June's POV
The morning sunlight was barely creeping through the blinds when I woke up, the kind of golden light that made everything look peaceful—if not for the fact that I had to be in court by 8 a.m for jury duty.
I had a slight headache due to the wine I had yesterday but it was something I could handle. I could hear Samantha clanging around in the kitchen, most likely on her second cup of coffee already. She was probably a lot more ready for this than I was.
Rolling out of bed, I forced myself into the bathroom, opened my cabinet above the sink and took out some Advil. Placing the pill in my mouth I swallowed without water. I took a quick shower and put on something professional-looking. I decided on a blue dress, not too flashy but respectable. Even though I didn't want to go, I wasn't about to show up looking like a slob.
By the time I stepped out of my room, Samantha was sitting at the counter, tapping her fingers impatiently."You ready for this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow."As ready as I'll ever be," I muttered, grabbing the coffee she'd poured for me.
Samantha grinned and took a sip of her own. "Don't worry, just play it cool. Maybe they won't even pick us." "Maybe," I echoed, although I wasn't sure I believed it. I had the sinking feeling that today wasn't going to be that simple.We left the apartment and drove to the courthouse in near silence, the weight of the morning hanging between us.
I parked the car, and we both stared at the entrance for a few seconds before getting out. The courthouse loomed in front of us, an imposing structure that somehow made everything feel even more serious. The last place I wanted to be.
Walking in, the clerk directed us to a waiting room filled with other potential jurors. It was packed, a sea of nervous faces. Samantha and I sat beside each other, but soon enough, we were called in one by one for voir dire. They were splitting us up."They're taking me first," Samantha said, standing up as her name was called. She gave me a quick wink, as if to say, "Don't worry, it'll be fine." But I wasn't sure if she believed it herself.
I watched her go, and the minutes that followed felt like hours. I fiddled with the handle of my bag, glancing around at the others, some of whom looked as anxious as I felt. This was far more intimidating than I'd anticipated. I could practically feel the weight of responsibility already.
After what seemed like an eternity, a clerk called my name, and my stomach lurched. I stood up, smoothing down my dress as I followed the clerk into the courtroom.Inside, it was even more intimidating. The judge sat at the front, towering over the room like some kind of ancient authority figure. To the side were the attorneys for both sides of the case.
Their eyes darted over me the second I walked in. I had to remind myself to breathe.
"Ms. Skylar, please take a seat," the judge said, motioning toward the chair in the middle of the room. I sat down, folding my hands in my lap, trying not to let my nerves show. This was just a process, I reminded myself. They were just going to ask me some questions. Easy enough, right?
The judge began by asking a few basic questions—whether I knew any of the parties involved, whether I had any preconceived notions about the case. I answered them truthfully. No, I didn't know anyone. No, I didn't have any opinions going in.Then it was the lawyers' turn.
The defense attorney stood up first, walking toward me with a clipboard in hand. His eyes were sharp, like he was trying to read something deeper into every answer. "Ms. Skylar," he began, "how do you feel about the legal system in general? Do you believe that most defendants are guilty simply because they've been charged with a crime?" "No, I don't," I said, keeping my tone even. "I believe people are innocent until proven guilty."He nodded, but I could tell he wasn't entirely satisfied with that answer. "What if the defendant seems suspicious or untrustworthy? Could you still give them a fair trial?" I hesitated for just a second, but it felt like an eternity. "I'd like to think I could be objective," I replied, meeting his gaze.
He asked a few more probing questions, and I answered them all to the best of my ability. I wasn't sure how I was doing. Was I coming off as too neutral? Too willing to serve? Or would they think I wasn't invested enough?
Finally, it was the prosecution's turn. The prosecutor, a woman in a crisp suit, approached me with the same intensity. "Ms. Skylar, how do you feel about the role of a juror? Do you understand the gravity of the responsibility?" she asked, her eyes locked on mine. "I do," I said, my voice a little quieter now. "It's an important role, and I'd take it seriously." She nodded thoughtfully and continued with her line of questioning, but her demeanor was less aggressive than the defense's.
She seemed more interested in whether I could be fair than in testing my limits. When it was over, I was dismissed back to the waiting room, my heart still racing. As I walked out, I caught a glimpse of Samantha sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling on her phone. She looked up, gave me a thumbs up, and mouthed, "How'd it go?" I shrugged. "Fine, I think?" I mouthed back, not entirely sure.
Samantha was called in again but by a clerk, and I sat alone, waiting to find out what would happen next. I could only hope that we both wouldn't be chosen. The last thing I needed was to spend weeks in court. A little while later, Samantha emerged, looking unfazed. She plopped down next to me and handed me her phone. "We're free for now," she said with a sigh of relief. "But they said they'll let us know by tomorrow if we're selected.
Honestly, I think we nailed it. No way they're picking us." I wasn't so sure, but I appreciated her optimism. The uncertainty still hung over us, and I couldn't help but think about how my life could be disrupted if I were chosen. The bakery, my students—everything seemed to be up in the air. But for now, all we could do was wait.
We left the courthouse and headed back to the apartment, both of us relieved to be out of there. "I'm getting pizza," Samantha declared as we stepped into the apartment. "Again?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, jury duty is stressful. I deserve pizza," she replied with a grin.
I chuckled, sitting down on the couch as we settled in for what would hopefully be a quiet evening. But I couldn't shake the feeling that our jury duty adventure wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.