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1
Kitty
I stare at my dad across the breakfast island, imploring him with the puppy-dog look I’ve perfected over my twenty years of life.
His neat, military-cut salt and pepper hair barely moves as he shakes his head. “No, Kitty. Absolutely not.”
I stifle a sigh and play the game. I’m an expert at it, more often than not coming out on top. But this is a tricky one. My father is protective about his family, and fiercely overprotective of me.
“Come on, Dad. A first-hand account could be the difference between a simple pass and top marks. You want me to stay at the top my class, don’t you?”
I know I’ve hit his sweet spot when he tosses his fork down and grimaces.
Mom hides her silent laughter behind her coffee cup at that first sign of his impending surrender. Dad is rabid about education, especially when it comes to me maintaining top college grades. I’m a sophomore now, and he’s just as eager as I am to capitalize on the great work I did in freshman year and remain at the top of my class.
It’s something else for him to brag about to the neighbors and his golf buddies.
“I get that you want to do well, and I’m proud of you for that. But have you explored any other ways to make this happen?” he asks, a little hopefully.
I shrug. “There’s only so much I can learn from the library and online research. I’ve sat in on a few court cases and spoken to a handful of prosecutors. But they all recommended that getting a one-on-one interview would be invaluable.”
He sighs but I can tell he’s thinking hard about it, his analytical brain weighing the pros and cons of giving me what I want. “I suppose if it happened in a controlled environment, like my office, it could work,” he says almost to himself.
I try not to get overexcited. He hasn’t said yes yet.
If his overprotective side kicks in harder, I’m sunk. To be fair, what I’m asking is fairly dangerous on several levels.
Dad is the warden at Wrexton State Penitentiary just north of Seattle, Washington, a facility that has had zero problems since he took over stewardship twelve years ago.
It’s a record he’s extremely proud of. But it’s still a supermax prison full of hardened criminals, including more than three dozen lifers locked up for atrocious offences.
“Are you sure, Derek. Is it safe?” Mom finally pipes in, a tiny frown replacing the amusement from a minute ago.
Dad reaches across to pat her hand. “She’ll be entirely safe…if this happens. I’m still not sure this is the right way to go about your assignment, sweetheart.”
I pounce on the sliver of weakness. “I’ll follow every rule, Dad. You know you can trust me.”
His gaze softens and he nods.
I’m not a rule breaker. I’ve never talked back to my parents or been grounded. Ever. I’m a model daughter, respectful to my elders and figures of authority, as Mom likes to brag about to her country club friends.
I’ve been a straight A student since junior high and my parents know I’m trustworthy.
I get that they’re hesitant about sending their only child to a maximum security prison filled with hardened criminals, but I’m not a child anymore. I’m months away from turning twenty-one and they already let me attend an out of state college in California.
Freshman year at Stanford was interesting. Eye-opening in many ways, but so disappointing in others.
Pros—the intelligence pool for someone like me to learn from was mind-boggling and exciting.
Cons—a shocking number of freshmen were high on being away from home for the first time and determined to drink, party and screw their way through first year.
As much as I’d been looking forward to sampling college life, that side of it grew distasteful very quickly. I found myself leaving the handful of parties I let my roommate talk me into going earlier and earlier until she gave up asking me to go with her. And frankly, it’d been a relief.
As for the overgrown, over-hormonal boys?
None of them held my interest long enough for me to even kiss. I would’ve suspected I batted for the other team except none of the girls triggered any pulse-racing interest, either.
In my quieter moments I’ve started worrying that there’s something wrong with me, sexually. That my wiring has gotten messed up somehow.
