Spencer’s heart pounded. Medium, she typed. Just hearing the designations made things seem much more real. “Actually, I didn’t do anything,” she corrected Angela. “I’m wrongfully accused.”
“Uh huh. Everyone says that.” Angela tapped the cigarette into a brown ashtray. “All right, we will start at the beginning. This is how it’s going to go down. First, they’re going to strip-search you. Then, you’ll be assigned a bunk, where more than likely your bunkmates will be murderers like yourself—they like to keep similar criminals together. You won’t see your friends, if you’re all convicted. And don’t even try to make other friends, because they’re all backstabbing bitches. Now, with this consultation, I can specialize in either tricks to deal with the guards, how to handle the gangs, or how to manage a relationship while behind bars—you got a boyfriend?”
“N-no,” Spencer stammered. Angela was talking too fast. She hadn’t even had a chance to type.
“Well, then, I suggest we talk about dealing with the girl gangs—just like in chapter ten.” Angela rolled her eyes and took another drag. “If you want to hear about the guards, too, that’ll be an extra one-twenty-five.”
Spencer’s mouth felt dry. “Maybe we could talk about the, um, useful parts of prison? Like the college programs? Work-study initiatives?”
Angela stared at Spencer for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Honey, if anything, they’ll do a GED program. And of course they have a lot of law books in case you want to appeal your case, which everyone does, not that you really get anywhere with that.”
Spencer’s heart beat faster. “What about exercise? Your book didn’t mention it, but I’ve read that correctional facilities value physical fitness and health, so . . .”
Angela snorted. “They let you walk around the yard. Don’t think you’re getting a spin studio or a Pilates class.”
“But . . .”
Angela leaned forward, her cigarette blazing. “Listen, honey. I highly suggest we use the rest of this time to talk about girl gangs. A girl like you needs street skills. You go in there spouting Shakespeare, taking notes? You’re going to get your ass kicked.”
Spencer blinked hard. “I thought that if you just minded your business and did what you were told, people would leave you alone.”
One corner of Angela’s mouth quirked into a smile. “It depends. Sometimes, you slip through the cracks. But sometimes, trying to lay low makes you a target.”
Suddenly, all of Spencer’s tough resolve crumbled. She shut her laptop, realizing why Angela had laughed at her for wanting to take notes. What was the point?
“There’s no way to make it better?” she heard herself squeak.
Angela snorted. “You can survive, sure. But better? That’s why they call it prison. The best approach, honey, is to figure out a way not to go. Prison will ruin your life, mark my words.”
A shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. “Why were you in prison, anyway?” It was another thing Angela didn’t mention in her book.
Angela shook another Newport out of the pack. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Did you kill someone?”
“God, no.” Angela looked at her sideways. “If I did, do you really think I’d be out already?”
“Then what? Assault? Robbery? Drugs?”
Angela’s lip curled. “Those aren’t nice things to assume.”
Spencer suddenly really wanted to know. So she employed an old trick she had used in debate club when she wanted to intimidate an opponent. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at Angela, sphinxlike.
Angela’s expression soured. She blew out another plume of smoke. Five seconds passed, and finally she threw up her hands. “Jesus. Stop looking at me like that. It was fraud, okay? I created fake identities for people to keep them out of prison. Set up new lives for them. Figured out ways for them to start over.”
Spencer blinked hard. “Wait, you’re serious?”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Why would I lie?”
“Did the cops find these people you helped?”
Angela shook her head. “All except for this one stupid bitch who didn’t follow the rules—she got in touch with someone from home, and the cops were monitoring the phones. They traced her fake ID back to me. I had to plead guilty to some of the other people I helped, but those people were long gone. As far as I know, the law never caught up to them.”
Spencer ran her hands over the top of her computer, her heart beginning to thrum a little faster. “So it’s like the witness protection program . . . except not through the police.”
Angela nodded. “You could say that, sure. It’s a new life.”
“Do you . . . still do it?”