Criminal Passion

6

I admit it. I’m terrible at keeping promises. It’s almost eleven at night when I gather my class materials, because I’m always the last to leave Diana Velares’s classroom. Yes, I want her to notice me. I’ve been chasing that for three years. I know she knows my name. I counted the times she spoke to me. The times she nodded approvingly while handing me back exams with perfect scores.

In the past few weeks, though, I promised myself I’d stop with this insane obsession over my professor. She must hate me, or at the very least think I’m a kiss-ass. The urge to tell her that the only reason I’m like this is because I think she’s flawless and untouchable isn’t nearly as strong as the shame I’d feel if I actually did it. Because if I could…

I glance at her. Her deep black skin, her full lips painted with discreet nude, her nails in the same shade. She’s wearing a sharp, expensive purple suit. Elegant. Simply beautiful.

When I got into law school, it was because of my parents. I hated law. But Diana changed my perception in such a natural, gradual way. This woman made criminal law my fascination. Her teaching style and professional poise hypnotized me from day one. She used to be a renowned judge, but gave up the bench to dedicate herself entirely to the judiciary. Her greatest passion, as she says.

“Good night, Diana,” I say as I pass her.

Íris used to call me a total suck-up. She hated Diana, but only because she never managed to score higher than a C in her class. Her dislike came entirely from a bruised ego, from being bad at something with no one to blame but herself.

“Louise, do you have a minute?”

Am I hallucinating? Surprised, I nod and step closer to her mahogany desk. She opens a leather folder, presses her lips together, then looks at me with a hint of curiosity.

“Another perfect score on your exam. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“You like this subject, don’t you?”

“It’s my favorite.”

“Have you decided if you want to practice law after graduation? Or maybe run for a public position?”

What a cruel question. I’m in my sixth semester and still haven’t decided. Not only about my career, but… everything. In a strange—almost worrying—way, I can’t picture the next few years. It’s like there’s a wall blocking my thoughts.

When Íris was alive, she made our plans. It’s ridiculous, but I’d gotten so used to her steering my life that, when she died, I realized I no longer knew how to.

“If I practice, it’ll definitely be in criminal law.”

“If?”

“If I survive until graduation.”

She holds my gaze. Then she laughs. My words sound like the usual jokes any student would make. Good thing she didn’t catch the weight behind them.

“Look, Louise, I’ll be honest. I hadn’t considered you for one of my mentees because I know you’ve had plenty of privilege already. A prosecutor father, a lawyer mother…” She sighs heavily. I nod, because she’s right.

“Still, I can’t ignore the fact that you’re one of the best students in class—if not the best. Excellent grades, active participation, flawless assignments. You’re brilliant.”

I don’t say a word. Frozen, my heart pounds against my ribs. I know Diana. She’s fair. Demanding. I know exactly what she means. I’ve been part of this world since birth. My parents’ influence could open the doors of the most prestigious law firms in São Paulo. But unlike Íris, I was terrified of realizing one day that everything I’d achieved came from them and not from me.

And now here I am, staring at the unique chance to have someone like her—so important, so respected—on my academic record. I’m afraid to even breathe and lose the opportunity.

So I just nod. Silent. Sweating.

“My next group of mentees will be a select number of students—those I believe have the right profile to become outstanding criminal lawyers. I plan to guide them in their academic and professional paths, share my experience, and open doors for relevant opportunities in the field. I’d like to invite you to join this group. Your dedication and interest in criminal law have impressed me from the beginning. You have tremendous potential to become a remarkable criminal attorney.”

“Wow, I…,” my throat burns, my fingers trembling. “I’m so grateful for the recognition and this opportunity. It would be an honor to be part of your group.”

“Good. My assistant will send you an email with all the necessary details. But let me be clear—I won’t tolerate absences, tardiness, or grades below the standard that made me choose you. The mentorship will probably start next semester, so plan accordingly.” She closes the folder, removes her square glasses. “You’re dismissed. I’ll see you next week.”

“Of course. I’ll be careful. Thank you, professor, really—thank you again for the invitation!”

I’m so nervous I end up making a ridiculous bow, then rush out.

“Louise?” Diana calls. I freeze, terrified she’ll take it all back.

“Yes?”

“One mistake and you’re out, understood?”

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. “Understood.”

I grab my car keys and glance across BSP, the library where Camile works afternoons. It’s been closed for hours. Not a soul around. Since it’s nearly midnight, I walk quickly toward the staff entrance. The breeze whips my hair and chills my nose. It’s going to rain again.

I wander through the pitch-dark hall until I find the only light a few meters away—a lamp glowing on the service desk, where Camile is bent over her laptop. Her curly hair is tied in a massive bun on top of her head. She waves and pulls a chair for me.

“It’s creepy here at this hour,” I say.

“That’s only because it’s not windy. The whistling is worse.”

I glance around, hugging myself. Through the glass walls, I see the trees outside swaying violently.