Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“We made a song of protest.” Agnes, the one with the orange-green sweater and hat made out of leaves, rose to her feet.
“Of course you did.” I slouched back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mildred, clad in a bandana and a peace sign necklace, thundered. “What happened to the lovely boy who used to mow my lawn?”
She referred to me, but that didn’t stop me from answering, “He probably moved down south, where minimum wage is at least five bucks an hour more. This is why you should want me to sell. You need more jobs in this shithole.”
A collective gasp filled the air. I ignored it. I spoke the truth and let everyone squirm and deal with the consequences.
“Perhaps this isn’t the best time for a song.” Allison’s crisp, impatient smile reeked of fury. “Any questions? Concerns? Input?”
“I don’t think this thing is recording.” Robbie squinted at his screen.
“We’re singing our song,” Gertrude, the founding member of The Righteous Gang, declared solemnly, shaking her walking cane in our direction. “Our voices will be heard.”
“Would you mind?” Allison glanced at me, uncertain. “I want to get this thing going.”
Channeling my inner Simon Cowell, I nodded. “Floor’s yours, ladies.”
The three lifted their faces upward and belted out their song in a melody they one hundred percent had ripped off from Eminem’s “Stan.”
Dear Row, we wrote to you, but you didn’t answer
We also left messages in your voicemail, texts, and whatnot—are you even listenin’?
This town ain’t just yours, it’s also mine
You know what ruining it would be? Yeah, you guessed it—a crime
Especially as you haven’t even been around in so long
There’s a word for how you treated all them people on TV—it’s called wrong
Anyway, hey, you know the thing about Maiden Cliff’s old train station?
It’s been there since before your parents were born—it’s one of the founding railways of our nation
We used to be your biggest fans, that’s the saddest part
We even screened your Thanksgiving cooking special in the museum of art
Now you’re nothing to be proud of, just a villain in Staindrop’s story
Mark our words, you’ll be the last one to say you’re sorry
Gertie dropped an invisible mic to the floor, folding her arms over her chest and doing a peace sign with her fingers. Mildred slipped on her shades casually. The entire room stood up and clapped, cheering and whistling. I had to hand it to them—that was pretty neat. I’d have given them my Grammy if I didn’t think they’d use it to maim me.
“Well?” Agnes probed. “What do you say, Mr. Casablancas?”
“While I enjoyed your little stunt—wasted talent, by the way—I like the sound of getting eight million dollars richer next month even better. That’s when I’ll be signing the contract, by the way.”
That caused a little more commotion. And when I say a little, I mean a fuck ton. There was screaming involved. “Bad apple,” “patronizing prick,” and “Satan’s spawn” were all hurled my way, as well as some personal items and one orthopedic shoe.
Randy, forever the overachiever, threw a chair toward the stage but missed by at least three feet. Chaos erupted, with everyone’s wrath focused on me. I just sat there, cool as a cucumber, wondering what to make myself for dinner.
Allison shot up from her seat. “Everybody needs to calm down. There is no need to get physical. This is not the Staindrop way to settle things!”
“Ah, zip it. If it wasn’t for Daddy buying you this job, you’d be glazing donuts at Dahlia’s Diner down the street,” Lyle rumbled into his thermos from my right side.
“I would never have her!” Dahlia proclaimed from the depths of the auditorium. “She’d probably lick them à la Ariana Grande.”
“This is going to change the entire makeup of the town. Business owners are gonna go hungry,” another woman piped up.
“Who’s gonna pay my kid’s college fees? My utility bills once money stops rollin’ in?” Randy barked from the end of the room, ripping his baseball cap from his head and dumping it on the floor. “I run a goddamn food mart. They’re bringin’ in a Hannaford!”
“What about my inn?” Gertie patted her nose with a crumpled tissue. “The one you’re staying in, young man.”
“A mall would stand out here like a sore thumb.” Melinda Fitch sniffed from the other side of the table we were occupying. “I would hate for big, modern eyesores to stain our unique landscape. People come here from all over to admire the quaint view.”
“Too bad they don’t stick around to buy a cup of coffee, pump their gas, and get a souvenir,” I shot back. “You’re running this place into the ground, and just because you don’t like change, doesn’t mean you don’t need it. If you’d see the blueprints—”
“Absolutely not!” Allison shook her head vehemently. “They’ll be overwhelmed and even more upset if you show them what kind of monster you want to build here.”