Free Finding Hope in Texas by Ryan T. Petty Page B

spare.
     

 
    Chapter
Four
     
    Particleboard boxes are not fun. They have
four corners, they are bland, and they are not good for looking at
or being stored in, away from humanity. The warden, some
paraprofessional working on their teaching degree with big bulgy
eyes, continually monitored the actions of us inmates, reminding us
frequently that we could not sleep or even lay our heads down. The
only good that came from being stuck within a box was that I could
do all the reading I wanted, so everyday I loaded up on the
classics to stack next to myself in my cube. It was probably weird
to the other convicted felons, as most of them didn’t even bring a
pen in with them, and they often glared at me as if I had done
something that agitated them. My only hope was that I wouldn’t be
shanked during my school prison sentence. Mr. Peet’s dual credit
class offered at least some release from the box. It was a MWF
class allowing those in the class TH an extra study hall for their
college classes. This week was just introduction to the course, and
since I was the only new student in the class, it was time not well
spent. He started his lecture and discussions on the Gilded Age on
Wednesday and would resume on Friday. Mark Twain hit the nail on
the head when he described that time period. My problems were
considerably smaller than all those poor Europeans arriving at
Ellis Island, not having a dime to their name and not being able to
speak a lick of English. Lick? Yes, that had to be another
Texas Freudian-slip of the dialect running into my system.
    Mags received the counselor’s phone call and
gave me a stern talking on the Thursday I punched Jody in the face,
revoking my computer and television privileges until I got out of
ISS, but neither of them were too hard to do without. At school, I
was hoping my six days would pass with ease, and it mostly did
until the next Thursday, my last day in solitary confinement, when
Brad strolled into the ISS room with a grin on his face. My face
flushed immediately. The last time I had seen him, I sat right in
his lap and laid a big kiss on his awaiting lips, not because I had
any feelings toward him, even though he was attractive, but just to
get under the skin of the girl that had her heart set on destroying
me. Now he meandered over to the open cubicle next to me and
plopped down into the wooden chair, making a scene of himself,
leaning back so that everyone would catch his rebellious, uncaring
attitude. I leaned forward burying my face in Bronte, hoping he
wouldn’t try to talk to me about our last encounter. That hope died
after a few minutes.
    “Psst. Hey, new girl, uh, Hope,” he
whispered.
    I didn’t respond until I heard a small knock
on the wooden slate between us. Leaning back as well, I caught his
oh-so-charismatic gaze.
    “Hey, you really got me in trouble with Jody
with that stunt you pulled last week.”
    “I’m sorry,” I finally stammered.
    “Yeah, and you gave her a bloody lip with
that right hook of yours, too.” I didn’t feel the need to apologize
for that. As if he’d read my mind, he continued. “I probably
would’ve done the same thing had she gone after my family like
that.” I nodded at his understanding. “So was your family really
all gunned down in an international drug trade gone wrong? I heard
your dad was some sort of king-pin involved with the Columbian
cartels or something.”
    I snickered out loud, catching the attention
of warden undergrad. “There is no talking in ISS. You sit there and
do your work, that’s it!” she exclaimed to the entire room, causing
me to duck back into my square hovel. The whole thought of my
family being New York drug traffickers now seemed more funny than
it was mean, and looking back at it, I may have gone too far to
punch Jody in front of everyone. What really set me off was the
orphan part, the part that was true. I was an orphan living with a
not-so-much but very distant relative that probably didn’t want