Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“Let’s talk about something different,” Olly says fiercely. “Like this effing-feffing house! Who lives here? How can they have so much money?”
I love that Olly refuses to swear, and her alternatives are so adorable.
“I know. This place is huge, right? I figure it must be a rock star. Or maybe a reality TV star. I hear reality TV celebs make a lot these days.”
Olly shakes her head.
“Yeah, but they don’t make this much. This place must have a hundred rooms!”
I chuckle.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking when I pulled into the driveway. What would you do with a hundred rooms?”
Olly gets a look in her eye, and I recognize that sparkle. It means my friend is going to say something sassy and utterly ridiculous.
“I’d do a lot, girlfriend. I’d fill it all with furniture. Then I’d dance in all the rooms naked. Then, I’d open all the windows and scream with joy, so that people know how much I love having this enormous house to myself.”
That makes me giggle.
“And you’re doing all of this naked?”
My friend grins.
“Hell yeah! That’s the beauty of having your own space! You get to walk around naked as much as you want.”
I giggle again while shaking my head.
“Olly, you are too much.”
She merely shrugs and grins again.
“Hey, a girl has to have dreams. By the way, you know the guy who lives in this house now is a descendent of Lawrence Millbrook.”
I look at her, puzzled.
“Who’s that?”
Olly sighs with pretend impatience.
“Seriously girl? Lawrence Millbrook founded our town. Remember?”
I nod then.
“Oh right. Sorry, history has never been my strong point. But then, this guy must be really old.”
Olly giggles.
“He’s a descendant, silly, so who knows how old he is? But yeah, the people who live in these houses are usually ancient. I bet he’s seventy years old and walks with a cane. Maybe he has some hot sons though,” she adds lasciviously. “You know, that’s why I’m wearing this maid’s outfit.”
We both sigh while looking down. Most cleaning companies ask their maids to wear uniforms, but Sparkle Maids does them one better. Our uniform is almost like a Halloween costume. We have black dresses that mold to our curves. Mine is especially short and feels like it stops right below my butt cheeks. The circular-U neckline is especially daring, revealing flashes of cleavage. Plus, we have to wear frilly white aprons and white caps in our hair for “hygiene” and “convenience.” Olly and I have never understood that.
But what’s even more unfair is that the other maids get to wear baggy, loose uniforms while ours are uncomfortably tight. I have no idea why they did this; probably because Olly and I are the only girls below fifty on the team. Oh well. At least we’re getting paid, even if smarts sometimes.
I grab a mop and bucket, plus various cleaning supplies from the trunk of our car. Olly does the same, and we begin to lug them to the back door of the mansion.
“Did you do that paper for Mr. Montague’s class yet?” my friend asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet. It’s not due until Friday, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s good to get ahead.”
“Not everyone loves writing papers like you do, Olly,” I say.
She laughs.
“I could help you, girlfriend! It’s not hard, and besides, I liked that book.”
I shake my head and sigh.
“Thanks, but I’ll get it done. It’ll be tough, but I’ll do it.”
She throws me a look.
“Are you procrastinating?”
I shrug.
“Maybe. You know how much I hate school. I’ve just never been the academic type.”
My friend shoots me a sympathetic look.
“But you’re not dumb, Kaylee. You could do so much better in school if you put in more effort. I’m only trying to help you.”
I grimace a bit.
“I know, and I appreciate it. Seriously, I do. I’ll try to work on the paper during study hall on Monday.”
Olly doesn’t believe me. We both know I spend my study halls with Ms. Princer, the home economics teacher. She teaches me new recipes that she wants to try out for next semester’s cooking classes. Some of the concoctions we come up with are so good that I wish I weren’t graduating in a couple of months.
Maybe I should bomb all my classes this semester. Then I wouldn’t have to graduate. It’s not like I’ll be doing anything with my diploma, anyway. Hell, come to think of it, maybe I’ll be a maid for the rest of my life. That’s not what I want, but right now, it seems like that’s where I’m headed.
Olly shuffles her tennis shoe against the pavement.
“I wish we didn’t have to be here,” she says quietly.
I nod.
“Me, too. It sucks, but we have to do what we have to do to survive.”
We meet up with the other maids, and one of them, Heather, knocks on the back door. Sure enough, it swings open and a stuffy, older man looks at us. He has a long, pinched nose, and a pained expression. He doesn’t smile.