“What’s the matter, Francesca,” asked Jesus with a genuine tone.“N-nothing,” she lied and cast her head downward.“Better not be,” Andres...said. “You better eat up, bitch!”“Wh-what is it,” she wondered aloud.Liam clarified, “That’s a tamale. Some rice. Tortillas. Salad. Eat up, yo. You won’t get no more.”“Unless this bitch got money on her books,” Andres perked up.“N-no,” Francesca exhaled. She may have never been in prison before, but her time in county jail taught her not to advertise the fact. She was the head trainer out there and I had met her a couple of times when I came home from school and on occasion she would be at one of our holiday parties. But this was the first time I ever really saw her in her element. She must have been around six feet tall, wearing knee high leather boots, jodhpurs and a satin blouse-a real horsewoman. The other girl was dressed the same and I felt like a bum wearing only jeans and sneakers."So Lisa, you have brought her," she approached my mom and put. More

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