BOUNDLESS (Mama's Story) by Lexie Ray Read Free Book Online Page B

myself. That’s it.”
    “This isn’t meant to be an interrogation,” he said, “and I’m not trying to pry. I’m just trying to assess where you’d work best here at the prison, and what other service you might benefit from.”
    “Oh,” I said. “That’s easy, then. I really like cooking and I’m good at it, too. I’d do really well in the kitchen, I think.”
    Pitt hesitated. “Wanda, the thing is, we need to be able to trust the inmates who work in the kitchen the most,” he said. “You don’t really inspire a lot of confidence after your stunt with the hooch.”
    Shit. That drunken night was going to haunt me. I started to curse Willow and her brewing prowess until I remembered that she was locked up in a maximum security facility. From what I heard, that was no fieldtrip. Inmates there had to stay in their cells for nearly the entire day.
    “What else could I do if not that?” I asked. “Cooking’s what I can do.”
    “What are your other skills?” Pitt asked.
    I pressed my lips together. I could run a brothel. I could turn a trick. But I don’t think that’s what he wanted to hear.
    “Really, cooking’s it,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m a one-trick pony.”
    “What did you do for work before you came here?” Pitt asked.
    “That’s kind of why I’m here,” I admitted. “It wasn’t legal.”
    “Well, let’s try to ferret out the legal skills you might have gleaned from it,” he said. “Did you manage people?”
    If we were being totally honest, Cocoa did most of the managing. I was her manager, though, and I kept the bouncers in line and the entertainment lined up.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I did. Sort of.”
    “Management experience,” Pitt said, writing it down. “Perfect. What else? Did you organize things? Keep files? Anything like that?”
    “I managed the money coming in,” I said. “Is that something?”
    “Yes, of course,” Pitt said. “Money skills. Excellent. Now, talk to me about your education. Any time in college?”
    I snorted. “I dropped out,” I said. “So zero college. Barely any high school.”
    “I bet you’d be interested in our GED program,” Pitt said, making a note in my file.
    “What’s that?”
    “GED,” he said. “It’s the equivalent to getting a high school diploma, once you complete the program and the tests. Would you like to do that?”
    Back in my youth, street smarts had been much more important than book smarts. I’d never seen a need to get my high school diploma, which is why I dropped out to pursue … other matters. But there was something interesting about getting the equivalent of my diploma now. I figured prison was the place to do it. What else would I be doing instead?
    “Okay,” I said. “Sure. That sounds good.”
    “And once you get your GED, you can start taking other courses,” Pitt said. “We have accounting classes, business classes, anything you’re interested in. There’s also a pretty good creative writing class that’s really popular with the rest of the inmates. We can see if there’s any room for you in that.”
    “I don’t do creative writing,” I said, shaking my head quickly. “I don’t really do any writing.”
    “There’ll be some writing involved for the GED,” Pitt said. “Who knows? You might figure out that you like it.”
    “We’ll see,” I said doubtfully.
    “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Pitt said, tapping his pen against the desk. “I’d like to start you off in a position in the commissary. You said you’re good with money and numbers.”
    “Yes ….”
    “There would be no money changing hands,” he said. “It doesn’t work like that. There are accounts for inmates’ money, but it’s all virtual. Like a bank account.”
    “I understand.”
    “There aren’t many inmates with that kind of skill set,” Pitt continued. “Try working at the commissary. If you can prove yourself there, maybe we’ll think about moving you to kitchen. I know that’s