"Right — Tom!" Maya cut him off and steered the conversation to the clothes. "I got you a few spring athletic jackets this time around, latest styles. You know Jordan, right? Michael Jordan, the basketball guy? These are the same type of jacket he was wearing on TV. I even got the same size."
"Jordan! Oh, I know him — we play basketball in here every day, watch the NBA every day. Let me tell you something, sweetheart, I've become the Rikers Island Jordan. Nobody in here can stop my drive, and my fadeaway looks exactly like his — smooth and on target. Honestly, Maya, I'm starting to regret it. I should've gone pro back in the day. Selling flour sure doesn't pay like Jordan does, and that's just not fair. With the talent I've got, if I'd entered the draft back then, it might've been me and Jordan ruling the league together. Not like now — Ewing's a bust, Olajuwon's soft, those two guys in Utah just run their little pick-and-rolls while the rest of the league rolls over and dies. Let me tell you—"
Tom was off and running, the topic wandering further and further off track.
Maya thought Tom could write sports stories for a living. The man clearly had a gift for it.
This time, she didn't interrupt. She just listened, occasionally tossing in a line to keep him going. She understood: it didn't matter what they were talking about. Tom just wanted to spend a little more time with her. So she played along, and Tom grew more animated by the minute.
After about half an hour, Tom finally ran out of steam — hoarse, breathless, satisfied. Then he asked about Maya's life.
"I'll be finishing my grade in May. I was supposed to go into 9th grade, but I applied to the Municipal Tech High School, so I'll be going straight into 10th grade in the fall. My plan for this year is to finish graduate-level coursework in biology. After that, I'll have covered the foundational theory in all four — math, physics, chemistry, and biology — and can start getting into cutting-edge research next year."
Tom looked vaguely lost. Maya didn't mind explaining.
"In modern scientific research, knowing only your own field isn't enough. Take biology — there are complex equations involved, and if your math isn't solid, you can't even read the literature. And the chemistry overlap is enormous."
Watching Tom's glazed expression, Maya smoothly changed gears. "Anyway — Tom, I got a $35,000 scholarship this year."
That worked. Tom's eyes lit up instantly. "Maya, you really make me proud. You really do!"
"If — and I mean if — I had some money right now, I could probably buy myself a few allies in here." Only Tom would say something like that with a perfectly straight face.
"Tom, don't get your hopes up," Maya said. "You haven't heard, have you? Jennifer and Jack had a baby boy about a month ago. The scholarship money is already earmarked for the household."
"What? That—" Tom bit off what he'd been about to call her. His tone went flat. "...Did you bring the books?"
"I brought you Jurassic Park — the big bestseller this year. Word is they're turning it into a movie."
Maya knew exactly which books Tom had been asking about, and was deliberately pretending she didn't know.
Not that Maya had always understood the situation. She'd assumed prisons provided that kind of reading material. She'd been wrong. Prison wasn't a magazine kiosk. With hundreds of inmates and wildly different tastes, there was no way to satisfy everyone. That's why you saw scenes in films of celebrity visits to prisons — actresses distributing signed posters as gifts. The rich and connected could bribe guards for almost anything: cigars, wine, steak. Tom had no money and no muscle; he'd always been someone else's errand boy. He couldn't bribe his way to a cigarette. His only option was family. If Jennifer hadn't divorced him, she might have mailed him certain kinds of photos. But Jennifer had moved on entirely — new husband, new baby — and Maya wasn't about to add more complications to Jack's life.
The conversations in these visitation booths were technically private, but that didn't mean anything. A guard had just walked past two seconds ago. Maya was a girl in her early teens. There was simply no scenario in which she was going to discuss those kinds of books out loud in a public hall.
The visitation row was a line of booths — each one like an oversized phone booth, side by side. Inmates and their visitors spoke through handsets. Privacy was guaranteed — in theory. In practice, guards made their rounds through the corridor at regular intervals. Today, the only other visitor was the elderly couple from the ferry. Their heavily-tattooed, thick-necked son had stormed off in anger a few minutes ago. That left Maya alone on this side of the glass, with a guard taking special notice.
Maya had no desire to give Tom any further opportunities to embarrass himself. She said quickly, "Don't worry, Tom — I brought all the books you asked for. Every single one. They're all in the package — go pick it up yourself when you're done." She let the word all land with particular weight.
"Tom, do you remember Lucius from the apartment next door? The rapper — your old buddy? He put out a solo album. Getting some buzz. He might actually blow up."
"That guy is doing well now?" Tom's reaction wasn't delight — it was bitterness. "Son of a—"
"Weren't you two close? He's got three kids now, and his wife, Gucci, and Jennifer are still good friends."
"Hmph!" Tom muttered, winding up. "Good for him — great family, great career. Meanwhile look at me. I can't stand it. I used to look out for that kid at school, and now the sidekick's outrun the boss. And after all that, he can't even come visit me once!"
So this is what a toxic bromance looks like from the inside, Maya thought.
Seeing Tom still smoldering, she gently offered: "Lucius is slammed right now with the album. I ran into him at the corner this morning just as he was leaving the recording studio — clearly pulled an all-nighter. When he heard I was coming to visit you, he asked me to pass along his greetings."
Tom calmed down a little. Then he slapped his forehead.
"Maya — speaking of Lucius's kids. There's something I need to tell you."