Lauren Takes Leave Gerstenblatt, Julie (classic literature list txt) 📖

volunteer for service,after a particularly rough day in the sandbox. I was like, what could be betterthan a few quiet, contemplative days in a municipal courtroom? Anythingis better than kindergarten. Only, they didn’t want me.”

“Imagine that.” I navigate my way through the downtownstreets and turn into the parking lot for the courthouse. “Tragic.”

“Speaking of which, I really need to talk to you. Can youswing by on your way home? I’ll be here late, filling out report cards.”

“Will do, Kitty-Kat,” I say, slamming the door to myminivan and pressing the lock button on the remote. “Over and out.”

With only five minutes to spare before my summons blowsup in my hand, or whatever, I hightail it across the street, cursing the factthat I didn’t have enough quarters to feed the meter for more than two hours.

Inside the front entrance, I follow the snaking line ofvisitors through the metal detectors.

“No cell phones, Kindles, iPads, laptops or otherelectronic devices allowed inside the courthouse,” a security guard drones. Hemust say the same thing a hundred times a morning. Then I realize what it isthat he’s actually saying.

“You’re kidding me!” This catches the attention of thepeople directly ahead of and behind me. “I can’t have my cell phone? Not evenon vibrate? Like, at all?”

“Best thing to do is take it back to your car,” a man in asuit and tie says, nodding sympathetically. “They can hold it for you here, butI’m not sure I’d trust them.”

What are they gonna do, play with my Barbie Dress Up appall day? I want to ask, but I am too busy running back across the busy streetin my own game of Frogger, my giant shoulder bag banging against my hip.

Total hassle.

Two minutes and forty-three seconds later, I skid backacross the polished marble, phoneless. The suit is now at the front of theline; he catches my eye and waves at me to join him.

“Thanks,” I pant, pushing some hair out of my eyes.

“Have a great day.” He winks. “And relax. You look guiltyof something.”

I manage a half smile and look around for directions. Asign marked Jury Duty points medown a corridor and into a waiting room.

“Summons, please,” a bailiff requests, hand outstretched. Heyawns.

I tear off the top portion of the paperwork and hand itover to him.

“Now just have a seat and wait. You may be called today,you may not.”

“Really? Because I was kind of hoping…”

“To get it over with today, I know,” he says.

“To get some change for the meter, actually, so that Idon’t get a ticket and wind up back in court!”

He shrugs, letting me know how deeply unmoved he is byboth my pressing need for quarters and my sad attempt at irony.

I enter a rather large lecture hall, like the kind ofplace where college Psych 101 would meet. It’s all blond wood and modern infeel. The open, airy quality is not what I was expecting from a county courthouse.I select a spot in the very front section of the room to seem more eager forservice and, therefore, less likely to get picked for it. I expect to get somedirection from a judge, but none is forthcoming. So I reach into my bag andstart chipping away at the paperwork.

During the first hour I grade an entire class set ofridiculously depressing essays, rife with grammatical inventions, and write outchecks, including an overdue payment for our electricity. For the first time ina long time, I feel productive, ahead of the game. The room has a soft humabout it as people go about their work. It’s calm and silent, buzzing withthought like a library.

I stand and stretch, taking a look around. About fifty peopleare scattered around the room, heads bent over books and notebooks. Not havingcell phones and computers inside the courthouse has a curious effect on us all.Without the ringing, beeping, and pulsing of an immediate connection to theoutside world, it’s almost as if there is no outside world at all. Real time issuspended.

I have nothing I have to do, nowhere I have to be, nothingI have to worry about. I am unreachable, unfindable.

I kind of love it.

I dig in my faux-leather school bag, remembering thechick-lit paperback I’ve been carrying around with me for the past few months. Goodthing I don’t own a Kindle or I’d be staring at the ceiling tiles right aboutnow. Finding my place in the story, I settle back into my seat and disappear. Thenext time I check my watch, another forty-five minutes have flown by.

That’s when it hits me: Kat may have a point about juryduty.

This may just be the best day of my entire life.

Chapter 3

It’s just so quiet here. Like a spa. Or an ashram.Too bad they don’t serve organic unsweetened teas and let us walk around interrycloth robes and slippers.

A worrisome thought pops into my head about ten minuteslater, as I’m finishing another chapter of this awesome book about absolutelynothing. What if this is it? What if I get excused later on and I have to goback to school tomorrow?

That can’t happen. It just cannot.

I must find a way to stay here, in this tranquil place,with all these peaceful people, and hide from real life for as long as ishumanly possible.

The truth—absurd as it may be—is this: I need to getplaced on a jury. I want to get picked for a jury.

A baritone voice breaks my trance. “Jurors 203 and 204,and all jury summons numbers 211 to 221. Please come to the front and enter thejuror waiting room to my left,” the judge says, pointing with his gavel.

My heart is beating fast with anticipation. I want to jumpup quickly, but now I have to think of appearances in the opposite way that Ihad previously. Take your time, Lauren, look like this is the last place youwant to be. I catch one woman looking my way and roll my eyes at her, like,ain’t it a bitch?

But, really, I’m like, juror waiting room, hooray! That’sone step closer to reaching my new goal. I’ve made it to the next round! Feelinga