On Liberty
Alexandra Cabot.
Stupid, rich nepo-baby, Alexandra Cabot.
Casey would be lying if she said she didn’t already hate her new roommate. It was bad enough that she had to resort to on-campus rooming; the calculated fees of commuting between Harvard and her house were far too much for either her or her parents to handle on top of already attending such a prestigious and expensive law school. But god, this was probably the hitter. Alexandra Cabot was her roommate.
Casey knew about the Cabot name. It was hard to avoid it in the field of law: Casey could swear that every single time she tried to look up anything even remotely related to the field, that god-forsaken surname came up. Frankly, it was funny for a while. Casey joked to herself that she’d only ever be seeing more of them-who-shall-not-be-named going into law. But then the joke fell flat, haunting her, legs crossed and perched frustratingly neat on a coffee table chair.
“I don’t recall needing ‘On Liberty ’ for this year’s curriculum. Are you doing advanced reading?”
From the corner of her eye, Casey could see the woman gazing over the hefty stacks of leather-bound books on her side of the room. Alexandra J. Cabot was on thin ice; Casey twitched at the idea of Cabot touching her books. Sure, Alexandra didn’t sound all that mocking— it sounded genuine, in earnest. Yet Casey couldn’t control the blood running up her veins, paired alongside the psychological analysis of how ‘ She’s a Cabot.’ Casey slammed down her second cargo onto the floor of their shared dorm without even so much as a glance in Cabot’s direction.
“No,” Casey finally huffed out, a bit more defensive than she intended. “It’s.. for leisure.” She lied, her grip tightening subconsciously around her box of luggage because ‘Of course you would know what we need for this year’s curriculum, and I just wasted money.’
Logically, it’s ignorant to pre-hate someone. Really, the only thing Casey knew about Alexandra so far was that she was, probably, a nepo-baby legacy. But personally, maybe that was all Casey needed to know about Alexandra. ‘Alexandra Cabot,’ she thought again, rolling her eyes as her back turned away from view.
Maybe it was the fact that Casey had worked her ass off to get accepted into Harvard Law; she isn’t coming from a particularly rich family. Sure they were comfortable enough to not worry about starving, but they didn’t exactly have five mega mansions at their disposal to throw pompous Christmas galas at every year, with their last names decadently plastered in every corner of the party. Neither did Casey have connections– let alone legacies. When Casey first told her family about her application to Harvard Law, they hardly took it seriously. Then, when it dawned on them that Casey actually did send an application to Harvard Law , the Novaks could only answer her with a pitiful “ Don’t lose your spirits if you don’t get in .”
Half of Casey’s drive at this point was pure spite. She studied sleeplessly every single night of her undergraduate days just trying to maintain a perfect GPA. And when it came time to study for her LSAT, she damn well could’ve sworn that an hour had passed when actually it was a day. Casey, and she knew this proudly, deserved her spot at Harvard Law. She didn’t get in here just because some uncle of hers happened to graduate Harvard Law or was running some big-time law firm– she got in here because she worked. And to hell with everyone who doubted her at the start. She’ll prove them all wrong by being the best fucking lawyer ever.
Behind her, Casey heard a faint chuckle. One she couldn’t stop herself from labeling as pretentious. “We have that in common, then. Reading law books for fun.” The woman said, apparently still trying to make small talk. “Anything else? Other hobbies, or sports?” She paused. “How about interests?”
Casey scoffed— which she quickly felt guilty about. The woman wanted to know her, apparently. And all she’s been doing so far is throwing luggage and side-eyes at her. “Baseball,” Casey finally said as she got into the rhythm of pushing her last few boxes into the room, pretending like she didn’t notice the way Cabot’s eyes were suddenly peering into her a bit too eagerly through her thick, square frames. “I play on Sundays, when I have time.”
Casey wiped off the few sweat marks staining on her face as she finally hovered a hand to close the door behind her. But, by a combination of ignorance and some kind of divine karma, she accidentally pushed the door harder than intended, causing it to slam right into the lock. The two roommates both winced at the echoing sound. Casey muttered a quick apology under her breath, with the daunting idea that she might be coming off as more of a runt than she had intended to. She sat down with her luggage on the floor to unpack, and Alexandra had her focus somewhere else now, searching her own handbag for something Casey couldn’t quite bring herself to ask about.
The dorm was incredibly spacious. Granted, Casey was initially set to room at the Gropius Complex: a smaller, older space featuring a simple bed, table, and closet, with the kitchen and bathrooms being shared places outside of the dorms. It didn’t necessarily live up to Casey’s Harvard law dream, but it was their most affordable option. That was, until she received a formal email from the Harvard Law Student Financial Services finally telling her that her scholarship could actually cover the costs of her moving into the second floor of Hastings Hall— so long as she had a roommate.
Casey rode high on pride and adrenaline when she toured Hastings Hall digitally. This was where her hard work was finally paying off. She saw, through the digital rendition of the campus, sunlight piercing through the open windows and resting on a long loveseat couch. And while she also saw just another table to be littered in paperwork, Casey buzzed with enough excitement to overlook that and the fact that she’d be sharing the dorm with someone else.
That was, until her excitement and thrill was spoiled by the reveal of Cabot opening the door for her at the second knock. The woman stood there, her pristine rectangle glasses perched infuriatingly neat on her nose; meanwhile, Casey felt like a sore loser with her shirt crinkled and hands shaky with luggage. And the kick of it all— Alexandra laughed at first sight.
Casey sighed, lolling the disappointment off of her shoulders as she began tearing open her boxes in their shared living room. Cabot was still searching her bag for something. Casey watched from her peripheral vision as she untidied the neat insides of one of her moving boxes. She’d arranged them for easy unpacking later on, but the box was apparently flipped upside down seeing as most of her things were the wrong way. Casey cursed under her breath; and here she thought she’d saved money by buying a random box without arrows— and Alexandra was suddenly done searching her bag, with some kind of crumpled paper in her hand.
When her stack of books suddenly toppled, Casey realized how it might be cleaner to organize her things in her own room. She bit her lip, eyeing the top book which fell from grace— ‘ On Liberty’ — before brushing her fingers momentarily over the leather-bound surface.
“Hey, Cabot, which room is mine?” She finally asked. From where she sat, Casey couldn’t couldn’t distinguish much between the two doorways, both leading into identical-looking spaces. Alexandra glanced over briefly at both rooms. “It’s the one on the right, I think.” She replied, clicking her glasses up. With a heavy body, Casey got back up, mumbled her thanks, and began moving all her luggage into what she presumed was her assigned room.
It was going to be a long three years.