I groaned, rolled over, and put the pillow over my head. Can’t he do something on his own for once? Dammit!
Alexis kicked and squealed next to me.
“Come on, sweet girl,” I said as I stood up and scooped her into my arms. “Let’s go get ready for another sleepless night…”
As I ran the water for Alexis’s bath, I could already hear the announcers for the Broncos game on the television in the living room while the popcorn cracked and sizzled in the microwave. Must be nice.
Officer Blevins kept a pretty tight rein on the boys. They always walked in a single file line down the corridor on their way to the recreation room. Thankfully, I worked in a cell block that didn’t have to keep the kids in shackles. In military fashion, you could hear the boys shouting “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” as they echoed down the hall. Occasionally, the group leader would begin cadence, and the others would follow suit.
I was walking toward my supervisor’s office when I passed the boys in the hallway. An ensemble of gray jumpsuits and black, slip-on clogs lined the wall.
“Mrs. H!” a few boys bellowed, elbowing each other as if to awaken their sleeping hormones.
“Hi, boys,” I answered, throwing my hand up and waving.
“Wanna come shoot hoops with us?” Greg asked. “We’re headed to the rec room.”
I never passed up an opportunity to shoot hoops. I really missed my high school varsity basketball playing days. “I might join you boys in a few minutes. I have an errand to run first.”
I needed to get the details of a new kid who would be entering Fairbanks within the next few hours.
“Okay, Mrs. H, we’ll see you later.”
I glanced down the line. Malik, DeAndre, Greg, Toombs—all good kids. A little misguided, but deep down, they were all sweethearts. They just need a little push to make better decisions in their lives. Chris brought up the rear. He wore the state-issued black beanie on his head. Looking at me with his animated eyes, he nodded once in acknowledgement and flashed his signature smile. A deep dimple creased his cheek.
“Hey, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he said with an affable tone.
“Hey Chris,” I replied, matching his amiable expression.
A heartbreaker—that’s the term I’d use to describe Chris. Deep, soulful eyes. Tan skin. Squared jaw. Confident, but not arrogant, swagger. Smooth baritone accompanied by unparalleled musical talent. Everything that melted girls’ hearts. One day, some girl, if not Kaitlyn, was going to be swept right off her feet, and I could hardly blame her. I just hoped that we could make headway with his reform, so when he re-entered the general public the decisions he’d make wouldn’t land him right back at Fairbanks. If I thought anyone was capable of reform, it was Chris. I knew why he did what he did to land himself back at a correctional facility. Quite honestly, while I knew there were other ways to handle that situation, I could certainly empathize with his decisions.
“See you in a few,” he said with a smile that reached his eyes.
Nodding, I gave a little wave. “Okay. See you in a few.”
I grinned at the boys and made my way down the hall to my supervisor’s office.
“Damn, Mrs. Honeycutt is sexy,” I heard DeAndre whisper as I walked away. “Look at that ass. She’s a MILF if I ever saw one.”
“Hell yeah,” agreed another guy, whose voice I didn’t quite recognize. “I bet she’s good in bed.”
Chris put them in their place. “Shut up, asshole. Have some fucking respect.”
“Yeah, dumbass. Show some respect,” Greg echoed.
I ignored the exchange and kept walking toward Val’s office. Working with a bunch of hormonal teenage guys, I accepted the fact that inappropriate comments just came with the territory. I didn’t base my self-worth on the antics of a few pubescent boys.
“Good morning, Salem,” Val greeted me when I popped into her doorway.
“Good morning, Val. I just came to get the details of our newcomer.”
“Oh, great,” she said, as she pushed her glasses up onto her nose and began shuffling through some papers on her desk. “Here it is.” She handed me a folder.
I opened it up and glanced at the picture. A cute kid with freckles looked way too serious for his age in the mugshot. “Wow, he looks young.”
Val nodded. “Twelve years old.”
“Oh my…” my voice trailed. “Assault. Robbery. Drug Paraphernalia.”
Val nodded empathetically. “They seem to get younger and younger these days.”
“No kidding. When does he arrive?” I asked.
“A little after lunch,” she replied.