Just when I thought I was home free, I heard a smug voice behind me. “Fourth door on the right.”

The sound of my click-thud steps echoed off the hard surfaces in the hallway, but I continued walking, in spite of my billowing mortification. It’s hard to look dignified when you’re swaying like a sailor. Finally, I reached the fourth door. I glanced down at my letter to make sure I had the right room, not trusting Mr. Crabbypants, but my hand was empty.

I’d dropped the letter.

Closing my eyes with a sigh, I wondered how this day could get worse.

“Lose something?”

A groan escaped before I could squelch it. I opened my eyes and plastered on a smile.

Mr. Deveraux handed the paper to me with a smirk. “A gentleman always helps those less fortunate, Miss Gardner.” He tilted his head toward me before moving briskly down the hall. “You’re late. You better get in there,” he called out, looking straight ahead.

I closed my gaping mouth and opened the door.

The room was packed and a man in a police uniform stood in front. “… it’s your civic duty.” He watched me enter the room, along with about seventy-five other people.

When would I stop asking if things could get worse? “I’m sorry I’m late.”

The man gave me a stern, disapproving look. “Jury duty started at nine o’clock sharp, miss.”

“But I—”

“If you are chosen for jury duty, you will be expected to show up before the check-in time, which I have already told the other citizens who were considerate enough to show up when they were supposed to. Now if you will please take a seat.”

I hung my head in embarrassment. As I made my way to the back, a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist. I almost screamed again, choking to stop the exhale. In a coughing fit, I looked down at a middle-aged woman with short, fluffy red hair, sitting at a desk. “I need your juror letter,” she whispered.

I handed her my paper, and she marked my name off a list and handed it back, glancing over the desk and down at my shoe. Opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a small metal tube and handed it to me.

Super glue. At least something was going my way.

The woman leaned forward. “You can find a seat, darlin’. And fix your heel.” She winked.

“Do I hear talking?” the man in front asked.

The woman at the desk widened her eyes in mock surprise and grinned. When no one responded, he resumed talking.

I scanned the back of the room, searching for an empty chair. I found one in the second to last row, between an elderly man in overalls and a girl who looked close to my age. She had long blonde hair, with curls all over her head that had probably taken forever to curl, and a little more makeup than she needed. But she smiled at me as I made my way down the aisle toward her.

“He’s got a corn cob stuck up his butt today, don’t he?” she whispered as I sank into the chair.

“I guess…”

“Do I hear talking in the back?” the man called out, scanning the room. His eyes rested on me for half a second. I stared straight ahead, pretending to latch onto his every word.

When he seemed certain he had everyone’s attention, he continued lecturing. “Your pay will be eight dollars for the day. No, that is not eight dollars an hour. There will be no complaints that this is below minimum wage. Not only is this your civic duty, but it is a privilege.” He looked at his watch and cleared his throat. “That’s it. I’ll turn this over to Marjorie Grace.”

The woman, who had checked me in, walked to the front of the room. “Thank you, Bailiff Spencer, for fillin’ in for Judge McClary at the last minute.”

But Bailiff Spencer didn’t hear a word. He’d already rushed out the door.

“Judge McClary usually comes in to address the potential jurors. But the judge was detained in chambers so Spencer had to come and brief y’all instead. It’s supposed to be like a pep talk, but he seems to have put the fear of God into everyone instead.”

I looked around the room. Mostly I saw the backs of people’s heads, but the few faces I could see looked shell-shocked.

Marjorie Grace tried to lighten the mood. “Well, now, looks like Bailiff Spencer forgot he was addressin’ jurors and not the defendants.”

A nervous laughter spread throughout the room.

“I assure you that we in the Fenton County court system welcome you and thank you for volunteering your time to make our system of democracy the best in the world. Now, if I can ask you for your patience as we wait to see if there are any cases to be tried today. You may get up and walk around but don’t wander too far. We’ll need to call you back in to let you know what’s going on.”

Marjorie Grace walked back to her desk, and the buzz of hushed voices filled the room.

The girl next to me held out her hand, her fingernails painted in a bright pink. “Neely Kate Rivers.”

“Hi, I’m Rose.” I shook her hand, purposely omitting my last name.

She didn’t seem to notice. “I live outside of Henryetta, but I work here at the courthouse, which is how I know all about Mr. Corn-Cob-Butt.” Neely Kate giggled.

“Can you get picked for jury duty if you work here?”

“Shoot no, but I figured I’d get out of a morning of work so I didn’t try to get out of it. My boss Frank has been crabbier than usual lately, so I could use a morning off with pay. It doesn’t matter anyways. They aren’t goin’ to pick anyone for jury duty. The only trial on the docket this week is an armed robbery and murder. The defendant is sure to plea-bargain. I checked.”