The 10

26

Monday came too soon. Kate sighed, pulling her blanket higher over her head. Her mother knocked on the door, telling Kate to hurry up, or she'd be late. Huffing, Kate tossed her blankets off of her and decided to dress like her usual self today. Grabbing her backpack from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder, she jogged down the stairs and got into her car.

Kate's day passed slower than Friday had. She was almost excited when Ms. Peters's class was about to begin. She walked in and found herself to be the first one to enter. She smiled at Ms. Peters as she walked by her desk to her seat. Isabella arrived next. After hearing the bell, the remaining students had walked in. Only Kate and a few more students had to read their essays for the class.
"Kate?" Ms. Peters asked, gaining her attention. "Are you ready?"
"Never been more ready," Kate admitted.
A few students chuckled, but Kate wasn't joking. She was excited to break a part of Christopher from her life finally. Hawkins and Watson re-entered the room and took the same seats they had Friday. Watson zeroed in on Kate's face as she stood at the podium. Kate, unenthused with Watson's attention, grabbed her notes, and handed them to her teacher. Flipping the cover page from her essay, Kate took a deep breath and began speaking about her inmate.
"When we first arrived at Bushmount Prison, I was terrified. I was the first to be brought in to meet my inmate since my name hadn't been printed, but when I walked in, my fear for the prison grew more as the men whistled and looked at me like I was a piece of meat. Guard Hawkins lead me to the very back table where an inmate sat with his head down. Guard Hawkins shouted to get his attention, and when Christopher Samuels lifted his head, he was rude, to say the least. Guard Hawkins told him to cut the crap that thirty other students were waiting. Christopher joked, "And they're all here to see me?" Guard Hawkins was not enthused. Since it was my first time meeting Christopher, I wanted to shake his hand to introduce myself formally. But I was motioned to the seven "No Touching" signs and instead sat down and said, "Hi." Christopher said nothing. I told him that I needed for him to talk to me so I wouldn't fail my class, and in response, he said, "Helping you through your week isn't going to help me get parole." When I looked at him puzzled, he told me he was up for parole in a few months, so deciding that this was my chance to get him to talk, I ran with it. He then began to tell me his life story. He said, "Well, I'm Christopher. Been in here for three of my ten year sentence. Grew up poor, probably gonna die poor."
Digging further, I asked what he was in prison for. "I beat on my stepfather for beating on my mother, kicked him a little too hard, and his lung collapsed, and then the," Excuse my language, "piece of shit died." He said that his lawyer told him he had gone from assault charges to murder charges, meaning that he would have been sentenced to only two years probation if his stepfather hadn't passed. After sharing this information, he stared at me. I asked why he was staring at me, and he joked, "I told you mine, now tell me yours." I told him there wasn't anything to say, and he assumed by my perfectly white teeth that I had come into the prison with designer bags and are terrified to be here right now because I'm a pretty little redhead with the skinniest body and longest legs he'd ever seen." After that comment, I changed the subject, retreating to his mother.
I asked about her reaction during and after the assault. He told me that his mother tried to break them apart, but he would, in a fit of rage, shove her off. Christopher continued to beat his stepfather until the police came and forced him off. I asked him if his mother resented him after the assault. He asked, "Why would she?" I told him that it's common for the mother to choose the husband over the child. But he said that that wasn't the case, that his mother was crying as her son was dragged away in handcuffs. She was begging the police to take his handcuffs off.
After Day One had come to an end, I realized Christopher Samuels was more than just "Inmate Number 09-004 from Cell Block A, Cell 675," but that he was a twenty-six year old who ended up in prison trying to save his mother from an untimely death and I was intrigued to learn as much about him as humanly possible in one week of his time.
Day Two was different, instead of talking about his personal life from the outside, I dug through and was in search of what life on the inside had in store for him through the past three years. When I ran this thought past Christopher, he was certain that I wasn't really interested in him, just my grade. I assured that I was interested in both because I already knew that Christopher was going to be a hard person to forget. Redirecting the subject to his prison life, he began to tell me how prison life was anything but "good." He's seen prisoners get "shanked," several fights between prisoners and even guards, claimed he's had more cellmates than I have had friends, and was the inmate most beat on by the guards. He was certain that he was singled out and that," Kate looks up into Hawkins' eyes, keeping the contact as she continues reading. "Guard Hawkins has "quite a record." Guard Hawkins has beaten more inmates than any other guard, "like," and I quote, "it's a goal or something."
Hawkins' jaw locked, a vein in his neck protruding. Kate raises a brow, impressed, and continues. "I wanted to know more about his mother. I asked him where she was now, and he grimaced, informing me that she had passed away from cancer a few years prior. Offering him my condolences, he waved it off, explaining that he was granted temporary release to be with her until she passed and attend her funeral.
Growing curious about the assignment and how it came about, I asked him how he felt when he heard he had been selected. He was wondering why they had chosen him and if his student would be hot or not. I asked if given the option, would he choose to participate. He said no.
Day Three I asked him if he would do anything differently. He quickly said that he would go back to when his mother introduced him to his stepfather and tell her to run.
Day Four was an interesting one, to say the least. I dreamt that Christopher had killed me." Kate hears the students in the room hold their breath. "His face dropped, and he was unsure of what to say. He reacted that he would never hurt anyone, in or out of prison, that he would only "beat someone up if necessary," hence him assaulting his stepfather for beating on his mother. Wanting the day to be anything but gloomy, I asked more about his family. He has a sister. When she was a toddler, it was her birthday, and Christopher couldn't afford anything, so he went and stole her a princess dress, and when caught, he threw the dress in the store clerk's face." She smiles. "I asked how old she was now. Believe it or not, she's about to graduate. Christopher was unsure if he would be granted the temporary release to watch her receive her diploma.
On day five, he asked more about my assignment, becoming intrigued by it day after day. Christopher heard that once the assignment was over, the students had the choice to stay in touch. He asked if that was true, and I told him it was. He smiled and said that if I had chosen to write to him, he would look forward to my letters.
Day Six was suffocating. The prison, and the inmates, including us, the students, felt different walking into the prison. A fellow inmate, assigned to my best friend," She looks up to Isabella, offering a weak smile. "Named Derek Daniels had been killed in that cafeteria the night before. I felt sick in my stomach when we were told. Derek's death affected Isabella more than anyone considering he was her inmate. I remember that day, and I will for the rest of my life because I will never forget the day my best friend lost the shine in her eyes. I needed to be with her more than I needed to interview Christopher. I spent day six on the bus, outside Derek Daniels' home since he was thirty years old, ordered to serve sixty." She paused, checking on Isabella. "He had served twenty-two of those years. For a crime, I would later find out; he hadn't committed."
Day Seven started and ended before we knew it. Christopher told me that he was disappointed on our last day together because he had gotten used to having someone visit him. Since he would be up for parole this month technically, Christopher wondered if my essay would be going to the Parole Board. I looked up at him and said, "Close. The Board Of Education." Before I knew it, Ms. Peters tapped my shoulder, assuring me that it was time to go. I tapped my notebook on the way out, letting him know that I had intended to write him.
I spent days writing this essay, unsure how to word it, put it together without everything being confusing and repeated, and hoping I had shown Christopher's true colors. If Christopher's stepfather hadn't died during surgery, Christopher would not be in prison right now. He would be with his sister, able to visit his mother's final resting place whenever he pleased, and more importantly, he would be able to watch his sister graduate. To conclude my essay, I would like to end it by dedicating this paper to Ms. Samuels." Kate finishes and looks up.
Brian Hawkins and Watson stare at Kate as she hands her paper to Ms. Peters and continues until she takes her seat. The room is silent until Ms. Peters stands, smoothing out her skirt.
"Okay, great essays from everyone. I'm so surprised by all the information you provided after only a week. Take the remaining time of the class to finish extra assignments for other classes, or," Ms. Peters sighs. "I'm not even sure, but take the time for yourselves." She smiles weakly and goes to her desk, flipping through the essays, beginning to grade them.
Brian and Watson stand, clearing their throat. Laura looks up, holding back a huff, but follows them out. Gently closing her door behind her, she crosses her arms over her chest. Brian puts his hands in his pockets and bounces on his heels. Watson stares up at the ceiling.
"Okay," Laura says, frustrated. "What? Say what you want to say."
Brian stares at her, sighing. "We need Kate's essay and notes."
"Excuse me?"
"Her notes and essay may be more than she's letting on," Watson interjects.
"Fine. If it will make you happy." Laura crosses her arms once more. "You can have it after it's been graded."
"No," Brian replies sternly. "We need it now."
"Well, I'm sorry, but it needs to be graded and put in the system. Today." Laura maintains her stance.
"That won't do," Watson says abruptly.
"Well, regardless, I have a job to do. Which is grade my student's assignments."
"And we have a job too." Brian inches closer. "But, no offense Laura, our job is a little more important right now, considering there's an escaped convict on the loose that one of your students just wrote about."
Laura sighs, shaking her head. "I'll go back in there, grade hers, and I'll bring it out to you."
"You have an hour," Watson says inconsiderately.
"That's all the time I need." Laura spits.
Laura goes back into her classroom. She looks up at Kate, watching her flip through a textbook, obviously stressed. Sighing, she goes to the very bottom of her pile and removes Kate's essay from it. Taking the pen off of her red marker, she begins to read over Kate's essay, circling a few things here and there. Going back to the first page, she counts how many marks she's made and divides it by two. Scribbling the number eighty-nine and circling it, she grabs Kate's notes next. The notes take Laura at least twenty minutes to go over. Kate had almost fifteen pages worth.
Laura flips her hair out of her face, resting a hand on her forehead as she continues grading page three. Turning to page four, she puts a checkmark on a few things, followed by question marks to indicate, "Where was this in your essay?"
After what felt like her hour time limit, she finishes grading the last page of Kate's notes. Slipping it into a folder, her heels click against the tiled floor as she exits the room. Students look up, including Kate, but mind back to what they were doing; some on their phones, some reading, and others sleeping.
Laura makes her way down the hallway to the stairway. Listening to her heels click as she goes, she becomes more and more annoyed. Annoyed at Watson, at Brian, at this entire fiasco. If she hadn't gotten permission for the board's assignment, her students would have never even gone near Bushmount Prison. Kate would have never met Christopher, and Christopher probably would've never escaped and put everyone in this position.
Laura exits the building and approaches Brian's car. Watson rolls down the window, but Laura walks over to Brian in the driver's seat. Watson huffs, rolling her eyes as she rolls her window back up. Brian rolls down his window, smiling at her as she leans her elbows on edge.
"Got it?"
Laura hands him the folder. "I entered her grade into my grade book to be put in the computer later. But," Laura points to the folder. "I will need that back by the day after tomorrow, the latest."
"You got it." Brian hands it to Watson. "We're bringing it to the detective right now. I should be able to get it back to you by tomorrow morning. I make no promises, though." Brian smiles.
Laura laughs, tapping his arm. "Good luck, guys."
Brian watches as Laura re-enters the school. Starting the engine, he goes to put his car in drive when Watson begins laughing, obviously tickled by something.
"What?" Brian asks, annoyed.
"You called her Laura."
"What?"
"You called her Laura. We're supposed to refer to everyone as "Ms. so and so." Watson says, using air quotes.
"What's your point, Watson?" Brian rolls his eyes, looking out the window, rubbing his chin.
"Did you have something going on with her?"
"No," Brian answers too quickly.
Watson begins to cackle, clapping her hands together. "Yes, you did. Highly inappropriate."
"Fuck off, Watson."
Brian speeds off, going straight to the detectives. Watson spends the entire car ride laughing, mentioning Brian and Laura, including doing the childish game of "Laura and Brian sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Brian rolls his eyes and yells for Watson to shut up, praying that the car ride ends quicker.
Laura enters her classroom and finds it empty. Sighing, she leaves it open and goes to her desk. Grabbing the essay at the top of the file, she continues her grading. Brian would call three hours later as she had just finished putting her last grade into the computer.