Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  Gee, thanks.

  <(—)>

  “I’m Mimi,” Miss Barker says, leading me down a dingy hallway into the bowels of the Convent. There aren’t any windows in the stuccoed walls, just a few old lightbulbs that barely cut the gloom. Mimi is wearing a gray work-study uniform like mine. “You’ll get used to Brawny.”

  “Who?”

  “Ms. Braunschott?”

  “Oh,” I giggle.

  “Everyone calls her Brawny behind her back. Everyone says she was a German lumberjack before she came here.”

  “Totally,” I laugh.

  “As long as you follow orders, she’ll leave you alone.”

  “Good to know. I’m Mary, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Mimi has a warm smile that is a huge relief. “What year are you?”

  “Junior.”

  “Me too, dude!” she smiles and offers her fist, which I bump.

  I rarely make female friends because I hate catty drama. Since I’ll be living with Mimi, I hope she isn’t too catty.

  “Here it is,” Mimi says and opens a creaky wooden door that looks ancient. It’s recessed about a foot into the white stucco, and we passed a bunch of other doors and alcoves just like this one along the way here.

  “Let me guess, this door is from before the Civil War.”

  “That’s what they say,” she grins.

  “So, is this like the dorms for the work-study girls only?” We passed a few other girls in gray uniforms coming and going on our way here.

  “Yeah. The Fundies live in the East Hall and West Hall off the Palace.”

  “They live where?” I laugh.

  “I’ll show you in a minute. We have to change first.” Mimi leads me into the room.

  It’s depressing.

  Two wooden cots, one on each side of the narrow room. I can see the ropes holding up the thin mattresses and scratchy wool blankets. The pillows are an inch thick. One bed is made. Probably Mimi’s. The other has the bedding folded in a tight pile on the center of the ropes like someone aligned it with a ruler. At the foot of each bed near the door are two plain desks and two flimsy wooden wardrobes set catty-corner to each other, so the desks are opposite the wardrobes. I notice one desk has books and writing supplies, the other is empty. At the end of the room is a single square window the size of a piece of paper. Tiny for a window. It has two iron bars in a cross shape but no glass. It literally looks like an old-timey jail cell. If it wasn’t for the irregular white-stucco walls, which look original to the Convent, I’d say it was.

  It’s also a bit too claustrophobic for my tastes. I try to avoid—

  ((((pitch black))))

  ((((pain))))

  ((((it hurts!))))

  ((((please not again!))))

  —small spaces when I have the choice. No reason, really. I just don’t like them. Since I don’t have a choice, I’ll have to suck it up. I say seriously, “They don’t lock us in our rooms at night, do they?”

  “No,” Mimi laughs. “Make yourself at home.”

  “If I must,” I grumble and set my bags down on the rope mattress of my bed. At least it’s not actual jail. There’s a way out of the room if I need one. “What about the Convent? Do they lock that?”

  “Yeah. The outer doors are locked at curfew every night. Are you working up an escape plan already?”

  “Already drawing up sketches.”

  “Really?”

  “Nah,” I laugh.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll show you my underground tunnel after lights out.”

  “Wait, you have a tunnel?” I gasp.

  “Mm-hm. It’s got mine carts and everything,” she laughs.

  Now I know she’s joking, which I like. “Where’s the bathroom? Don’t we get our own toilet and sink or whatever?”

  “No. There’s a group bathroom down the hall.”

  “Do we share it with the boys?” I hike an eyebrow and offer a hopeful grin because I’m picturing Rob and his friends soaping themselves up in the shower.

  “I wish,” Mimi giggles. “No, they live over in the Monastery.”

  “Wait, for real? Like an actual monastery?”

  “Totally. You wouldn’t know it from all the work-study hotties they have here.”

  “Right?” My eyes light up, “It’s crazy. Like, where’d they get them all? And some of the Fundies are just a little bit gorge.”

  Mimi crinkles her nose, “They’re not my faves.”

  I titter, “I know, they’re horrid, but gosh, they’re hot.”

  “I know, right? I could spill tea over who’s shipping who all night, but—” A sound in the doorway distracts both of us.

  The room door is still open, and a random work-study girl holds up a reusable vinyl garment bag. “I have Mary’s uniform.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I take it from her.

  She’s gone before I can say anything else.

  Mimi closes the door to the room, opens her narrow wardrobe, kicks her low-heeled school shoes off, and starts stripping out of her work-study uniform and hanging it inside. She’s already down to bra and panties.

  I’m used to sharing rooms with other girls in foster care, so I don’t think anything of it, and get busy undressing. I quickly realize why the wardrobe are catty-corner to each other. There’s barely space in the narrow room for both of us to change at the same time, but we manage because our wardrobes aren’t facing each other.

  When I unzip my garment bag, I laugh, “They can’t be serious.” I’m holding a skimpy black-and-white French maid’s outfit by the hanger. When I turn around, Mimi is already wearing hers and tying the apron strings behind her waist. “Are we maids?”

  “It’s better than jail,” she grins.

  “Is it?” I snicker.

  “For me it is.” She’s pulling on black stockings and attaching them to garters under her skirt.

  “Do the boys wear Chippendale’s outfits or whatever?”

  “You mean like white collars, tuxedo pants, and nothing but rock hard abs?” She offers a wicked grin.

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish. They wear coveralls.”

  “That is so sexist!” I gasp.

  “Welcome to real life. Now get dressed.” Mimi is already stepping into her high heels.

  “We’re supposed to work in heels?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Your calves get a great workout.” Mimi has great legs, those long slender coltish legs I’ll never have, but she does have a point about the workout. She pins her lace headpiece into her auburn hair. “Hurry up! If we’re late, Ms. Braunschott docks our pay.”

  “We get paid?”

  “Didn’t they tell you about your stipend?”

  “They did. I thought they were kidding. Wait, do we actually get paid?”

  “Not if we’re late we don’t. Now shut up and get dressed. I’ll help.”

  To my surprise, everything fits. Mimi zips me into my dress and I step into my shoes. “The shoes fit too! Where’d they get my shoe size?”

  “Jail,” Mimi says, tying my apron behind me.

  “Really?”

  Mimi simply nods.

  I say, “The dress is a bit breezy, don’t you think?” I’m not used to wearing skirts of any length, let alone a micro mini like this.

  “Work it, girl! Put the head piece on.”

  “Over my beanie?” I’m still wearing the knit cap Jonah gave me.

  Mimi bites her lip, “Probably not. I guess skip it?”

  “The hair piece?”

  “No,” she laughs. “The beanie.”

  I pull it off.

  Mimi cringes, “What happened to your hair?”

  “Ms. Skelter,” I grumble.

  “I hate that bitch,” Mimi scowls. “Put the hoop on.”

  I set my headpiece into position.

  “Perfect,” Mimi smiles.

  “Liar,” I laugh. “Don’t we have mirrors?”

  “There’s one in your closet.”
>
  I check. It’s hanging in the back and it’s smaller than a piece of paper. “I meant a real mirror.”

  “That’s all we get.”

  I sigh and check myself. “Does the headpiece go with my war paint?”

  “Your what?” she giggles.

  “War paint.” I point at my scabby scratches.

  “Is that what that is?”

  “No. Some bitch scratched me at my last school.”

  “Did you cut a bitch?” Mimi titters. “Oh, wait. Is that why you’re here?”

  “Nothing that badass. I ran away from foster care and stole a motorcycle from my foster dad,” I say honestly. Mimi strikes me as someone I’m going to like, so why lie?

  “You can ride a motorcycle?” she gasps.

  “Uh huh.”

  “That’s badass. Can you teach me how? I’ve always wanted to learn.”

  “I guess.” I remember seeing Rob and his buddies ride like racers. “Wouldn’t you rather ask a sexy boy? That’s how I learned. I’m sure there’s some here at the academy that know how better than I.”

  “Who?”

  “Uhhh…” I titter. I almost mention Rob and Jonah by name, but I don’t want to get them in trouble by accident, and I kind of want to keep them to myself. I consider mentioning Red, I mean, Skill, but he’s an ass and I wouldn’t wish him on Mimi or anyone else except Ms. Braunschott and Ms. Skelter. They can have a three-way and give him what he deserves. I laugh at the image.

  “What?” Mimi grins.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re thinking of a boy, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I giggle. “Sort of. Don’t we have to go?”

  “Oh, right.”

  I glance at the mirror and groan, “I look ridiculous with a bald head and this stupid hairpiece.”

  “You look great,” Mimi encourages.

  “Liar,” I snicker.

  “It’ll grow out,” she admits.

  “See!” I laugh. “I look like a giant baby!”

  “No you don’t. You’re gorgeous!”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Let’s go, sistah. We have work to do.”

  Her calling me sister pretty much makes up for my lousy day. Finally, a friend, and she’s my new roommate. I call that a win.

  Chapter 18

  “We have to do what?” I cringe as we step out of a fancy brass and glass elevator.

  “Clean the Fundies’ rooms and bathrooms,” Mimi says. She pushes a cleaning cart down a long hallway that reminds me of a luxury hotel. “We have to do the entire floor before they’re done with dinner.”

  “Please, no.”

  Mimi grins, “It’s just one floor. I had to do all of it myself before you got here.”

  “Oh. Wait, is this the boys dorms or the girls?”

  “We’re in the West Wing, so it’s boys. Which means we get to snoop.”

  “In boys’ bathrooms?” I grimace.

  “Trust me, the girls are worse.”

  “Nuh uh,” I shake my head vigorously and my hair piece almost falls off. I grab it and fix it. “I’ve lived with tons of boys in foster care. Boys are disgusting.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t live with Fundy girls.”

  “How’s that different?”

  “They make messes on purpose.”

  “Ew.”

  She purses her lips, “Exactly. That’s why we have these.” She pulls out heavy duty red vinyl gloves.

  “Why are they red?” I ask innocently.

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “Oh. Oh! Wait, what, do the girls, like—?”

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  “I guess not. Wait, if we’re cleaning the boys’ bathrooms, shouldn’t our gloves be, I don’t know—” I snicker, “—brown or something?”

  “They will be later,” she laughs.

  “You did not!” I gasp.

  Mimi laughs like a songbird and opens the first door with a key.

  “Is that the one you got from Ms. Braunschott on our way here?” I ask. There was a line of work-study girls in maid uniforms waiting to get their key, and I watched Mimi sign a sheet of paper like all the other girls before Ms. B handed over the key.

  “Yup. It opens every room on this floor, but only this floor. I have to check it back in to her as soon as we finish our shift.”

  “When’s that?”

  “The sooner the better. Dinner goes for two hours. There’s fifteen rooms on this floor.”

  I’m stunned. “How many?”

  “Fifteen, but don’t worry. It’s more than enough time with me helping. I’ll show you what to do in the first one. It’s easy.” Mimi pushes into the room.

  My jaw drops. The room is more luxurious than the hallway. You know those pictures you see of upscale hotel rooms online? The ones in faraway countries like Paris or London that you’ll never afford? The ones where movie stars and world leaders stay when they visit? Those look like this. “This is a dorm room? It’s like a penthouse suite.”

  “You should see the ones for the college kids. They make these look like hovels.”

  I snicker, “What does this make our room look like?”

  “A jail cell,” she smirks.

  “No, ours doesn’t look like one because ours is one.”

  “True,” she grins. “Enough jibber jabber. We need to clean, sistah.” Mimi makes quick work of cleaning the first bathroom, which has a huge shower with five hundred different shower heads, recessed lighting, and a sound system with waterproof buttons and a full color screen for selecting songs.

  I can see the waterproof speakers in the ceiling. “This takes singing in the shower to a whole other level, doesn’t it? What happened to the antique decor I saw in Ms. Skelter’s office? And Ms. Braunschott? And all the stuff about penmanship and old telephones? Shouldn’t they not have MP3 players in their showers, or whatever this is?”

  “Record players.”

  “This is hooked up to a record player?”

  “No,” Mimi snickers. “I was thinking like jukeboxes or whatever.”

  “That’s what this is hooked up to?”

  She laughs, “It should be. The Fundy kids demand modern amenities in their dorm rooms. They store their music on the network or whatever. It’s supposed to be all digital.”

  “Oh. Obviously. But we get a jail cell with no bathroom and share a prison shower with I’m guessing no piped-in music?”

  “Sort of. The music comes in through the bathroom air vents. There’s an old piano in the Convent. A couple of work-study girls who take choir gather around the Convent piano every night and sing songs so we can hear it while we shower.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” she laughs. “Brawny wouldn’t approve. Having fun is against the rules for us ants.”

  “Seriously?”

  Mimi doesn’t answer. Instead, she explains how to clean. Lesson one: don’t clean what isn’t dirty. Within minutes, she’s done a once over of everything including swabbing the toilet and wiping down the shower, put a few things like toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, and razors back in the medicine cabinet, and rearranged the toiletries around the vessel sink, which looks hewn from a solid chunk of dark red marble and has a brushed gold spigot shaped like a curve of flat metal that is rather elegant. Last, she picks up the wad of white towels piled on the floor beside the hamper.

  “Why don’t they use the hamper?” I sigh. “It’s empty and it’s right there.”

  “Because they know we pick everything up,” she smirks.

  “That is so effing lazy.”

  “That’s Fundies for you. Let’s go. We’ve got fourteen more rooms to do.”

  “When does the snooping start?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Let’s go.”

  Was she joking about that? Probably, because after handing me my own bucket of cleaning supplies and tools, she’s back on me like a hawk, checking constantly to make sure I’m getting everything done in each
room and reminding me Ms. Braunschott will have our asses if we don’t do a good job. It isn’t exactly rocket science, but Mimi’s had practice and is faster than I am. When I have two rooms to go, she sticks her head in the door and hollers, “I’ll get the last one for you, Mare Bear! We’re almost out of time! The boys’ll be back any minute!”

  “What?” I holler. “Oh, okay! Thanks!” I busy myself with the toilet bowl because it has a noticeable ring. I’ve already poured in the blue cleaner and am vigorously scrubbing away with the brush in silence because Mimi explained you need a code to activate the sound system if you want music, and it’s different for every room and she doesn’t have it. The least they could do is let us have music to work by.

  “That’s a good look for you, mugshot,” says a manly voice.

  I scream in surprise and stand up suddenly because this stupid maid costume is so freaking short, I know my panties are hanging out in the wind. I’m so startled, I throw the toilet brush spinning wetly through the air, spraying blue toilet water splattering across the mirror. The brush hits the ceiling, spraying more water on my bald head, then clatters to the floor.

  Chase laughs from where he leans casually against the doorframe like he might fall over if it wasn’t there. He’s just as good looking as I remember, and his thumb is hooked in the belt of his slacks, dragging down the waist band just enough to show the tiniest triangle of tan skin between the tails of his button-down shirt, which is tucked into his pants, but not for long at the rate he’s pulling on his belt.

  “What’re you doing?” I blurt before tearing my eyes away from his crotch.

  “Enjoying myself.” His fingers are splayed over the front of his slacks. They’re not moving or doing anything inappropriate, but they’re in a very inappropriate position. “Didn’t I say earlier I’d have some fun with you when you cleaned my suite?” He’s got me there.

  “You’ve had your fun, so get the F out so I can finish.”

  “I’d rather watch.”

  “Screw you, Chase.”

  “That’s my job.”

  My cheeks burn in response. “Will you go away? I have a job to do. Shouldn’t you be like, I don’t know, studying in the library or something?”

  “I’d rather study you.”

  I’ll admit, being studied by the likes of him, here, now, has a certain… inappropriate appeal. “Get out, Chase. We have to get the key back before Ms. Braunschott bites our boobs off.”