I was summoned for jury duty a month before my 19th birthday. Most people try and get out of it—which would have been easy enough as a full-time student. But I was interested to see what it would be like, especially since I'd probably be one of the youngest people there. I showed up at the courthouse in the second week of March, went through the metal detector, and found a seat in the basement. I'd fully expected to spend most of my time here—and if I did happen to get picked for a trial, figured it would be some boring civil case. I settled in and started to read. About an hour later, they began calling names over the intercom. To my surprise, they called mine. I still didn't expect much. We filed into one of the second-floor courtrooms after lining up alphabetically outside. It was surprisingly formal compared to those I'd seen on the news or reality TV, which looked more like old boardrooms furnished with a cheap wooden witness stand. This courtroom was true to Law and Order dramatizations; with raised rows of seating for prospective jurors, an elaborate bench for the judge, and a group of pews for public attendants partitioned off by a little gate. I sat toward the back near the windows. Judge Caputo sat to my right.