Chapter Text
Andy glanced up at the townhouse looming above her menacingly. This was the address her professor had provided her with.
Her heart was pounding so furiously, she was worried that it would explode. She really didn’t want to go in, even though she probably needed it. Miranda had been very vocal about her displeasure with Andrea’s performance in class, and had basically delivered an ultimatum; agree to attend study sessions, or be forced out of the class. Obviously, she had chosen the first option, as terrifying as it sounded, because her parents would kill her if she had to drop out.
She knocked on the door, swaying back and forth on her feet as she waited for Miranda to answer. Half a minute passed, and she bit her lip, staring at the imposing wall of wood before her. Should she knock again? Would that be risking Miranda’s wrath? Was she even home? Panic overtook her, and she just stayed grounded to her spot.
Luckily, the door opened a fraction, enough for those penetrating blue eyes flicking over her in appraisal. Andy straightened her posture self-consciously, her heart on the verge of leaping out of her chest and doing cartwheels. The door eventually swung open completely, and Miranda nodded. “Come in.”
Andy took in the sight of her and as always, she was awestruck by how fantastic she looked. Her crisp white blouse was undone a couple extra buttons, and Miranda brushed down her pencil skirt, hair artfully tousled and face a little flushed. Her breathing was just a little heavy-- or was that just Andy’s overactive imagination at play?
“Coat,” Miranda said to Andy flatly, gesturing for her coat. Startled, Andy complied, and watched as Miranda hung up her coat in the closet in fascination.
There were a lot of Miranda’s jackets in the closet, Andy recognised them, but there were also a lot of smaller ones that looked like they belonged to children. They were just as fashionable, but more colourful and adorable. Miranda had two twins daughters, she recalled, diving into the deep recesses of her Miranda facts. It was weird to think that this impossibly scary woman, her professor, was a mother. How did she manage to do so much? The closet door shut with a click, the little glimpse of Miranda’s personal life disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
The older woman beckoned for Andy to follow, so she did. They walked past the many closets-- seriously, who needed six of them?-- and past the staircase, into a cozy-looking corner. There were large, overfilled bookshelves that reached the ceiling, an expensive couch in the centre, and several small glass tables. The neat stacks of law books and stack of papers indicated that this was Miranda’s study.
The professor curled up on the couch, with such ease that it made Andy believe she spent a lot of time here.
“Well? Sit down.”
She obeyed, and Andy wondered to herself if tonight was just going to be Miranda bossing her around like this. Probably. This was likely going to be what every study session would be like. Three times a week of this.
“It’s clear that you’re in dire need of my assistance,” Miranda drawled to Andy, who was kind of in a daze. She was looking at the many framed certificates, awards, and articles that lined the walls. Her law degree, her Time cover, assorted newspaper clippings, that sort of thing.
Andy had always known that Miranda was famous, but this was a little overwhelming. She was in Professor Priestly’s house. Miranda Elizabeth Priestly, valedictorian of her class, PhD in law from Harvard, graduated summa cum laude. Top lawyer in the United States, head of a billion dollar law firm, professor of criminal law at her alma mater. She had been on the cover for Time and on a list titled The World’s 100 Most Powerful Women.
“Where do you think we need to begin?” Miranda peered at her over the tops of her reading glasses. The older woman shifted and folded her legs underneath her, immersed in a large law volume. When Andy didn’t reply, she jerked her head up to glare at her.
“Ms. Sachs, answer the question,” she commanded, irritation clear as day as she pursed her lips.
“Um. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Miranda repeated slowly. “Well then, we’ll begin at the beginning. Define exculpatory evidence.”
Andy blinked. Okay, they were diving right in. She should have seen this coming. “Um. I don’t know.”
“Um, I don’t know,” her professor mimicked, her voice jumping up an unnecessary octave. “Ms. Sachs,” she said firmly in her normal voice, “That is not an acceptable answer. Try again.”
“But what if I don’t know?”
“Then you make a guess. Don’t give up so easily.” Miranda gave her a stern look, eyes filled with disapproval.
“Okay. Is it when evidence shows that the defendant committed the crime?”
“No. That’s inculpatory.” She paused. “You weren’t far off, however. Think of ‘in’ evidence as putting our defendant ‘in’ jail, and vice versa with exculpatory. ‘Ex’ means out.” That was... surprisingly helpful. “Can you remember that, Ms. Sachs?” Her gaze wasn’t scrutinising, but questioning.
Andy nodded. “Yes. I’ll try my best to, thank you.” Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all, Miranda wasn’t being nearly as vicious as she thought she’d be.
Miranda turned a page in her book absently. “Mm. Now, when it comes to exculpatory evidence, you must keep in mind that--”
---
“-- Your papers are due tomorrow,” Miranda reminded them, narrowing her eyes at one student in particular. It wasn’t Andy, thank God, but that annoying guy Nate in the front row. He looked like he was about to pass out, and she couldn’t blame him. “That’s all.” With those words, all the students frantically bolted out the door, as if their lives depended on it.
“Ms. Sachs, I’d like to speak to you before you leave,” a soft voice called out. Andy hastily gathered up her things and hurried down to meet her. Miranda leaned on her desk, looking bored out of her mind. “There you are,” she proclaimed, as if Andy had taken centuries to get here. “I don’t plan on writing your essay for you, as I’ve assumed you’ve already finished it.” Yeah, she had written it, but it definitely didn’t seem like the kind of stuff you’d expect from someone with a degree in journalism.
“However, I can read over it and offer input, if need be.” The red pen in her hand clicked as she tapped it on her desk.
“That would be great,” Andy said with a hesitant smile. Though she’d never say it to the professor’s face, this whole arrangement was really kind of her. Free lessons after school, and so often, when Miranda was always busy. She was curious as to why the older woman made time for her, when she obviously had more important things to do than tutor her.
“Here you go.” She handed it to Miranda, and their fingers met briefly. Andy’s hand twitched, and her face went a little warm. The professor’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but she schooled her features pretty quickly, while Andy was definitely gaping like an idiot.
Miranda set the paper on the desk, pen poised and ready to make corrections. Andy noticed that when she read, she got this really intense look on her face. Well, she was always intense, but especially so right now. Her electric blue eyes darted side to side, occasionally nodding in approval, or frowning, and scribbling something. She murmured to herself, as she wrote, but the few fragments that Andy caught didn’t make much sense.
“Right. This is passable, but could be better. I’ve made some suggested revisions, though I didn’t comment on everything.” Instead of handing it back, she backed away from the desk so Andy could look over it herself.
Miranda’s handwriting was red, spiky, and her comments were concise. A sentence was underlined, and accompanied with, “Good.” Andy beamed, even though she knew Miranda was probably noticing every change in her expression. “Wow. I’ll be sure to take your advice once I get home. Thank you so much, Professor Priestly.” She always thought of her professor as “Miranda,” because the name just suited her better, but made sure to actually call her what she was supposed to.
“Call me Miranda,” she retorted immediately. “I despise ‘Professor Priestly.’ That’s not my real name.” Miranda bit her lip, as if wanting to add more, but apparently decided against it.
“Then can you call me Andy?” Andy liked being called Ms. Sachs and all, but Andy was familiar. Friendly. The older woman wrinkled her nose, as if repulsed by her proposition. “No. I will call you Andrea.” The way she said her name sent a chill down Andy’s spine. “Fine by me.”
“Yes. You have a good name, I don’t understand why you’d simplify it like that.” Andy wanted to defend her nickname, but didn’t get the chance to.
“Also,” Miranda added. “I still expect to see you tonight, at seven. Do not be late, and I expect your paper to be finished by then. That’s all.” The older woman opened the door for Andy, which was uncharacteristically polite of her. It was clear Miranda wanted her to leave as soon as possible, from the way she longingly gazed at her desk, so Andy didn’t say anything or object.
On her way out, Miranda’s hand brushed up against her retreating back. Andy didn’t think too much of it, because it was probably accidental.