My mid-afternoon I was happily installed in the back of a police cruiser in Kyrcaliai, reminding myself constantly that the person I was looking for went by Winnifred Talbot. Apparently she was responsible for my tweet going viral. This, supposedly, was my in.

The country was a small landlocked nation in the middle of South America. This, perhaps, was the most shocking revelation about a country that is both a kingdom and carries the name Kyrcaliai (which I definitely still couldn't pronounce). Something about it seemed so incongruous, but there I was, watching the Spanish style houses roll by as the mountains in the distance grew closer with every passing second.

By the time we rolled up to the prison half an hour later, I had seen probably half the country, and we were clearly at the base of the mountains.

"We're here," the police officer said in English, probably for my benefit. "The guards will meet you at the door."

I nodded and pushed the door open, which was not something I thought was possible from the inside of a police vehicle. But yesterday, I'd thought it was impossible that more than five people would see my breakfast tweet. So nothing was impossible, I guess.

The jail itself was pristine and white on the exterior, though surrounded by a very large fence. The grounds almost looked like they belonged surrounding a mansion or palace, rather than a prison, and I could see prisoners tending to some vegetables behind another gate to my left. They were dressed in jeans and matching blue tee-shirts. Better than my outfit from yesterday, so I guess I can work with that.

The guard standing at the door cleared his throat and a small breeze came from behind me, picking up my hair and blowing it in front of my shoulders. "Sorry!" I called to him, increasing my pace.

I'm not sure this guard was in on the situation, because he was definitely treating me like an actual prisoner. His brows knit together and he lowered his chin, allowing his glare to cross the courtyard to where I stood. "Don't try anything. I don't want to chase you."

What is wrong with these prison guards?

He and a friend — dressed in pale brown uniforms that made them look like delivery drivers — led me through the process of giving them my possessions, changing out of my clothes and into the uniform, and making sure I was not sneaking anything into the prison.

So less than half an hour later, I was ready in my pleasantly purple uniform shirt and blue jeans, my hair plaited down my back and tied off with an elastic. I thought this wouldn't be authentic, but the guards assured me I was allowed one hair elastic without piquing the interest of other inmates.

I took a deep breath and hugged my small pile of possessions. When the gate in front of me buzzed, one of the guards lightly held my upper arm and urged me through the door so he could guide me to my cell. I would be sharing, apparently, with the now infamous Winnifred Talbot.

Snaking through the white hallways I could hear women inside the cells talking to each other and laughing, and it almost seemed like there might be television. What kind of place is this?

Finally, a stark black metal door stood before me, a small window near the top the only way to ascertain what was going on inside. After two sharp knocks, the guard held his card to the black box near the door and it clicked open with another buzz.

"Winnifred Talbot?" the guard said as we entered. "You have a new roommate."

A small woman peeked out from behind a small wardrobe, her blue eyes scanning me up and down. Her short brown hair fell into her face enough to obscure it, and she pushed it back before walking to the center of the room and extending her hand.

"I'm Harper Holland," I said. "I can't believe I'm meeting you. Wish it was under better circumstances."

A hollow laugh filled her throat and escaped her lips with a shrug of her shoulders. "Harper Holland? Like, 'All Things Breakfast' Harper Holland? Damn, I was hoping they wouldn't find you."

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant until I'd figured out what was going on. "I got away for a while, but couldn't avoid posting a new breakfast this morning, so maybe that's how they found me." I let my eyes dart back to the guard and then tried to tell her with my eyes that we should talk later.

It probably just looked like I was twitching. Who knew winking would come in handy when I got thrown into a foreign prison? I mean, how did I not see that coming?

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you okay?"

I nodded and looked back to the guard, trying to look hesitant but probably coming across more constipated. Where is the bathroom, anyway?

"I'll help her get settled, Javier," she said to the guard. "Unless you want to do it."

He rolled his eyes and threw her a small pack of what looked like playing cards. "Nope. All yours."

Wait, what?

The guard left the room, and the door closed with a whoosh and a click. Now it was just me and the woman responsible for making my tweet go viral. I was supposed to do something now... oh, right!

"Thanks, by the way. For getting rid of that guard and for helping me get that Tweet out. I really didn't know if it was going to work."

There was something else I was supposed to add, but my brain was seeping out of my ears like pudding, so there would be no remembering now. I'd just have to figure it out as I went. Who decided taking my phone away was a good idea?

"Yeah, of course." She put an arm around my shoulder and led me over to the empty bed that I presumed would be mine. We sat down on the edge and I suddenly wondered if braiding my own hair was the right call. This seemed like one of those girl bonding moments I had never been a part of where we braid each other's hair.

I was so enraptured with the idea of braiding hair that I completely missed what Winnifred said next.

"Uh, yeah," I said, hoping I'd answered correctly. Apparently I had because she smiled and pulled my pillow out of my arm, placing it behind us on the bed. "Okay, so here's the plan..."