I felt something shift around the third week, when some of the others started nodding at me in the hallways, and little things began happening: an extra carton of juice slid across the table, and space appeared on the sofa when the TV came on. Oddly slipping in with Malik's friends as if I had always belonged there.
Weekly sessions with the juvie shrink were mandatory. Delving into my past like it was some fucked up tv show as we went over several hospital visits, I endured after Danny got drunk and decided it was a good idea to deck me.
It was just after lights out when the noise started. The guards' voices bellowing in the corridors before something slammedagainst the wall hard enough to make dust shake from the ceiling. Even Malik sat up in his bunk.
“Someone’s got fight in ‘em,” he whispered. I stayed where I was, hands tucked behind my head, staring at the ceiling, just listening. Sound travelled like blood down a drain, fast and impossible to ignore. More shouting set out from the guards as they attempted to tame whatever beast had been brought into the wing. Then a voice cut through, sharp and spitting.
“Get your fucking hands off me!”
I quickly sat up in my bunk, looking over to Malik as he joined me in my confusion.
“A girl? What the fuck is a girl doing here?” That would turn heads for sure. They didn’t mix the genders unless they had no space left, or the girl in question was the kind of trouble that couldn’t be caged any other way. Malik shifted from his bunk, peering out the small window of our cell, chuckling to himself as he witnessed the struggle between her and the guards.
“Things just got interesting,” he said as her voice faded the further the guards took her down the wing.
The next day in the yard, I saw her. Tucked against the wall, a new female officer stuck to her side as if us boys would pounce any second. I mean, some lads hadn’t seen a girl in months, and by the way some sheets came through the laundry, I guess it was warranted. She was slight, a ghostly frame sporting a split lip. Dark blonde hair draped down either side of her face as she glared at the others from within. To think of it, she looked oddly familiar to me.
It wasn’t until the sun caught her face that I made the connection. She was in the shop that day, the one Chester took out with his brutish stance. She looked different now, cleaner for sure. I guess her shoplifting days caught up with her.
I believe her name was, Mia. Well, that was the name her female guard barked when she refused to follow directions.
All eyes drifted to her, and I even found myself being drawn in. Those eyes, dark and scanning. They landed on mine and remained unmoved. A magnetic pull of curiosity. Silently reading each other from across the yard, knowing we’d been through different brands of hell and were trying to figure out whose burned worse.
Later that week, she ended up in the same dinner block as me. Sat alone towards the back of the room. No one joined her. She liked it that way, made it clear with the way she leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the room like a hunter who’d already eaten but might go for seconds. Subtle glances continued between us, a constant assessment of each other’s presence.
I was sitting next to the basketball hoop, pretending not to notice how Malik kept missing his shots. Mia entered the yard closely accompanied by her personal officer, her eyes meeting mine. I glanced away, a regular routine for us. But it wasn’t until she started walking in my direction that I felt something shift in me, a rising knot tightening within. Mia kicked the ball back towards Malik before dropping herself down beside me on the bench. I gave Malik an uncomfortable look, pressing my lips together as a slight smirk appeared on his face. Idly fumbling with the ball in his hands as he looked upon our awkward interaction. She tucked her arms, resting them on the back of the bench, as I glanced at her, breaking the awkwardness of her sudden appearance.
“Why are you staring?”
“Because you stare at me.” she said as I scoffed, returning my gaze towards Malik.
“I don’t stare. I casually observe.” My voice flat as sarcasm drifted into my words.
“You do. Like you know me.”
I smirked, raising a brow. Guess she recognised me too, even if our encounter was fleeting.
“I almost didn’t recognise you, not sprawled out on the floor.”
I watched a fire spark behind her eyes, leaning into me with venom low in her voice, “You don’t get to fucking judge me—"
“Hey,” pulling myself back from her. “I’d be the last one to judge, trust me.”
She retreated, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Only too aware of my own stash-and-grab antics. “Shoplifting isn’t for everyone.” I shrugged, poking the bear further with a smirk on my lips. “Some just haven’t got the knack for it. Don’t feel bad that you fucked it up.”
Her mouth fell open, whether it be from shock, or anger at my mockery. Either way, it was hard to hold back the laughter.
“I’m very good at it, actually. It was your fault. You and that stupid brick in a leather jacket you were with.”
My smile widened at her description of Chester, “Brick?”
“That’s what it felt like when I smacked into him. Hurt my arm.”
Letting out a chuckle, I turned my attention back to Malik. His own frustrated groan escaped him as he missed his shot again.
“So, any particular reason you came over here? Because it can’t be to watch this bullshit.” Gesturing to Malik's lack of basketball skill.
