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At least I’ve now got a name to go with those big, blue eyes, and soon I’ll have a whole bunch of other information thanks to the voir dire questions he’s about to be asked. First, though, we have to get through the two other potential jurors who were called up with him.
The woman is dismissed by the judge because she’s the primary caretaker for two young children and her disabled mother. Then the man answers the list of questions plus some more questions from the attorneys. There’s a bit of conferring at the prosecutor’s table, but they move on to Tyler, and I’m excited to learn more about the young man who cost me my travel mug and then kept watching me. I’ll admit, I was watching him just as much. It’s been a long time since someone caught my attention like this even before getting a chance to talk to him. So, this, listening to him answer personal questions about himself, his education, occupation, hobbies and interests? It’s like a dating app on steroids. It’s gold.
Here’s what I learn: He’s twenty-four, single, lives in the outer Sunset, graduated from San Francisco State the previous year with a degree in art. He now works as a graphic designer, but also publishes his own webcomics—I make a mental note to look his work up later since no one is allowed to use their cell phones or laptops in the courtroom—and spends a lot of time on sites dedicated to webcomics as well as Reddit. Tyler doesn’t watch or read the news much, but his favorite movies are Love, Simon, and Red, White, and Royal Blue. He loves binge watching Heartstopper, The Office, and Good Omens. This is the first time he’s been called for jury duty, and he’s never been involved with a trial or known anyone who has.
Not bad for five minutes. On a date, that would have taken most of the meal unless he was a non-stop talker who never took a breath, and none of those details are deal breakers. In fact, I have a good idea of where I’d take Tyler for a date.
For all my complaining about jury duty, I’d never considered it’s potential as a way to size up a date, and listen to the rest of Tyler’s answers as the attorneys question him about his views on drunk driving and other topics pertinent to the case. They don’t spend a lot of time with him before going back to their respective tables and conferring. Then there’s a round of peremptory challenges in which both the prosecution and one of the defense attorneys dismiss one person each, and three more potential jurors are called for voir dire. I wonder how many challenges they have left because once they’re done, the only way they can remove someone is for cause.
It’s a funny thing watching this because I almost want to be called up. I want Tyler to hear my details, to put us on equal footing when I eventually talk to him because, make no mistake, I will be talking to him before we leave here today.
It’s also funny because once I start listening to the voir dire, I find it captivating. Usually, I do my best to zone out, but now I’m paying attention and making guesses as to whether someone will make the cut or not. The woman who goes to enormous lengths to convince the attorneys she could be impartial in a case that includes drunk driving charges despite having been married to an abusive drunk for over a decade is an easy guess, and the judge thanks her for her service then dismisses her. There’s a man who knows one of the defendants who also gets dismissed by the judge, and then there are the jurors who were part of the earlier group that the lawyers remove with their challenges. The jury won’t be set until both sides are satisfied they’ve gotten the best panel they can, so even if you were part of the first group, there’s still a chance you’ll be dismissed.
Throughout everything, I’m watching Tyler and the way he’s taking it all in. I can almost see the wheels in his head turning and wonder if he’s thinking about how he can use this for his work. Every now and then, he glances my way, and I get a thrill as I watch a shy smile curl the corners of his mouth upward. Once, he nods at me slightly before looking away.
Things finally seem to be down to the last juror to be selected when there’s a flurry of activity at the defense’s table. One of the defendants argues in terse whispers with his lawyer after the voir dire. The judge asks the attorney if he has any further questions for the juror.
“Your Honor,” the attorney says as he straightens and looks at the judge. He glances back at his client who shakes his head. “The defense would like to thank juror number twelve for their time and use our final peremptory challenge.”
There’s a brief exchange between the judge and the attorney, and then the juror is dismissed. He steps down from the jury box, and I’m so caught up in watching Tyler that I don’t register my name being called by the clerk. Even so, I’m already standing by the time my memory plays it back for me, and I head for the jury box taking seat number twelve right next to Tyler. The bailiff comes over, asks me to stand and swear to tell the truth during voir dire.
“I do,” I say and take my seat.
Now it’s my turn to answer those questions, and I’m conscious the whole time that Tyler’s listening, his face turned toward me, those big, blue eyes staring at me intently.
“Cameron Reese. Twenty-seven. I live in Noe Valley. Single. I have a Bachelor of Science degree in computer science and an MBA, both from Stanford. I presently work at Gangway in product development.” Even as I keep my focus on the questions on the piece of paper in my hand, I’m aware of Tyler sitting next to me and the way he reacts as I continue to answer. “Single” got a smile. “MBA” a slight frown. When I mention sharing my house with someone, he chews on his lower lip until I call my housemate my friend and say that she works at Gangway as well. As to my preferences in entertainment, I play it a bit safe, echo Tyler’s affection for Heartstopper, but mention The Boys in the Band as one of my favorite movies. I don’t actually watch that much TV and most of my social media usage is work-related, and I don’t have time to read much. My major outside interest is rock climbing, both at the gym and out in the wild, which gets a slight nod from Tyler. I add that reaction to my ideas for dates.
When the judge asks me if I know of any reason that I should not be seated on this jury, I pause. The previous two times that I’ve ended up this far, I’ve mentioned that my father is a lawyer—omitting the part about him practicing family law—and I weigh whether I should say something or not. It’s a quick conversation in my head with one part of me arguing that I shouldn’t let my interest in Tyler sway me and end up stuck on a jury for the next week, and another part trying to convince me that it would give me a chance to get to know him.
“I don’t know if this is relevant,” I say, shocking the hell out of myself, “but my father is a family law attorney.”
The defense attorney who’d been arguing with his client tosses his pencil on the desk and glares at his client, while the prosecutor purses her lips and stares at me, then shakes her head. The judge asks if there are any challenges, and when there aren’t, we’re told to stand. The clerk stands as well and administers another oath charging us with judging the case only on the evidence presented during the trial, and to listen to the judge’s instructions. We all swear to do our duty, and then the judge tells us to sit.
I have to admit, I’m a little stunned to find myself juror number twelve, and don’t pay much attention as two alternates are chosen from the remaining jury pool. Tyler’s playing with the zipper on his hoodie, and I notice he’s wearing black nail polish. I guess I was so busy looking at his face that I didn’t really take in the rest of him. I have an overwhelming desire to put my hand on top of his, so I decide to sit on my hands just in case my wayward brain makes another rash decision. Marney is going to have a field day with this when I tell her I ended up on jury because of a guy.
* * * * *
True to form, Marney thinks the whole thing is hilarious when I tell her over dinner. We’re in my place, sharing a large bowl of pasta with shrimp while leaning on the kitchen island.
“I always knew guys thought with their dicks,” she says.
“I am in no position to argue otherwise,” I say and rub the spot between my eyes.
“Not your usual style, though, Cam.”
“Again. Not in a position to argue otherwise.”
Marney gives me an assessing gaze, her head cocked to the side as if she’s sizing up some broken code. I’ve seen that look on her face hundreds of times, like there’s a puzzle she’s trying to solve and not quite seeing the solution yet. Then she shrugs and stabs at a shrimp on her plate.
“Maybe it’s good to do something unexpected. Are you going to ask him out?”
It’s my turn to shrug, and I stare at my plate while I twirl pasta on my fork as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “I don’t think jurors are allowed to fraternize.”
She laughs. “Listen to you! Fraternize. I’m pretty sure it’s fine as long as you don’t discuss the case. You get a lunch break, right? Ask him to go to lunch with you on Monday.”
I don’t say anything as I grab another forkful of pasta.
“You’re interested, Cam. I can tell.” There’s only one remaining shrimp in the bowl, and Marney nudges it toward me. “Think about the great meet-cute story you’ll have to tell. All I ask is that you thank me at your wedding for encouraging you to go for it.”
