Free Work for Hire by Margo Karasek Page B

before class, but the mess with the Lamonts had nixed that plan. If Professor Johnson called on me, I wouldn’t be able to answer a single question.
    I would go back to my dorm and deal with the consequences of a missed class instead. A B in Constitutional Law wouldn’t kill me, right? Sure, it would lower my average and probably make landing a clerkship or getting hired at a prestigious firm more difficult, but it wasn’t as if showing up guaranteed a perfect grade anyway. On the other hand, if I did score lower than an A in the class, an attendance-mandated grade drop could be detrimental to my future legal career. A B wouldn’t kill me, but a C or a D might.
    My fingers balled into a fist; my mouth went dry. I ran my tongue around my lips, but the move did little to alleviate the parched surface. I couldn’t take the risk. I had to go in. Leaving now guaranteed a lower grade. Going in at least left open the possibility of an A and a good job after graduation.
    I took a deep breath and scanned the rows of bodies inside the classroom, desperate for a solution.
    The best plan would be to find a vacant seat near the door. I could quietly slip in, with minimal commotion. Professor Johnson would hopefully appreciate the effort. Then, after class, I could humbly apologize and promise never to do it again.
    Yes, that seemed like a workable alternative. Unfortunately, my quick scan of the room revealed not a single vacant seat. No one else was stupid enough to challenge Professor Johnson’s attendance policy. So that only left my regular seat. But it was in the middle of the third row, ten students in, right in front of the lectern—and Professor Johnson.
    I bit my lower lip. I really couldn’t stand out in the corridor much longer. Each passing minute added insult to injury, and made the entrance that much harder.
    So I twisted the knob and gently pushed the door open.
    It squeaked. I winced.
    Every head in the room turned in my direction. I could almost hear the silent gasps of surprise, but the lull didn’t last. The rush of clicking keyboards became almost deafening. I winced again. There went the instant messages.
    I stepped into the room and glanced towards the front, to gauge the professor’s reaction. He stood at the lectern—in his navy blazer, khaki slacks and gold tie—seemingly unaware of my arrival. His silver hair gleamed under the room’s fluorescent lighting.
    I tiptoed to the third row, anxious to get to my seat before he really noticed me.
    “Excuse me,” I whispered to a classmate who had tipped his chair back and obstructed my entrance. He snapped his chair straight and scowled. I made a face at him. Didn’t he see me coming? I shimmied past two other classmates.
    “The United States Constitution is not a perfect document,” Professor Johnson droned in the background.
    Next to seat four, my foot became tangled in the strap of someone’s computer case. I lurched forward, and hit the occupant of seat five on the back of her head with my shoulder bag. She screeched.
    “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, and moved on even faster.
    “But it is the best document we have,” Professor Johnson continued, seemingly undisturbed. “In fact, I would put forward, and you’ll probably agree, that it is the best Constitution out there.”
    A mound of bags by seat seven halted my progress.
    “Excuse me,” the woman one row back whispered as she tapped me on my arm. “Can you get out of the way? You’re obstructing my view.”
    “Sorry,” I snarled, turning to look at her. Did she think I was standing there for my own enjoyment? I leveraged my palm on her table and hopped over the mound, but in the process knocked a textbook off the table behind seat eight. It banged to the floor in front of me.
    “Nonetheless,” Professor Johnson labored on as I scooted down to retrieve the book, “if we were to rewrite the Constitution today, we would all probably propose some interesting changes.”
    I finally