he looked, it was that look I can't describe and that we shared. A look that said everything, without saying anything.