Quinn
The assignment was simple: select a participant in the PenPal Rehabilitation Initiative and write a semester-long analysis on communication in confinement. Most of my classmates chose nonviolent offenses such as petty theft and drug possession, but I wanted extra credit and a good story for my journalism portfolio. I never meant to choose a murderer, but when I opened Owen Sterling’s case file and latched o those grey eyes full of ambiguity, my interest was beyond piqued.
“Quinn?” I snap out of my daydream of Owens’ mugshot.
“Yes, Professor Hale?”
“Are you sure about your choice? Owen is new to the program, so I don’t know much about him or his case. All I know is he has been at Zephyrhills Correctional since he was 19 years old, so he’s been in for about 8 years now. The rest is in his file, but I want you to really think this through before making a final decision.”
The concern in his eyes was easy to interpret; it was the gaze he gave to his least outspoken students. I knew what he labeled me, shy and meek, and while shy rings true, I was far from submissive. Unlike my classmates, who played it safe on their PenPal choice, I embrace the darkness of this project because my curiosity is a strong and reckless force.
“I appreciate the concern, but I need to finish this course and program strong if I plan on getting a job in investigative journalism as soon as I graduate. I have a feeling this project will give my portfolio the edge it needs to land a position at The Washington Post or NBC News Digital.”
Professor Hale strolls behind my chair, slow and deliberate, before leaning in to peer over my shoulder. He’s close enough that his breath grazes the shell of my ear.
“Well… who knew someone could look that good in a mugshot,” he murmurs. “I hope this isn’t why you chose Mr. Owen Sterling.”
I shoot to my feet so fast I nearly crack his nose with the back of my head.
“I think you know me well enough by now, Professor,” I say, turning to face him. “I’m professional in everything I do—especially after being your student for two years.”
He places a hand on my shoulder, offering the smile that seems to make half the campus sign up for his classes.
“I’m only teasing. I’d never question your integrity, Ms. Rollins.”
But his hand lingers a beat too long, warm and proprietary, before he finally drops it.
Professor Hale is one of the youngest instructors at USF—and easily one of the most attractive. Rumor has it girls fight for a seat in his lectures just to flirt, though I’ve never heard of him crossing that line. Still… the way he looks at me sometimes makes me wonder how close he’s willing to get.
I take a step back, forcing space between us, and give him a polite smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor. And yes—please put me down as Owen Sterling’s pen pal.”
I walk out, but I can feel his gaze burning into my back all the way to the door.
Outside, I swing onto my yellow Yamaha R1 and pull on my helmet. I’ve been riding since I was seventeen—thanks to my stepfather, Calvin, a Harley fanatic who once tried building his own bike from scratch. That was a spectacular disaster. The pieces are still stacked neatly in a corner of the garage, buried behind bins of Christmas decorations, waiting for a miracle. Calvin should stick to what he’s actually brilliant at: being a lawyer… and being the best dad to a daughter who isn’t even his.
I make it back to the apartment I share with my roommate, Maddox. We live at Halo 46—because even though Calvin raised me to be independent, he still insisted I stay in one of the nicest apartments near campus. He claims it keeps him from worrying about my safety, but I know he also likes to spoil me when he can.
I run through my options for the afternoon: be lazy and relax by the pool, hit the fitness center, or curl up with a book in my Papasan chair. There’s one more thing I need to do—but I’m putting it off until Maddox gets home. I need his reckless, carefree brand of wisdom before I deal with Owen’s letter… and before I decide whether I’m reading Professor Hale’s body language completely wrong.
With three hours to kill before Maddox gets back on the Bull Runner shuttle around seven, I settle on working out first. Then I’ll shower and snuggle up with a good book, pretending—for a little while—that my life isn’t getting more complicated by the minute.
I am woken up with a pillow to the face and an "Excuse me ma'am!"
Maddox struts back towards our kitchen like a runway model fanning himself the mugshot of Owen that I must have fallen asleep looking at while rereading his file.
“Sweetheart, the shuttle was a war zone. I had to endure boys in cargo shorts everywhere. While your cute ass gets to daydream at some serious eye candy. You have some explaining to do!"
Maddox always brings a smile to my face. "Well I hope you did your civic duty and informed those boys the laws of fashion. As for the photo you are fanning yourself with, that would be a Mr. Owen Sterling my new PenPal for my final project I told you about in Professor Hale's class."
"OOO girl you are just surrounded by fine ass men, while I'm stuck with dirty grandpa and Meryl Streep from Devil wears Prada. So have you written your first letter yet?" He grabs blueberries from the fridge and plops himself on our wine read velvet couch that Maddox got the first day we moved in.
I snatch the photo out of his hand before he frames it and adds it to his nightstand. "I'm going to keep it strictly professional and academic. I have a lot riding on this project and while he is dreamy he is still a man that killed someone. As for Professor Hale I'm not so sure."
Maddox drops half the container of blueberries and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" I thought I heard you imply that Professor Hale was not being professional."
I explained to Maddox what happened in class with the professor and turns out I'm not reading his body language wrong.
"Girl, his body language screams, I want to bed you over this desk and have you take me like a good girl."
"MADDOX!" I yelled and blushed.
"I would normally say, yes girl that man is fine, but I know you Quinny and you have not given him any hints that you want that kind of relationship which makes his actions a bit creepy. Just be careful and tell admin if he takes things further than you allow."
"Thanks, I'm not sure how I feel about it just yet." I whisper. "Anyway... I need to get to work on this letter and you need to get to work at the performing arts center." I stand up from my chair, grab my notebooks and start walking out the balcony since we are on the second floor.
"Okay sweetheart, if I don't see you tonight when I get back home, I see you in the morning. Maddox blows me a kiss and goes to his room to change and go to work.
I sat on my swinging chair and pick up his photo before starting my letter and choose not to let those mysterious eyes distract my focus on one of the most important projects I have had to complete. I write my letter in the most professional way possible.
Dear Mr. Sterling,
My name is Quinn Rollins, and I am a senior at the University of South Florida as a Investagative Journalism major. I am writing to you as a part of an investigative project focusing on communication in confinement. Your participation in the PenPal Initiative, as outlined in the program documents, is voluntary. I intend for this exchange to be strictly academic. My first set of questions are attached on the next page, relating to your experience with the correctional process and the resources available to you. Please keep your answers factual.
Sincerely,
Quinn Rollins
After I go down to the mailbox and send the letter all I have t do is wait for a response, then do it again for every week for the next 9-weeks. As I give Owen’s mugshot one last glimpse, I whisper to myself. Keep it professional and academic. I can do that.
