Page 11 of On Your Life

“Hi, newbie!” she says gleefully.

“Hey,” I reply.

The words come out scratchy, like my voice isn’t quite as brave as my mind is trying to force it to be.

“Are you settling in okay?” she asks. “The first night is always hard.”

She picks at her food like she’s as interested in it as I am. We were served buttered toast that’s so dry it would probably take more than the tiny cup of water they gave us to choke it down. The eggs are a neon yellow that seems almost unnatural, and the smell coming off of them is enough to make my stomach turn. The hunger that was eating its way through my spine disappears as quickly as it came.

“As good as I can be,” I admit. “I haven’t had the warmest welcome from the guards, but no one else has really said much to me other than Barbara.”

I look over at the old woman passing out trays to everyone. She hasn’t even sat down to eat herself but she’s smiling at everyone like she’s genuinely happy to make sure they’re fed before she worries about herself. It’s a little weird to have a prisoner acting like she’s a carefree lunch lady.

She lets out a giggle.

“Oh she’s our pod mother! This place would literally go to shit without her.” She takes a bite of the hydrophobic toast before continuing. “I heard Fox giving you trouble last night. My room is right next to yours.”

She tilts her head up toward the walkway where my room sits, her eyes following the line of the railing.

“How long have you been here for?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere because I really don’t want to get on that topic again.

“Four years!”

Her fingers immediately find one of her curls, twirling it around her finger as she looks at me like I’m the most interesting person she’s talked to in that amount of time.

Surely there is better company to have in this place. Not that I’m not grateful for the distraction but I’m not here to make friends.

“Yeah, I got caught distributing. Not my best work but my boyfriend got caught and placed all the blame on me since he kept everything at my house. I might as well have had a sign on my door saying arrest me,” she sighs.

She shrugs like she’s telling me about a bad date instead of an event that took years from her life.

“Is he still your boyfriend?” I ask.

She seems sweet. Hopefully she dropped that dickwad the second he made her take the fall for him.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” she gasps. The outrage in her voice almost makes me laugh. “They showed me the interview where he ratted me out and acted like I was some huge drug dealer. I made front page news because the police were so happy that they caught the largest one in the city.” She pops another piece of toast in her mouth. “At least my mugshot was pretty.”

I glance down at the badge clipped to her uniform. Her photo is printed above an inmate number and underneath it in large letters is her name, Max.

“Your name is Max?” I ask.

“Yeah but most people call me Maxie!” she says with a grin. “You can just call me that.”

I offer a small smile before turning my attention back to the sad breakfast. I won’t let myself be hungry just because I don’t like the shitty food.

Maxie seems nice. She talks to people as they walk by, offering several cheerful “good mornings” to anyone who listens without immediately turning around to talk shit about them. She seems to know everyone, or at least enough people to make it look like she does.

If I were to choose someone to be friends with here she seems like a good start.

Speaking of friends, I need to make a call. I’m sure mine are worried sick about me and I haven’t had the chance to check in with anyone since I was in the county jail. I need to know what’s happening outside of these walls. I need to hear a familiar voice.

I finish what little I can stomach and take my tray back to the cart before walking toward the guard sitting behind the desk.

He looks almost as nervous as I feel, his finger constantly fussing at the collar of his shirt. I lightly knock on the desk and try to put on the best sad girl act I can muster.

“S-sir?”

He looks up at me from beneath a pair of oval glasses. Mousy brown hair is subtly styled on top of his head. He doesn’t look like he belongs here.