It was a little after eleven and the judge still hadn’t come in. Matthew and I set off to collect the kids when we heard the dreaded DING! Thirteenth floor, going down! We were stuck. The judge sauntered out of the elevator, sporting sunglasses and a brand new bun. How did she manage to get her hair done and jumpstart Bob? All in a day’s work.

“Hello, Judge,” we chanted in unison.

“Where are you people going!?” I had gotten Matthew into this mess, so I figured it was my duty to remind her.

“Um. Remember we’re tutoring those children? Today is their first day.” Not the right answer. She threw down her bags and her newly minted hair went nuts.

“NO! NO! NO!” This time, she sort of bobbed up and down. “I do NOT have time for this! You people NEVER work. NEVER!” Knees bent. Up. Down.

“O-O-K. We—we. Won’t do it. We—we’ll stay here.” Matthew had gone from a fancy Ivy Leaguer to a common stutterer in less than four months.

“Oh shit! Do whatever you people want. I don’t care!” And with that, she dragged herself into the secretaries’ den. Poor Roy was a goner.

Matthew and I made a break for the elevators. “Technically she did say, ‘Do whatever you want.’” I tried justifying the fact that we were bringing innocent children into the torture chamber.

“Sheila. Did you just hear me? I can’t even speak anymore.” Just then the doors opened into the lobby, which was filled with a sea of little children—in all colors but white—being led away by a group of uptight law clerks—in all colors but black. I spotted Kevin through the crowd.

“Hey. We’re going out tonight. Bar exam results at midnight,” I blurted as a miniperson tugged at Kevin’s shirt. “I want to wead. Let’s go wead.”

“Great, see you later. By the way,” Kevin said, gently guiding a cute little boy in a baseball cap over to Matthew, “this is Eric and he’s your tutee.” He ushered a pigtailed girl in my direction. “And this is Terry. She’s all yours,” he said chuckling.

“Hi, Terry.” I smiled, kneeling to her level.

“This is boring. You’re boring.” How could she tell by just looking at me? Did I actually look boring? Terry thought so. She was smart. And loud. Our pleas for no screaming fell on deaf ears. I couldn’t blame her. If I screamed like her, I’d be deaf, too. She was totally out of control, pushing every button on the elevator while simultaneously jumping up and down screaming, “Boring, boring, boring.” I managed to grab Terry’s scrawny shoulders to deliver a little sermon.