Reasonable Doubt: Volume 1 (Reasonable Doubt 1)

“WHAT?!” She burst into giggles. “You’re ridiculous! Ugh, there’s a client at my door right now. I have to go. Can I call you later?”

“Always.” I hung up, smiling. Then it hit me.

Fuck...She always finds a way out of that line of questioning...

Perjury (n.):

The willful giving of false testimony under oath.

Alyssa (Well, my real name is “Aubrey”...)

“Lies always catch up to people in the end. Why don’t people understand that?” That’s what Thoreau’s text message said this morning.

“You don’t think some lies are justifiable?” I texted back.

“No. Never.”

I hesitated. “So, you’ve never lied to me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because we barely know each other...”

“Only because you keep me at a distance.” He sent me another text before I could respond. “Would you like to know my real name and where I work?”

“I prefer our anonymous arrangement.”

“Of course you do, and I’ve never lied to you. I trust you for some strange reason.”

“Some strange reason?”

“Very strange. I’ll talk to you later.”

I tossed my phone into my purse and sighed, letting that familiar feeling of guilt wash over me. I’d never meant to continue talking to him, to become his friend outside of LawyerChat, but I was in too deep, and I didn’t want to let him go.

Months ago, when I’d spotted the invitation to the exclusive network on my mother’s desk, I swore to only use it when I needed to ask questions for my pre-law classes. I’d used her access code to log in, built a fake profile, and made sure all the questions I asked were weaved in a way that no one would know that they were for homework assignments.

Unfortunately for me, the pre-law program at Duke was unlike any other program in the country. It consisted of more hands-on classes, one-on-one mentoring from practicing lawyers, and it was mandated that each student find an internship for the final four semesters. In addition to that, they expected us to read through and interpret case files like we were already lawyers.

If I had known that asking Thoreau for so much homework advice would lead to an actual friendship, I might have stopped talking to him sooner. Then again, just like I was his only friend, he was my only friend, too.

He was open and honest every time we spoke, and I only wished that I could be the same—especially since he seemed to have a habit of saying, “I hate f**king liars” whenever one of his dates deceived him.

Damnit...

Smoothing the tulle fabric of my tutu, I took several deep breaths; I could think about my friendship with Thoreau later, right now I needed to focus.

Today was audition day for a production of Swan Lake and I was a nervous wreck; I’d barely slept the night before, skipped breakfast, and showed up to the theater five hours early.

“Please clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen!” The director shouted from below. “The official auditions will begin in thirty minutes! Please clear the stage and make your way to the wings!”

Before heading backstage, I looked out into the audience. Most of the faces were familiar—my classmates, instructors, a few directors from the ballet company I’d worked for last summer, but the faces I needed to see weren’t there.

They never were.

Hurt, I found a corner in the dressing room and called my mother.

“Hello?” she answered on the first ring.