Raven's Flight

by Chrys Cymri - BooksGoSocial Fantasy P

  “And you’ve been turning him down?”

  “Yes, well,” I was a little embarrassed because I would have to admit that I had lied. “I told him I was dating someone.”

  “You lied?” Tarek smiled.

  “I wouldn’t usually, but he was so insistent.”

  “And you don’t want to go out with him?” We were walking up the stairs to class.

  “I mean, he’s good-looking, but I don’t know him. I told him I was dating someone and then he asked how long I had been dating this guy, and whether the guy I was seeing was jealous.”

  “And what did you say?” Tarek seemed a little too interested in the details.

  “That my supposed boyfriend is jealous, and that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” Why was I telling Tarek so much? I had only planned to ask him about Turkish men. I decided to get back to my original question.

  “I’ve never dated a Turkish man,” or slept with one, I thought, “hence my question to you about Turkish men in general.”

  “Well, they are very direct,” Tarek said. “Also, even if he thinks you have a boyfriend, or a husband for that matter, that won’t necessarily stop him from asking you out.”

  “OK,” I was pensive. “So you would say that they’re intense?” We walked into the classroom.

  “Yes.”

  “OK,” I said. “Like maybe they would stare at a woman from head to toe? That kind of thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, OK.” I rolled my eyes.

  “What?” Tarek asked.

  “Nothing.” My subtle jab was lost on him, or so I thought. Yesterday, Tarek had been looking at me from my toes all the way to the crown of my head. I had felt thrilled by it.

  “I was already leaning in that direction, anyway,” I told him.

  “In what direction?” Tarek seemed confused.

  “In the direction of not dating that guy.” We sat down in our seats. I took out my laptop and switched it on.

  “So you’re dating now?” Tarek asked, half-smiling. “I thought you said you didn’t really date.”

  “That is true, as a general rule,” I said carefully. Tarek, please don’t ask me out now, I mentally panicked. I’m not ready for it. However, my heart was dying for him to ask me out.

  “So are you telling me that you were only thinking of doing that guy?”

  “Doing? Where did you learn that expression? It’s slang.”

  “I know what it means. And you’re not my only source of slang.”

  “Really?” I was interested now. “Who have you been doing recently?”

  “No one. Who have you been doing?”

  “None of your damn business,” I said, perturbed. Then I let out a long breath. “But no one.” That was partly the problem. I was so horny. I was like a man, thinking about sex during the day. Jesus.

  Then I had an afterthought. “Why are you so interested in my love life, anyway?”

  “Isabel, you asked me who I was doing first,” Tarek countered.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I parried. “And my asking that question is not relevant to the issue of why you are so interested in my sex life.” I said the last part a bit too loudly and the people behind us looked at us.

  Tarek sighed, then looked at me. “Men can be dogs sometimes.”

  “Yeah, well, women can too. So be careful out there.”

  “Don’t worry. I have no prospects.”

  “Well, I don’t either, so we’re even,” I said. I looked at him, and we both smiled at the same time. He was gorgeous when he smiled. He flashed white teeth, prominent against his darker skin. His dark curls were carefully arranged, and he had recently trimmed his goatee. He looked incredible. Inside, I was salivating.

  Although I recognized that I might be blinded by his good looks, I also had the impression that he did care about my welfare on some level. I had no idea why. I hadn’t always been the nicest person to him.

  I opened my mouth then and said something without thinking. “You’re a good friend.”

  His smile broadened. “You are too, in your way. But I thought you said the jury was still out on whether we were friends.”

  “Well, I thought about it, and I hereby declare that we are friends now.”

  He was still smiling. “Well, OK, then, friend.”

  Class started then, and I looked at my laptop. I was smiling inwardly, and my heart was fluttering a little.

  FOURTH WEEK: WEDNESDAY

  I was rushing to campus, running as fast as I could while carrying my backpack and Property book. I had worked at home that day so that I could wait for the maintenance man to come fix the air conditioner. It was still warm enough outside during the day that not having the A/C was problematic. He was able to fix it, but it took longer than I had anticipated.

  On top of that, I had woken up earlier than usual to be able to finish my translations on time. But I still hadn’t been able to do everything that I had wanted to do. And I hadn’t finished the reading for Property. And I had to make it to campus for my 3:50 class. Boo. I had been too ambitious today.

  I made it to the Franconia metro station and hopped on the train as the doors were closing. I was sweating already. Fantastic. At least I remembered to put some makeup on, foundation, mascara and lip gloss. For some reason, I always wanted to wear makeup now. My hair hung in waves around my face. It was getting too long, and there was too much of it, but I didn’t have time to go to the salon. I had left it wet and slapped a ton of mousse on it so that it wouldn’t frizz out.

  I looked at my phone to see the time. If I made it to class on time, it would be by the skin of my teeth, assuming that the metro wasn’t delayed.

  I took out my phone and sent a message to Tarek.

  Will be late. Don’t wait downstairs for me.

  We had kind of gotten into the habit of meeting downstairs in the lounge area before class. I didn’t want to inconvenience him.

  Dinesh was right, I thought wryly. I was turning into Josh, getting to class right as it started, Latin time.

  Growing up, my mother was late to everything. She was late to movies, to dinner, to everything. She continually operated on Argentine time. In Argentina, if someone told you to show up at 7 p.m., you showed up at 9 p.m. In the US, that was pretty offensive. It had constantly driven me nuts growing up, so much so that I always told my mother that I had to be somewhere an hour before I really needed to be. The party starts at 7 p.m., Mom, I would say, when it really started at 8 p.m.

  I tried not to be late, but sometimes I slipped.

  My phone blipped, showing a message from Tarek.

  OK. Am getting tea. Would you like anything?

  Yes! God bless you! I hadn’t had any coffee since 8 a.m. and I was dying for a caffeine fix.

  Yes, please. Small coffee. Thank you!

  After a minute I received his response.

  OK, will do. Since you said please.

  Everyone is a comedian, I thought, smiling to myself.

  I ran out of the train at the metro station, up the escalator, breathing heavy by the time I reached the top. I was carrying at least fifteen to twenty extra pounds with my backpack and Property book. As I ran past the quad, the clocktower tolled forty-five minutes past the hour.

  I was barely going to make it!

  I ran up the main steps, throwing the glass doors back. I didn’t even bother with the stupid elevator. I ran up four flights of stairs as fast as I could and finally got to the classroom.

  I slowed down a little and exhaled. I got to International Law class just as Zara did. She looked at me and seemed unsure of something.

  “Hi,” I told her, panting, my chest heaving.

  “Hi,” she smiled back. She still looked uncertain, but I didn’t know about what. I shrugged it off. I didn’t have time to worry about random stuff like that. For all I knew, I had something on my face.

  The professor was already there but he hadn’t started speaking yet.

  I sl
inked into, or tried to slink into, my seat next to Tarek. It’s difficult to be surreptitious while carrying a laptop bag, purse and law school book. I sat down and exhaled a giant breath.

  Tarek and I looked at each other. He was leaning on his left elbow, resting his chin in his left hand. He slid my coffee over to me, shaking his head with a smile as he did so.

  I smiled back. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “No problem,” he whispered back.

  I wasn’t sure why I was whispering. Class hadn’t started yet, and everyone was still chatting.

  “Is everything OK?” Tarek asked me then.

  “Yes—it’s been a long day.”

  I opened my laptop and switched it on.

  Class started and I tried to pay attention.

  As I was opening my notes, a message from Tarek appeared on my screen.

  Casual day at work today?

  I smiled. I was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with my red Pumas. It was pretty casual for me.

  Technically, there is no dress code at my job.

  But you always dress up.

  Well, thank you for noticing. Then I wrote, I worked at home today. Had to wait for the man to come fix the A/C.

  Did it get fixed?

  Yes.

  “Ms. Vilanova!” It was the professor.

  I almost jumped out of my seat. Holy shit. Did he know that I was chatting online? I hardly ever chatted during class. 98 percent of the time, I paid attention and took detailed notes. I usually scoffed at the students in front of me, chatting, looking at the New York Times and online shopping.

  I looked at the professor. “Yes, sir?” I thought if I was uber polite, he would be more forgiving if I didn’t know the answer.

  “What do you think?”

  What did he ask? Dammit.

  As I was pondering what to say, another message appeared on my screen from Tarek.

  Avena case.

  Oh, right! We had read the consular cases for today.

  In the so-called Avena case, the Mexican government brought a suit against the U.S. in the International Court of Justice, on behalf of several Mexican citizens who had been detained in the U.S. The issue concerned the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations, to which both Mexico and the U.S. were parties, and which required that foreign nationals arrested or detained in a signatory country be notified without delay of their right to have their embassy notified of their arrest. In the particular case, a Mexican national had been arrested for rape and murder in Texas, but had not been notified of this right under the Vienna Convention.

  The International Court of Justice had found that the U.S. was required to notify the detainee of this right and, since he hadn’t been notified, that Texas should retry the criminal proceedings.

  To enforce the ICJ judgment, the detainee brought suit in Texas. That case was Medellin v. Texas. The case eventually went to the U.S. Supreme Court, where the Court found that an international treaty or agreement was not binding domestic law unless Congress had enacted implementing legislation or the treaty was self-executing. Since Congress had not done that here, and since the United Nations Charter and the statute that had created the ICJ, had not been implemented by Congress as part of domestic U.S. law, and they were not self-executing, the ICJ Avena judgment was not binding on the states. Medellin was eventually executed for his crimes.

  I looked up at the professor. “The Avena case?” I asked hesitantly. “Medellin v. Texas?”

  “Yes,” he said. “What do you think about the Supreme Court holding?”

  “I agree with it. Since Congress had not enacted implementing legislation, the Vienna Convention isn’t binding on the states.”

  “What about the Court’s finding that the ICJ decision wasn’t binding either?” The professor continued.

  “I also agree with the majority. The Court found that the ICJ statute and United Nations Charter are not self-executing due, in part, to the fact that Article 94 of the Charter indicates that signatory nations will “undertake to comply,” suggesting, as the Court found, that the Charter is aspirational in character. I mean,” I paused, thinking, “these international agreements are meant to be commitments, unless, of course, Congress has enacted them into law.”

  The professor continued. “So the idea that nations are subject to the jurisdiction of the ICJ—?”

  “It’s not practical. First, as we’ve discussed before, there are no enforcement mechanisms. Second, no nation would be willing to fully subject itself to the jurisdiction of a supranational body. It’s never going to happen.”

  “Does the fact that President Bush issued a Memorandum instructing the Supreme Court to comply with the ICJ decision change anything?”

  “No,” I answered. “The judicial branch is separate from the executive branch, and the Court is supposed to consider cases independently.” Then I added, “That’s not what I think. That’s what the Constitution says.”

  Another student spoke up then. “Well, then, the U.S. risks other countries not providing the same consular rights to U.S. citizens who are arrested overseas.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “That’s a diplomatic issue and it’s a risk. The president is generally in charge regarding diplomatic affairs, but he has very little authority, if any, regarding Supreme Court decisions.” And thank God for that. The Founders certainly knew what they were doing.

  “Thank you,” the professor said. He then moved on to something else.

  A message popped up on my screen. It was Tarek again.

  Toma!

  I smiled. He was writing in Spanish now. Maybe I was rubbing off on him.

  I’m signing out, I told him. I needed to pay attention.

  So far, I was two for two that week, with a little bit of help.

  We were walking to Property class. We only had ten minutes until class started. Tarek once again insisted on carrying my Property book, as I was trying to juggle it and my coffee at the same time.

  “You drink your coffee so slowly,” he commented.

  “Because it has to last until at least 8 p.m.,” I explained. “One quick shot won’t help me.” My days were so long, I lamented.

  Then I added with a joking expression, “I don’t have the luxury of sleeping in like some people.”

  Tarek chuckled. “Well, I can’t sleep in tomorrow.”

  “Why not?” I was curious.

  “I have a call-back interview with a firm here.”

  “In DC?”

  He nodded.

  I was elated. I wanted him to stay in DC next summer instead of going to New York or Miami.

  “Which firm?”

  He told me the name of the firm. It was a huge firm that did a lot of lobbying and regulatory work. It was probably a good fit for him.

  The call-back interview was a big deal. After the initial twenty-minute interview with the firm, where the interviewer got to know the candidate, if they liked you enough they would call you for the call-back interview. At the call-back interview, you would interview at the firm’s office, typically with several different attorneys, who would then take you out to lunch. The call-back interview was meant to impress the candidate. As if the attorneys were telling you, look, all this can be yours. But together with the fine dining and a prestigious associateship, you would also be working eighty hours a week and having random assignments thrown in your lap at the last minute, all while being treated like a lackey.

  “Well, congrats,” I told him.

  “Thank you.” He smiled. Then, “Hey—”

  I looked at him. He seemed to be remembering something.

  “You never told me how the visit with your Mom went last Sunday.”

  “Oh,” I sighed, “It went OK. My sister is doing well, but she’s busy with her crazy schedule. I wish I could see her more often.”

  I noticed that my voice sounded lonely. Maybe because I was lonely.

  I continued. “My sister told me on the way down there that my mother is consid
ering marrying her boyfriend.”

  “Really?” Tarek’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “How long have they been together?”

  “They’ve been dating a few years, but they live separately.”

  “Do you like him?” Tarek asked me.

  “Yes, very much. He’s really nice.” And he loves my Mom, I can tell. How she found another man to put up with her, I don’t know. Then I felt bad for thinking that. My Mom was really independent, and did pretty much whatever she wanted. It would take a strong, secure man to deal with her.

  “I hope they do get married,” I said then.

  We walked into Property class and got to our seats. Tarek handed me my book.

  “Thanks,” I told him.

  Melanie was sitting behind me and looked at me then, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow over her designer eyeglasses. One side of her mouth was curving up into a half-smile.

  I rolled my eyes. With that look, she was asking me what was going on between me and Tarek. I wasn’t going to answer her, even if the answer was “nothing.”

  Then she seemed to remember something. As I sat down, she said, “Oh, hey, Isabel.”

  I swiveled around in my chair. “Yeah?”

  “Will you go to the Feminist Forum meeting with me tonight?”

  “Um—I don’t know.” I had never gone to the Feminist Forum meetings. The Forum was another of the law school’s many extracurricular clubs.

  “Pleeeaaase. I don’t want to go by myself. And they’ll have food there.”

  “I don’t know. It’ll be late.” It had been such a long day, but I hadn’t spent much time with Melanie since the new semester began.

  “Please? It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Oh, OK,” I told her.

  “Great! Thank you!”

  Class was about to start. As I turned on my laptop and opened my textbook to the first case for that day, Tarek leaned toward me.