Little Known Facts A Novel - By Christine Sneed Page 0,1

roles his father has played—the noble statesman, the tragic 1920s film star, the human rights worker murdered for his ideals in a deadly, faraway land—Will understands that he would want immediately to be cast as the hero.

“I thought you were going to start applying to law schools,” his sister says when they meet for dinner to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday. It is mid-October, the weather perfectly mild, the famous southern California smog less dense than usual because of winds off the Pacific. Their mother is in New York attending a convention on new pediatric allergy treatments, their father in New Orleans filming a script he co-wrote with a friend about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Anna is unmarried and boyfriendless. Will has a girlfriend, but she is in Hawaii for a week with two college girlfriends to celebrate their thirtieth birthdays. Danielle is four years older than he is, already divorced. He has never been married and wonders if he will ever want to be.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he says, meeting his sister’s clear green eyes. She is pretty and kind and could have a boyfriend right now if she wanted one, but claims she is too busy. “I took the LSAT two months ago.”

This news surprises her. “Seriously?”

He nods. He hadn’t told her that he was studying for it; he wasn’t sure how he would do. “How did it go?”

“All right. I got a one sixty-four, which is good enough for a lot of schools, but I think I want to go to Harvard or Yale.”

“You could get in,” she says, cutting a big piece from her steak. It is red in the center, shockingly so. He has always ordered his steaks medium well. They are both meat eaters, she more guilty about this than he is. She has tried vegetarianism several times since their teens. He has never tried it, knowing he would give up within a week.

She’s right; he could get in. It is because of their father. The Ivies like the offspring of the famous. Most everyone, especially the non-famous, do. But he wants to be admitted based on his own talents, not his father’s.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe. I think I’m going to retake the LSAT anyway.”

“You’re sure you want to be a lawyer?” she says.

“I think so.”

“Why?”

“I just think it’d be interesting.” He likes the idea of understanding something arcane and potentially tricky, of being a person other people go to for answers.

“Do you want to stand in a courtroom and argue for murderers’ lives in front of a judge and jury?”

“Alleged murderers,” he says. “I don’t think I want to do criminal law.”

“But that’s where the action is.”

“I don’t need to be in on the action, Anna. Whatever that means.”

She looks at him for a few seconds. “You say that now, Billy, but—”

“But what?” he says, impatient.

“I just think you’d probably want to do something a little more interesting than sit in an office all day surrounded by affidavits and filing cabinets.”

She has always been the better student. She is in her last year of medical school at UCLA, very close to earning her diploma, as their mother did over twenty-five years earlier, but she does not want to practice pediatric medicine; instead, she intends to specialize in family medicine so that she can offer everyone primary care, particularly those who can’t afford it. She has told him that she might even go to Africa someday to volunteer in a clinic. She isn’t interested in the big paychecks that many of her classmates seem to be chasing, in part, Will supposes, because she already has money. Nothing is certain yet, but she will do her residency after she is placed in a good teaching hospital, and then she will decide where to go next. Will does not want her to go to Africa or some other place where he would not want to visit her. For a while it bothered him that she has done something so different with her life than anything he has ever considered doing, but over the years, his adolescent jealousy has turned to reticent admiration.

“Do you plan to start next fall?” she says.

“Probably. There’s still enough time to apply. Most of the deadlines aren’t until December or January.”

She cuts off another piece of her steak and looks at it on the end of her fork. “Dad’s flying back from New Orleans on Friday and staying until Sunday night,” she says quietly. “He probably told you. This