Twenty Five Reasons Not to Go to Law School

Reason Three

Reason Three not to go to law school: you have to note everything.

One of my best professors at law school advised me to take into consideration every aspect of a client's life. Don't underestimate the small things. Analyze every detail that has anything to do with this person, as any one detail could have innumerable significant applications to your case.

I began that analysis on day one. I read the address Ms. Steinbeck had given me, but it was a street I'd never heard of. My GPS told me it was about four miles from my firm, right outside of the city. That didn't have much significance, at least immediately.

When I pulled up to the house, I wasn't surprised. It was a relatively nice one, an average middle-class white suburban home. They seemed to have money, but not an excessive amount. The mother had mentioned being able to make bail, but not much more, so that seemed to check out. In any case, the girl was only seventeen, and the relationship had only lasted a few months, so I was reluctant to believe that money would play into the case at all.

As I walked up the cobblestone path to the house, I couldn't help but continually ask myself why a seventeen year old girl would kill her boyfriend. Why was it even in the realm of possibility?

I rang the bell and was met at the door by the woman I'd met the day before. "Good morning, Ms. Steinbeck," I greeted warmly. "How are you?"

"We're doing alright," she said, taking my "you" as a plural. "How are you?"

"Great," I said, walking into the living room of a nicely kept home, where nothing seemed out of order. "Thank you." 

"Samantha's in the dining room," she said, gesturing down the hall. "Should I leave you alone?"

"If you wouldn't mind, that would be great," I told her. "Thank you."

She nodded and escaped wordlessly upstairs.

I walked into the house's dining room. Equally nice, I made as a mental note. Nothing suspicious. Nothing out of the ordinary.

That was when I noticed the girl sitting in there, and noticed that she was, in a word, breathtaking.

I had to examine her. Every aspect, I reminded myself as I assessed her physically. A physical assessment is necessary to the case. 

Around 5'7, or maybe less...difficult to tell. She's sitting down. Expressive eyes, long, dark hair...that was really shiny...clear skin, incredible lips...

Okay, the assessment was decidedly over. 

"Hi, Samantha?" I ventured a guess, coming into the room. She noticed my entrance for the first time. She'd been sitting there, hands folded on the table, looking neither distressed nor completely tranquil. 

She managed to smile at me. Nice teeth, too, I noted. "Hi," she replied. "Nice to meet you."

I put out my hand to shake as I sat down across from her. Soft hands. Noted.

"Cassandra Foreman. Or, you know, Cassie, or Cass," I babbled as if we were on a blind date. "I mean, my friends call me Cass, but you know, whatever."

Oh, my God, I was saying in my head, but I couldn't stop myself from rambling. I was a professional, and I was always composed. Even in the face of pretty girls, I was usually composed. This pretty girl shouldn't have been different from any other pretty girl I'd ever met. Why was she?

"Okay..." she said, smirking a little bit. She smiled, amused, as she playfully added, "Cass."

"Sorry, I guess that was a long introduction."