Lunch arrived, and surprisingly, I was hungry. I got in line and picked up a tray. The food looked disgusting—mystery meat, cold green beans, and a hard slice of bread. But how could I complain? I put myself here. As I moved through the line, surveying what passed for lunch, I could feel eyes on me. Everyone was staring. The new guy. Fresh meat.

I carried my tray to a table in the far corner, hoping to be left alone. As I sat down and started eating what looked like mud and grass—and tasted like cardboard—a group of guys approached.

“You’re in my seat,” one of them said.

I looked up, surprised. “I didn’t know there were assigned seats,” I replied.

“Oh, we’ve got a smart one here,” he sneered. He was a big guy with tattoos that looked like a ten-year-old had drawn them.

Before I could respond, one of his lackeys slapped my tray off the table, sending the "food" splattering onto the floor. I froze. The room went silent—so quiet you could hear the static on the guards’ radios. If I thought everyone was watching me before, they definitely were now.

“What’s your name, smart guy?” the leader asked.

“James,” I said quietly.

“James,” he repeated, leaning closer. “Let me tell you how things work here. If you take what’s mine, you pay for it. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“I said, do you understand?”

I met his gaze. “Yes, I understand.”

“Alright.” He grabbed a piece of bread from each of his goons’ trays and slapped them onto my table.

“Take that. Consider it a lesson—and all you’ll be getting today,” he said with a smirk.

With that, they walked away.

I wanted to fight. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to get up and do something. But my father had raised me better. He always said to pick and choose your battles. Not everything needs a reaction.

A moment later, Ron, my cellmate, shuffled over with his plate. He looked like he’d been hiding in the corner, scared out of his mind.

“You’re crazy, man,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Nobody talks back to T-Dog unless he says you can. You good?”

“Yeah,” I said, even though I wasn’t. I wanted war. T-Dog had embarrassed me for no reason. He didn’t even take the table—he just wanted to show his power.

“Man, just keep your head down and do your time,” Ron said. “You’ll be fine.”

I glanced around the room. Everyone sat with their groups, their gangs, while the guards barely glanced up from their phones. After what had just happened, it was hard to believe Ron’s advice.