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Mike ducks his head when the door slams open and slides further down his seat at the subsequent 'bang' when it closes. The sound rattles the room. It meant that their real proctor had just arrived. No, he's not hiding, not really. Hiding would imply that he was doing something wrong when he was simply doing his best friend a favour and keeping him the accountancy programme before he gets kicked-out. No, not hiding; Mike was simply avoiding being facially recognized which is why he picked an obscure part of the room where the lecturer's rarely tend to look.
Half the time passed before he finally raised his head. Dark brown eyes met his. He wasn't expecting the proctor to look directly at him--it wasn't through, it wasn't over, it wasn't on him. It was a direct, straight-to-the point, razor sharp gaze that was firm and unyielding. The man, Mr. Suit, stared with an intensity that threatened to burn Mike into ashes right then and there. Shit, Mike cursed internally, he was so screwed because the man knows. The Suit knows that his name is not the one he wrote on the exam booklet. With a raised eyebrow, the older man stands and makes a beeline towards Mike.
Mike feels and wants to bolt but he knows that doing so will only dig his grave deeper. So instead, he steels himself and fights himself from fidgeting. He lowers his head and glares eyeball-sized wholes into the questionnaire, scribbling like crazy in the pretence of computing. Two fingers press down on his--technically Trevor's--booklet. The fingers a long and thin with nails that look like they are regularly trimmed by boutique professionals. Mike swallows.
"You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that." The man says in a whisper. It's quiet enough not to be heard by Mike's exam neighbour's. "You've got exactly five seconds to hand me out your school ID or I'll throw you out of the room." Mike scrambles for the wallet in his back pocket and fishes out his school ID, his real one not Trevor's because they look nothing alike, and slides it underneath the man's fingers. The fingers pull away, bringing his ID with him, and the man steps back. Mike watches the dark brown, polished leather shoes walk away from him.
He finishes before the time is over. It leaves him feeling vulnerable and open, just knowing that the man's brown eyes are firmly fixed on him. It makes him squirm in his seat, something that he hasn't done in forever. But he cannot help as the anxiety builds up with every passing minute. He was royally screwed. He'll have to beg for forgiveness, beg on his knees if he needed, he'll do anything. If this gets reported to the College Dean, he would lose his internal scholarship which was funded by the Department.
The bell rings. Mike waits the ten minutes that it takes for students to file out of the room before he steps down from his seat. He strides over to the man, who isn't looking at him now, but is fixated on clearing the exam booklets and questionnaires into their own separate files. He clears his throat but the man merely raises a hand and wraps the two bundles with the makeshift paper-band which they came in. Finally, the man lifts his chin.
"Why?" the man asks, serious but deadpan. His hand extended towards the younger man.
Mike shrugs and hands over the materials. "He'll flunk out of the class, get thrown out of the program, and kicked out of school."
"If he is, then he isn't worth saving. He'll fuck up eventually, bringing you with him." the man replies roughly.
Mike shakes his head. "I had to try." he says tightly. "Look man, you can either report me or report him. Or you can report both of us. But you don't get to judge me because you don't know what it's like growing up an orphan with only my retired grandmother. I wouldn't be here if he didn't give me the loan for the entrance exams. He's my best friend. And I---"
"You'll do anything for him. Including cheat on an exam." the man remarks. "Where's your computation sheet?"
"Excuse me?" Mike blinks.
"Come on, you were more nervous than an unfaithful husband waiting for his mistress' paternity test. Where's your compuration sheet?"
"I don't have one" Mike replies, feeling somewhat smug about himself. "I don't need it."
"So you're telling me you used you brain?"
Mike nods. "Yeah. That was the deal, I take the test for him."
The man's eyes are raised up to his tall hairline. He tips his head back and actually laughs. "You honestly think that I would believe that, kid? You take one of Litt's tests--no, cheating on one of Litt's tests without bothering to bring a spare piece of paper?"
Mike nods again. "Yeah. I did the computations in my head."
The other man looks piqued. He gives Mike a long drawn-out once-over, diliberately making a show of scrutinizing everything from Mike's head to his worn-out converse sneakers. After he's done, his mouth is pressed in a tight line. "Okay, kid. How about a wager? You answer correctly; I will look the other way and pass your friend's paper. You answer wrong; and I'll have you both expelled."
Mike bites his lips but does not back down. "Okay."
The man turns around and writes a long complex equation on the blackboard. Mike watches as the elegant scrawl finally ends with an equal sign. The man turns back to face him, with a smirk that rivalled the devil's himself, and hands him the small piece of chalk. "So kid, think you can solve it?"
Mike takes it with a scowl. He studies the question a second time, closer, deeper, understanding the basis of the problem and finding a solution. It unravels right before his eyes. It's a financial problem which utilizes probability, a distortion function, and the Rodon-Nikodym derivative. It will not take a genius to answer this but it will take a long goddamn hell of a time. He takes once glance back at the Suit's challenging smirk and sets to work.
"What'll it be, kid?" The man quips, clearly just to me annoying. He's already sitting up, feet pulled beneath him, and the stack of papers gathered under his arm when---
"zero point zero six seven eight four seven" Mike says without even touching the black board.
"What?" The man questions.
"The answer" Mike supplies. "Do I have to repeat myself? It's zero point zero six seven eight four seven." He repeats, this time whilst writing it down on the chalkboard. He turns around, looking and feeling triumphant for himself. He wanted to badly to wipe that stupid smile of the bastard's stupid face. Except, when he turns, the man's smirk is as present as it was five minutes ago.
Suit man, because Mike hasn't had the displeasure of taking a course under him yet, throws Mike's student ID back at him like a goddamn playing card. Thank god for reflexes, because Mike manages to catch it with both hands right after it slaps him in the middle of his chest. But the man was apparently quicker than Mike had thought.
"This isn't my ID" he says, looking down at the card with some elegant looking scrawl.
"I'm glad to know that my equation didn't ruin your brain." the man answers back, chuckling. "You can come pick it up at my office this afternoon. My secretary will assist you." he says, walking away before Mike can say another word, leaving nothing behind. The door swung open then shut with a thundering click echoing the empty room. He flips the card over.
HARVEY SPECTER
Senior Lecturer 7
Financial Management Department
And that's how Mike Ross first met Harvey Specter.