“Still catching up on your mail?” Nathan asked, noticing the stack of envelopes Ben was flipping through.

“It’s amazing to see how much junk mail one person can amass in a six-week period,” Ben said. “I’ve gotten three sweepstakes offers, about fifty catalogs, a dozen magazine offers, and remember last year when Ober was watching Miss Teen USA and he called the eight hundred number to order us applications? I’m still on their mailing list. Listen to this: ‘Dear Ben Addison. Are you the next Miss Teen USA? Only the judges know for sure, but you can let the world know about your participation by ordering from our selection of Official Miss Teen USA products.’” Looking up from the letter, Ben added, “I think I’m going to order Ober a Miss Teen USA sports bra. Once he’s on their mailing list as a buyer, he’ll never get off.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Nathan said, sitting down on Ben’s bed.

“So, tell me, what else is going on around here?” Ben said, throwing aside the letter.

“Honestly, nothing is different. Eric’s around less because he’s always on deadline.”

“I guess he still hasn’t done the deed?”

“Nope, our fourth roommate still remains a virgin. And he still contends it’s by choice-waiting until marriage and all that.”

“I guess Ober’s still riding him about it?” Ben asked, knowing the answer.

“He’s been riding him since eleventh grade,” Nathan said. He smoothed back his red hair, which he wore cropped short to disguise his receding hairline. Nathan was the first of the roommates to start losing his hair and if he was in the room, baldness and hairstyles were forbidden subjects. Extremely competitive, he didn’t like to lose at anything, and to him, his retreating hairline undermined his entire appearance, eclipsing everything from his determined posture to his angular jaw.

“And this new job at the Herald? It seems like Eric’s really happy with it.”

“Are you kidding?” Nathan asked. “Eric’s been flying since he got this position. He thinks he’s king of the world.”

“Do I detect a bit of jealousy?” Ben asked.

“Not at all,” Nathan said. “He spent two years getting a graduate degree in journalism-I’m happy he’s finally writing about something more than local yard sales. I just wish he was around more.”

“Don’t give me that,” Ben teased. “You couldn’t give a crap whether he’s around more. You just don’t like the fact that he’s doing better than you are.”

“First of all, he’s not doing better than me. Second of all, I don’t mind that he’s doing well, I just wish he’d be a little less selfish about it.”

“And jealousy rears its ugly visage.”

“You know what I mean,” Nathan said. “Whenever Eric takes on anything, he becomes obsessed with it. He did the same thing when he was in grad school, the same thing when he was writing for that literary magazine, and the same thing when he started at Washington Life. I know he thinks he’s both Woodward and Bernstein, but I wish he’d pay a little more attention to his friends. As it is, I don’t think I’ve had one solid conversation with him since he started this job. He doesn’t have time for us anymore.”

“You want to know what I think? I think you’re way too competitive. You always have been; you always will be.”

“This has nothing to do with my competitiveness. It has to do with friendship.”

“Give him a break,” Ben said. “He’s still new there. I’m sure he’s just trying to make a good impression.”

“Maybe,” Nathan said as he picked up a pencil from the desk and began to doodle.

“Forget that. How’s life at the State Department?” Ben asked. “Have you taken over any Third World countries in the past few weeks?”

“Alas, no. It’s been pretty much what I thought. My boss has been in South Africa for the past week, so it’s been slow. But I think they want to keep me around. I figure they’ll put me in the S/P in a few more months.”

“S/P?”

“The secretary’s policy planning staff. They do all the policy work for the department. People from the S/P usually feed into the major think tanks.”

“You and a bunch of big brains pondering our existence, huh?”

“Someone’s got to think about running the world,” Nathan said as he doodled an outline of the United States. “Meanwhile, what about you? Your first day at the Supreme Court. That’s no mall job.”

“I know,” Ben said as he fidgeted with the clasp of his datebook. “I just hope I’m okay starting in August instead of July. I felt kind of lost today.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Nathan said. “You haven’t missed a thing. Besides, your co-clerk had a month head start.”

“I guess,” Ben said. He walked over to his bookshelf, and began to reorganize his books.

Nathan watched his friend for more than a minute. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he finally said. “It is the Supreme Court.”

“I know. It’s just that everyone there is so damn smart. They can name every Court precedent for the past twenty years; I can name the original cast of L.A. Law. That’s not going to get me far.”

Without knocking, Ober entered the room. “Who died?” he asked, recognizing the anxiety on Ben’s face.

“He’s just worried that the Supreme Court will be intellectually intimidating,” Nathan explained.

“Big deal,” Ober said as he sat on Ben’s bed. “Tell them you can name the entire cast of L.A. Law. That always impressed me.”

“I’m a dead man,” Ben said as he continued to reorganize his books.

“Ben, stop with the books. You have nothing to worry about,” Nathan said. “For your whole life, you’ve been at the top of the intellectual ladder. You went from Columbia, to Yale, to a clerkship with Judge Stanley. Now you’re working for Justice Hollis, one of the best justices on the Supreme Court. Either all of your success is a fluke, or you’re just stressing. Which do you think is more likely?”

“He’s probably a fluke,” Ober teased.

“Shut up, pinhead,” Nathan scolded. “Ben, you’re the ultimate overachiever. You used to alphabetize the crayons in the Crayola Sixty-four box. You researched the aerodynamics of the whiffle ball…”

“He was the only one of us who didn’t eat the Play-Doh,” Ober added.

“Exactly,” Nathan agreed. “Besides myself, you’re the smartest person I know.”

Now smiling, Ben turned toward Nathan. “I’m smarter.”

Holding back his own laughter, Nathan said, “Three letters, buddy-boy: S-A-T.”

“Just because you beat me by a measly hundred points on the SAT does not mean you’re smarter,” Ben said.

“The test does not lie,” Nathan said as he walked to the door. “You may have the street-smarts, but when it comes to unbridled intellectualism, you can call me master. And Ober, when we were little, none of us ate the Play-Doh. We used to pretend to eat it, just to watch you.”

As Nathan left the room, Ober turned toward Ben. When Ben started laughing, Ober shouted back, “I knew that!”