Seen (ONC 2024)

Chapter 12: The Tough Get Going

Three Months Later

My laptop is open in front of me, but I've just been re-reading the same few sentences over and over.

Maybe I needed a shot of espresso this morning instead of this carafe of French press.

I look over at the register. A line has formed and I don't feel like waiting.

I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to wake up. To focus. The air in the cafe is filled with the usual rich aroma of coffee, punctuated by notes of cinnamon and nutmeg. Must be the pumpkin spice and its the seasonal assault on the menu.

Again, my mind is concentrating on the wrong thing.

In just a few hours, I will depose the head of my client's private school, and I need to make sure I have my notes in order. That my references are accurate.

The door swings wide open, sending a crisp October breeze swirling through the shop. It's refreshing, but I instinctively pull on the lapels of my wool sport coat to ward off the chill.

Then, with a deep breath of fresh air, I finally start typing.

The kid I am representing has been barred from joining the boys' track team. This would be a slam dunk if he attended a public school in Massachusetts, but because his school is private, things are a bit more complicated.

But we still have a strong case.

I just need to find the right way to highlight how the head of school's statements and views are in contrast to that of his faculty and student body.

As I type, I feel like I am being watched. A gaze is burning into me.

When I look up, my eyes meet those of a teenager standing by the door. He's decked out in slim-fit teal pants and a pink graphic tee layered under a hoodie, complete with a double lip-ring that gives him an edgy vibe.

I cock a brow, wondering if I know him. Is he someone I've represented?

No, that can't be right. He doesn't look familiar, and I'm usually good with faces.

I shake my head slightly and redirect my attention back to my laptop screen. The deposition is in a few hours and I'm behind enough already. My preparation can't afford anymore interruptions.

Yet, I can still feel his eyes. When I glance up again, the kid has his phone out, pointed in my direction. A flicker of annoyance crosses my mind, but it's quickly replaced by curiosity.

"Can I help you?" I ask, my tone more intrigued than accusatory.

"You're really him, right?" the kid blurts out, stepping forward, his voice a mixture of awe and excitement.

I pause, taken aback. "Him? Who do you think I am?"

"The lawyer, the one from the news this summer. Elijah Bennet. You were all over everything. You're him, aren't you?" His eyes are wide, expectant.

I let out a soft chuckle, a bit surprised. I thought my fifteen minutes of fame were already up.

When I first returned from Vermont, the frenzy followed me.

My sedan lost Aria's sports car after less than twenty miles. I cut over towards 89-South, and she must have continued on to Interstate 91. But it didn't matter because the tabloids had decided we were a thing.

For about a week, it was utterly inescapable. My phone notifications were beyond management. Friends I hadn't talked to for years suddenly wanted to catch up and grab drinks. Even people I thought were above this type of gossip–my colleagues, for example–all had some question or comment for me. And my poor secretary was inundated with media requests.