High Achiever Read online

  “I’m not, I, I wasn’t. I just—”

  “Shut the fuck up and stand up.”

  “ ’Kay,” I said, flying to my feet.

  “Who was fighting?” She stared into my soul as she asked.

  “Ummmm, fighting? I don’t think—”

  “I swear to God if you lie to me it will be the last thing you do,” she said through gritted teeth, stepping closer.

  “A crowd was gathered outside your cell. A crowd only gathers when there’s a fight. So I’ll ask you again—WHO THE FUCK WAS FIGHTING?!”

  As I opened my mouth to tell on myself, Jessie spoke up. “Miss Knox, nobody was fighting. Tiffany was showing us how she does the worm, and everyone gathered around because…it was hilarious.”

  Knox tilted her head to the side with a confused expression on her face while I debated whether to punch Jessie in the face or give her a kiss.

  “What the fuck is a worm? And who the hell is Tiffany?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath, unsure of where this was going. I could hear a few girls chuckling and waited nervously for someone to call Jessie out for lying to Knox’s face. No one did. No one wanted to be labeled a snitch, and apparently Daniels’s posse didn’t want her going to lock. Holy shit. No one said a thing.

  “Well, that’s Tiffany,” she said pointing, “and the worm is…a dance move,” she said matter-of-factly. Sheila, one of our cellmates, was trying her best to hide her laughter, but I could hear her wheezing as she covered her mouth.

  Knox turned toward me, and my face suddenly felt hot with embarrassment. “What the hell you think this is? America’s best dance crew? You just gon’ show off your dance moves whenever you feel like it? This is not the Soul Train auditions, this is jail.”

  I nodded.

  “Matter of fact, since you like dancin’ so much, why don’t you show me? Yeah, come here,” she said, walking into the dayroom.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me. She was not about to do this. I would rather go to lock. I would rather be tased. I would rather get sucker-punched in the face ten more times by Daniels. Please God, this is not happening.

  “Come here,” she said, waving me to the dayroom. If looks could kill, Jessie would have been a corpse. I hated her before and I hated her even more now. As soon as Knox leaves here I’m taking my pillow of death and smothering her with it.

  “Show us whatchu got,” she said as she crossed her arms. I had never done the worm. I really wanted to die. This was something you would see in a movie. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  I gave myself a quick mental pep talk. Sixty days in isolation for fighting, or the worm, in front of everyone. Just do it. It will be over before you know it.

  I took a deep breath and slowly lowered my hands to the ground while simultaneously kicking off with my legs and rolling downward. Laughter erupted all around me as my breasts smashed into the concrete, followed by my stomach and pelvis. I pushed off with my arms and continued the cycle of rolling and pushing.

  I’m not gonna lie, I did better than I thought I would. Like, it was pretty good.

  When I had wormed back a good twenty feet, I stood up and dusted myself off. I slowly began walking back to Knox, who was shaking her head and trying not to laugh. “Get back in your damn cell, and don’t let me catch you doing that shit ever again….It was terrible.”

  Oh.

  “White people, man.” She shook her head and exited the pod.

  15

  “Will you just talk to me, please?” Jessie asked, following me around the room as I tried to get ready.

  “No, I’d rather not.” I yanked the cheap plastic jail comb through my hair, attempting to look somewhat presentable.

  “Why, though? Is it because of the kiss thing?” I rolled my eyes and walked to the opposite side of the cell. Aside from the fact that she almost broke my teeth, then embarrassed me in front of the whole pod, that was not the reason I was stressing.

  The trouble with being in jail is, if you happen to be trapped in a room with a psycho girl who won’t leave you alone, there’s really no escape. You can only walk in small circles for so long.

  “Look, Tiff, I’m sorry. They switched my meds and I’ve been feeling a little crazy, I didn’t mean—”

  Her voice nauseated me.

  “Okay, listen, Jessie, I’m getting sentenced to fifteen years in prison in less than an hour, and I have to walk in there with a black eye, so, with all due respect, you are the least of my worries right now.”

  I finished getting ready and headed out of the cell to line up for court. I stopped at the door and swiveled on my heels to face Jessie. “And by the way, I saw you snort the Xanax that the nasty prostitute with no teeth brought in here. You are an idiot.” I walked away before she could reply.

  I’d overheard the girls talking about how some girl smuggled in Xanax in her…um…lady parts. It happened all the time and honestly, had I known how simple it was I probably would have done it myself. I had a whole bag of pills sitting at my house the day I got arrested. I thought about that bag often, filled with longing and anger at how it was going to waste just sitting there. I wonder if Eliot ever found it.

  “Johnson. Durbick. Smith. Langdon, line up. You got court.” Deputy Davis yelled the names off her clipboard, and one by one the girls lined up behind me. Some of them were excited, some of them were quiet, and I was basically shitting my pants.

  We all lined up facing the wall with our legs spread and hands up. They shackled our hands together in front of us, our feet together, then attached a chain from our waist to our arms and legs.

  As we jingle-jangled down the hallway toward the van, I couldn’t help but think about all the times I’d watched movies with shackled prisoners. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d be one.

  As I stepped up into the van, my eyes grew wide as I realized the back four rows were filled with men. Other prisoners. Holy shit. I hadn’t seen a man in about sixty days. The guys began smiling as we entered the bus, and I immediately reached up to fix my hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I looked really stupid when my hand got jerked back down to my waist. I forgot I was shackled. Damn it.

  “A’right, we got a fifteen-minute ride. If anyone talks, you’re going to lock. Ladies, if you turn around, you’re going to lock. Am I clear?” Deputy Davis said. Everyone let out yeses and yups as the bus lurched forward.

  I stared out the window and watched as the trees blurred by. I took in every sight, every color, every sound I could. Because I didn’t know if I would ever have a chance to see the outside world again.

  You don’t realize how many things you take for granted on a daily basis until you no longer have those things. We passed a McDonald’s and I remembered all the times my parents had taken my sister and me to eat there. I would have traded my soul for a Big Mac right then.

  We all entered the courthouse in a straight line, and everyone in the building stopped what they were doing to take in the sight of the chained criminals.

  I could tell they were studying us, sizing us up, imagining the kind of people we were and the terrible things we must have done. I stared straight ahead, careful not to make eye contact.

  I used to wear fancy clothes like these people; I used to carry a briefcase and have a real job. Drugs had taken me to this side, the dark side, in an instant.

  “A’right, everybody, in here. Except you, Johnson, you’re up first.”

  Well, shit.

  I was led to the courtroom, same as last time. My attorney was already waiting at the lectern for me, which meant we weren’t going to be able to talk about what the hell was happening.

  As I approached the lectern, he leaned in. “They have two options for you: six months jail, three years probation, or four months jail, six months residential treatment, three years prob
ation. Which do you want?”

  He whispered this to me, so that when the judge presented my options, I would already know which to pick. I was fairly certain that he was supposed to tell me this shit ahead of time so that I could have time to ponder. However, I was just relieved that somehow the courts had dropped it from fifteen years to this.

  “You have about thirty seconds,” he said, glancing up from his watch.

  I didn’t need thirty seconds. I knew what I wanted to do. I could be free from jail in four more months. I could be back out in the real world, living life again. The thing was, if I didn’t take the rehab, I would be right back here in no time. Wearing this same jumpsuit, being told when to eat, what to eat. Going to the bathroom in front of six girls. I couldn’t do it again.

  I needed to get my brain fixed. I needed help. There were two paths laid out before me and my choice would result in a completely different future.

  “I want to go to rehab.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “I’m sure, I want to go. I’m going.”

  My attorney looked surprised. I assume it was because most people would have chosen to be out on the streets as soon as possible; they would have chosen freedom. But even though this meant eight more months of being told what to do and when to do it, to me, this was freedom. It was my only hope of freeing myself from this addiction.

  The court presented my two options, just as my attorney had said. He told them my choice; the judge responded, “Very well, then”; and I was ushered out of the courtroom. That was it. It was final. I no longer had to worry about my fate.

  For the first time in a long time, I would be able to just relax. I no longer had to obsess about the future, pray for my attorney to call, or question other girls about their experience and what I should expect.

  I could just be present in the moment, and ride out another sixty days in jail before the six months in rehab. I had nothing but time on my hands now.

  That was when the fun really began.

  16

  Today was a new day. It was an incredible feeling to be counting down to my release.

  When I first arrived, there were so many unanswered questions. I had no clue how anything worked, including court proceedings, so I had to rely on the experience of the other women regarding what I could expect to happen to me.

  The women in jail weren’t necessarily what one would consider reliable, so it was hard to take to heart any advice they had given me. In the end, things turned out better than I could have hoped, and I’m sure, to many, it seemed I got off easy.

  At least that was what Deputy Burns felt, and she made sure to let me know every chance she got. On the way back from court I had been feeling grateful and relieved. That all changed when Deputy Burns began unshackling me.

  “Hands on the wall, Johnson,” she said, kicking my ankles apart. She began frisking me to ensure I hadn’t smuggled any paper clips or staplers out of the courthouse.

  “Heard about your sentence,” she said as her hands moved along the sides of my waist. I didn’t respond, because it wasn’t a question. I’d learned it was better if you only spoke when spoken to, and since I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t say anything.

  “A hundred and twenty and rehab, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Geez, you put an arsenal of weapons into the hands of known drug dealers, pieces of shit who only care about money and will do just about anything to stay out of trouble—including shooting me or an innocent civilian, and you basically get a slap on the wrist,” she whispered.

  She was right, I wasn’t thinking about the potential outcome of giving my dealer those guns, I was only thinking about getting high. It wasn’t until I was in the interrogation room and a member of the SWAT team who was on his way to retrieve those guns got an inch away from my face and said, “If I die today, the blood is on your hands,” that I realized the severity of what I’d done.

  I didn’t respond to Burns. I decided to let her vent. Eliot was her friend, after all, and I could understand why she was taking this personally.

  “I hope you realize that once you are out of here, you won’t be free. Once you are out of rehab, you won’t be free, and if you do happen to successfully complete your probation—which is highly unlikely—you won’t be free then, either. The entire sheriff’s department knows what you did to Eliot, and I’m not just talking about the stealing.” She turned me around and began feeling the front of my legs. I rolled my eyes. I’m pretty sure she frisked me better than I’d ever been frisked. She kept on going so that she could finish her point.

  “They have had to pat his back at the bar when he breaks down in tears at the thought of you. We have all had to help him pick himself up and if it was up to us, your punishment would be much worse. That’s our friend, our brother, and you broke him. You have to live with that for the rest of your life.”

  She pulled me away from the wall forcefully and nudged me toward the entrance of the pod. My teeth were clenched so hard my gums hurt. I wanted desperately to lash out, snap back at her about how she couldn’t possibly understand my life, because she had never had an addiction. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to lie and steal and manipulate. I had to. At least, that was how I’d felt. I knew any attempt at responding would be futile. She had all the power, and I was nothing.

  I entered the pod and was met with a hundred anticipated stares. Girls who had been following my journey and helping to guide me, and nosy bitches who just wanted to know if I would be spending life in prison.

  I had recently gotten close to a girl around my age named Sarah, and I was relieved when she ran up to me and gave me a hug, which was immediately reprimanded via the intercom. “No touching, ladies, you know the rules.”

  “Fuck you,” Sarah said under her breath as she smiled at me with curious eyes. “Well?” I nodded toward my cell and she followed me. I didn’t want to entertain the curiosity of girls who really didn’t care. I needed privacy and to talk with a real friend.

  I filled Sarah in on everything, including my interaction with Burns. “Okay, first of all, yay! That’s such great news, Tiff, you thought you were going away forever. And secondly, fuck Burns, she’s a stupid cunt and needs to get a damn life. She was probably picked on for her fat ass in high school and she’s taking that aggression out on you. Don’t you dare let that bitch rain on your parade. I love you, I’m so happy!”

  Her happiness was rubbing off on me, and I could feel the gratitude rising within me again. I wanted to call my dad and tell him the news. I knew he would be proud of me for choosing rehab. That man sent me a postcard every single day. Sometimes they would be informative, things that were happening in the outside world; on a few he just drew random pictures or he would send childhood photos of me. The photos always made me emotional. They were a reminder of the person I was before addiction, the person I wanted to be again.

  “Let’s celebrate!” Sarah said, jumping up from the bunk and snapping me out of my daydream. “I have an idea, let’s do our hair all cute, pluck our eyebrows, put makeup on, and make a cake! I’ll be right back,” she said, skipping off to her cell.

  She hadn’t even waited for my response, probably because she knew the answer would be hell no. None of that sounded fun, at all. The cake maybe (which was actually peanut butter cookies smushed and then layered with Reese’s Pieces and an icing made of hot chocolate mix and water). But not the hair and makeup.

  Sarah returned with all her supplies and laid them out on the bed. “Okay, we have twenty-four minutes till lockdown, we gotta hurry.” She reached down, pulled her sock off, and began stabbing it with a pencil. I knew where this was going, and I was dreading it.

  She created a small hole in the sock and began ripping it until she was able to free a piece of thread. She took the ends of the long thread and tied them together. “Lea
n back,” she said, pushing my forehead to the pillow. She began plucking the hairs from my eyebrows by slowly twisting the thread in a “figure 8” motion. I knew this was supposed to be “fun girly time,” but I had to literally stop myself from throat-punching her on four different occasions.

  She finished ripping my face off and moved on to my hair. “Where’s Jessie?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen her since I got back. Sarah slowly let go of my head and remained quiet. I turned around to read her expression and could tell something was up. “What?” I asked.

  “Um, she bonded out.”

  “Oh?” I said, trying to process my emotions.

  “She said to tell you bye, and that you probably wouldn’t care. Um, she said she was only staying here for you, but I guess you guys got into a fight or something, so she called her drug dealer. Also, you should know, she was, um, with Tonya in here,” she said, averting her eyes.

  “What do you mean, ‘with Tonya’?”

  She grimaced, and I could tell she felt awkward about telling me.

  “They did it,” she blurted.

  “Did what?”

  “Guh, okay. They did it, ya know, had sex. In here. Right where I’m sitting actually. They had a blanket blocking them, but you could hear it. It was gross, Tonya is such a sl—”

  “Okay,” I said, holding up my hand. I didn’t want to hear any more. Why was I feeling so jealous?

  Sarah parted my hair and began braiding one side. She had been telling me about how her boyfriend came to visit, but all I could think about was Jessie. I was about to start questioning Sarah about what exactly happened, but she suddenly stopped midsentence. She took my braid and lifted it, then pulled it, then dropped it.

  “OH MY FUCKING GOD!” she yelled.

  She screamed it so loud that a bunch of nosy Rosies started peeking into the cell.

  “What? What the hell, what?” I asked, beginning to panic.