Page 8 of Freshman

The naked feeling that lingered long after Nate stripped him with that look.

The prison heated up around Alfie, and after a few seconds, he realised the fire was in his cheeks. He wiped a hand against them, hoping to disperse the blush, but it persisted.

It burned.

Nate chuckled, then he spoke with the same drawn-out voice, “Nate Mathews.”

Alfie lurched back to attention. “Thank you.”

He ticked the last name off, then turned on his heels and rushed along the corridor to get to the stairs. No voices followed him, and he was overly aware of his own, slightly panicked, footsteps.

He only relaxed once he was on the other side of the gate.

“That was odd,” Marie said.

She looked to Glen, then to Alfie.

“Did Nate say something to you?” Glen asked.

Alfie shook his head. “Nothing horrible.”

In fact, out of all of them, Nate was the only one who hadn’t wished him dead. Alfie didn’t know why, but that scared him more than the promises of violence.

3

The roll calls that followed were easier to bear. Alfie strolled the last stretch of cells on the second landing. Gruff voices called out their names, all until Queenie’s softer tone gave Alfie whiplash.

After his brief conversation with Nate, Alfie looked up the photographs of the prisoners. Some of the most masculine voices had skinny faces and frail bodies. Or at least that was the way they entered the prison. The scariest faces had the scariest voices, but Queenie’s appearance stuck in Alfie’s mind. The voice of Queenie didn’t suit the photograph in the system. A round body type with a chubby face and cracked lips. He had dark skin and dark eyes. Alfie wondered if the voice was a guise to get him to check the cell, but on the rare occasions he heard Queenie speaking to the men in the neighbouring cells, he still sounded feminine.

“Freshman…”

Alfie glared at Nate’s cell door, then tutted.

“It’s prison officer Alfie.”

Nate hummed in amusement, and the hairs of Alfie’s nape stood up. He smacked the back of his neck like it was the prickle of an insect.

“I prefer Freshman. How you liking your first week on H-wing?”

Alfie shrugged, rubbing the place he had struck. “Quieter than expected.”

“You have me to thank for that.”

Alfie shifted from foot to foot. He had suspected as much but didn’t wish to draw attention to it.

“I don’t need any favours,” Alfie mumbled.

“I’m looking out for you, Freshman.”

“I don’t need you to.”

Nate tutted. “Don’t get defensive. I can’t have the meaner ones throwing insults at you.”

“I can handle mean insults fine.”

“But you don’t have to. I’ve got your back. So how you going to thank me? I was thinking opening the hatch and letting me see that smile of yours.”

“Not on your life. Name,” Alfie said, tapping his pen to the board.

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