Lauren Takes Leave Read Online Free PDF Page A

you?” She never says hello like a
normal person. “You bailed on coffee talk time.”
    “You cannot even imagine my morning,” I say. “Look
out your window and wave. I’m in the VP’s spot.”
    Five seconds later, a wrist loaded up with silver bangles
emerges from a window on the second floor. Instead of waving, she points her
middle finger at me.
    When she’s back on the line, I say, “Classy.”
    “Why are you getting here so late?” Kat asks.
    “Nah, Kitty-Kat, I’m just leaving.” I put her on
speakerphone and explain as I drive through the suburban, tree-lined streets of
Hadley and into the city of Alden, where the county courthouse is located. “And
the kicker is, Martha’s my sub.”
    “Love it!” She laughs. “I’m gonna have my students call
over there all day and keep hanging up when she answers.”
    “Kat,” I say. “I thought we talked about prank calls.”
    “What? Someone has to teach these vital lessons to
the younger generation. In the age of the Internet, phony phone calls are going
to get lost, unless, of course, I work my tass off to keep the ancient art
alive.”
    “Whatever,” I say. “At least you’ll be having fun
today.”
    “Whaddaya mean? Jury duty’s the best!” There is a muffled
sound on the line, and then I hear Kat talking to a student. “Lexie, stop
pinching Jane or else I’m going to have to pinch you so you know what it feels
like and, therefore, develop empathy.”
    “Kat,” I chastise.
    “Empathy is this year’s district imperative,” she
explains, back on the line.
    “Not what the Hadley School Board meant.”
    “Live it up today, Lauren. I’m telling you, JD is the
bomb . I went over to the courthouse last month to volunteer for service,
after a particularly rough day in the sandbox. I was like, what could be better
than a few quiet, contemplative days in a municipal courtroom? Anything is better than kindergarten. Only, they didn’t want me.”
    “Imagine that.” I navigate my way through the downtown
streets and turn into the parking lot for the courthouse. “Tragic.”
    “Speaking of which, I really need to talk to you. Can you
swing by on your way home? I’ll be here late, filling out report cards.”
    “Will do, Kitty-Kat,” I say, slamming the door to my
minivan and pressing the lock button on the remote. “Over and out.”
    With only five minutes to spare before my summons blows
up in my hand, or whatever, I hightail it across the street, cursing the fact
that I didn’t have enough quarters to feed the meter for more than two hours.
    Inside the front entrance, I follow the snaking line of
visitors through the metal detectors.
    “No cell phones, Kindles, iPads, laptops or other
electronic devices allowed inside the courthouse,” a security guard drones. He
must say the same thing a hundred times a morning. Then I realize what it is
that he’s actually saying.
    “You’re kidding me!” This catches the attention of the
people directly ahead of and behind me. “I can’t have my cell phone? Not even
on vibrate? Like, at all?”
    “Best thing to do is take it back to your car,” a man in a
suit and tie says, nodding sympathetically. “They can hold it for you here, but
I’m not sure I’d trust them.”
    What are they gonna do, play with my Barbie Dress Up app
all day? I want to ask, but I am too busy running back across the busy street
in my own game of Frogger, my giant shoulder bag banging against my hip.
    Total hassle.
    Two minutes and forty-three seconds later, I skid back
across the polished marble, phoneless. The suit is now at the front of the
line; 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 guilty
of something.”
    I manage a half smile and look around for directions. A
sign marked Jury Duty points me
down a corridor and into a waiting room.
    “Summons, please,” a bailiff requests, hand