Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
They must have a fucking picture of me posted in the employee break room or something. How does every freaking person know me?
“I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t take your laundry,” she tells me, a sad frown on her lips. At least she isn’t actively mocking me. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, and I can tell her apology is real, which means it’s not her. Someone is telling her not to help me. As defeated as I feel, I’m not going to let it bother me. I know how to use a washer and dryer.
“I understand. Can you point me in the direction of a washer I can use?”
Her head lowers, and her shoulders sink. “Students are not allowed to use the washers.”
I’m so flabbergasted, I almost drop my bag. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t let you into the laundry room. It’s off-limits to students.”
“But you also can’t do my laundry?” I clarify, and she shakes her head. “So, how am I supposed to wash my clothes?”
She sighs and gives me a tiny shrug. I know it’s not her doing, but it’s hard not to let my anger out at the person in front of me.
“Thanks for nothing,” I sneer and storm off.
I basically run back to my room with the bag of clothes bouncing off my shoulder. My arm already hurts from holding it at an odd angle for so long, but I welcome the pain. I let it fuel my anger.
Swiping my key card, I shove open my room long enough to throw the bag inside, then slam the door back shut and head to the administration building.
By the time I make it to the headmaster’s office, my vigor is slowly diminishing, but I know I have to do this. I have to stand up for myself at some point. What better time than now?
“Can I help you?” the secretary at the front desk asks with a fake smile painted on her bright red lips.
“I need to talk to someone.”
“Someone?” she parrots back at me.
No, not someone, the man in control.
“I want to talk to Mr. Diavolo,” I say, keeping my voice strong.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I answer before I change my mind.
“All right, dear.” She pushes some buttons on the phone and waves her hand toward the door beside her desk.
Taking one deep, calming breath, I head toward the headmaster’s office and push open the heavy wooden door. I find him sitting at his desk, his feet propped up, and he leans back in his leather chair. His eyes are glued to a large TV screen that is made to look like a window into a forest. Soft sounds of nature play in the background.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, sounding bored. He doesn’t even look up at me until I start talking.
“I get it, you hate me. Everyone does. But I need clean clothes, and since the laundry services refuse to do my laundry, I’ll do it myself, but you need to at least give me access to wash them.”
“You have a bathroom. Wash your clothes in the sink.”
“My sink is broken, and the janitor won’t fix it.”
He simply shrugs, like he couldn’t care less about the condition of my room. “That seems like a personal problem. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“You know I pay the same tuition as everyone else, right? You can’t just take stuff away from me.”
Slamming his palms onto the table, he sits up so fast I barely see him move. Startled, I jump back a foot, bumping into a side table behind me.
“Let’s make one thing very clear, you do not come in here making demands. I don’t give two shits about your comfort or how you wash your fucking clothes. Be glad we gave you a room in the dorms at all because there is a nice little shack with no running water or heat at the surface. Would you rather stay there?”
I shake my head furiously, in the universal sign of no, my tongue suddenly heavy in my mouth. The tranquil sound of the forest scene coming from the TV is drowned out by the heavy thud of my pounding heart in my ears.
“If that’s all, you can get the fuck out now.” He’s halfway through the sentence, but I’m already heading for the door. I can’t get away from him fast enough, and coming here was definitely a mistake.
In defeat, I walk back to the dorms, drowning out any snide comments from people I pass. Back in my room, I pick up the bag of clothes and dump them out on my bed. I’ll have to somehow wash them in the shower later using my shampoo, but for now, I pick the cleanest of my clothes and change into them.
The shirt is now wrinkled, and the smell is less than pleasant. I drown myself in perfume and run the comb through my hair until I look and smell halfway presentable. Grabbing my bag on the way out, I head to my history class, which I missed last week thanks to Quinton.