Chapter 9: I Feel Like Such A Peasant  

Stephanie, I want these chores completed by the time I get back today. I’ll be back at about six.

1.     Sweep the living room.

2.    Sweep the dining room.

3.    Load the dishwasher.

4.     Feed Chipper and Rueben. {The horses, I’m sure you can find the stables.}

That’s it for now; make sure you’ve got them done.

-      Your grandmother.

How heartfelt. I think sarcastically as I read the note my grandma left for me. I don’t think that it’s fair at all that Spencer has absolutely no chores. I mean, he’s the one who’s been lounging around the house all day. I, on the other hand, actually went to school and did stuff. Pulling my cell phone out of my purse, I dial my mom’s number and put the phone up to my ear, waiting impatiently as it rings.

“Hi sweetie, how are you?” She asks chirpily.  

“Your mother is crazy.” I inform her without so much a greeting.

“Steffy,” My mother says in a reprimanding tone.

“What? She is! She left a stupid note telling me sweep the living and dining rooms, load the dishwasher and feed her horses. Like, what? And Spencer has to do nothing? That’s not fair at all.” I gripe into the phone.

“It’s her house Steffy, and while we’re living there, you’re gonna do what she asks.”

“Not stupid stuff.”

“Even what you think is stupid.” My mom corrects me. “Don’t be difficult with your grandmother.”

“I’m not being difficult with her! I don’t even know how to sweep; I’ve never done it.”

“I know you’ve swept at least once in your life, Steffy.”

“I always vacuumed, not swept.”

“Well today you’re sweeping.”

“And loading the dishwasher? How the hell should I know how to do that? That was Landen’s job, not mine.” I complain.

Landon was one of the chefs we had back in L.A. Well actually, he was the son of the head chef, Michelangelo who had recently moved to America from Paris. Sometimes, he helped his dad prepare some of the main meals and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure he was never actually on the payroll. He was hot too, very, very hot. Landen, not Michelangelo, I mean. Not that Michelangelo was ugly or anything. He was just really old, like older than my dad.

“Do not swear at me, Steffy.” My mom says with a sad sigh.

“And where are you at anyway? Why aren’t you here?”

“I’m looking for a job, seeing as how we’re now, you know, without.”

“Broke.” I deadpan.

“Yes, broke. Now stop complaining and just do the damn chores.” My mom demands and then suddenly the line goes dead.

My mother just hung up on me. We must be living in some terrible twisted parallel universe. Usually I’m the angry one hanging up on her, not the other way around. Not to mention the fact that we have no money, which is definitely reason to believe I’m no longer living in the world I once knew.

My phone suddenly rings, bringing me back from my alternate world thoughts. I look down, seeing that it’s not my mom calling to apologize for her severe rudeness, but instead my amazing boyfriend, Samuel.

“Hey,” I say, answering with a smile.

“Hey baby, how are you?”

I sigh, “Well, I could be worse.”

“See, that’s the spi--“

“Actually, no, I couldn’t.” I correct, cutting him off. “I hate this place. I hate it so much, Sam.”

“Surely it’s not that bad? What about school? Are you making friends?”

I nod, “Yeah, these four girls who seem pretty nice. Other than that though, it’s terrible.”

“Well, if I could do something about it, I would, you know that.”

I sigh, and nod, then remember that he can’t actually see me. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“Come where?” I ask.

“There, to visit you?”

I laugh at that, “Your parents would never let you.”

“I guess you’re right about that. We’re leaving to go back home to California in about a week though. Maybe I can get them to schedule a flight that has a layover in Tennessee.”

I sigh, “Don’t do that. I don’t want you to see me this depressed.”

“The Steffy Vandergeld I know is never depressed. A little sad at times, but never depressed. Look at things from a peppy perspective, like you always do. This is just a little setback, Stef, not a permanent one. You’ll be back in L.A. at the country club sipping on champagne in no time.”

“Which is funny since it’s, you know, illegal for us to drink.”

Samuel laughs a hearty laugh, and in the background I hear his mother calling his name. “What do you want ma?” I hear him shout back at her. “I’m talking to Steffy! Yes, we’re still together. She’s…okay. Yeah, yeah, okay.” I hear him sigh heavily and then to me he says, “My mom says hi.”

“Doesn’t sound like that’s all she said.” I say suspiciously. “Is she surprised we’re still together?"

Sam clears his throat and hesitates, “Well, just a little.”

“Why?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest, even though he can’t see my angry gesture.

“Stef,” He says uneasily. “You know why.”

“No, Samuel, I don’t know why. Tell me.”

“Babe, come on, don’t get mad.”

“If you don’t tell me,” I threaten. “I’m gonna get mad.”

“Well, news is kinda spreading.”

“To Puerto Rico?!” I exclaim.

“I mean, it’s all around the Country Club and you know how my mother’s on the administrative board. She got the news that a family had left the country club for good, and that it was yours. So, she’s just, you know.”

“So, your mom doesn’t want us to be together anymore, just because I’m broke?”

“No!” Samuel says.

“No?”

“I mean yes!”

“Yes?” I repeat.

“I don’t know the correct answer,” Sam says. “She doesn’t want us to break up just because you’re broke. She’s just surprised that we’re still together.”

“Because I’m broke, right?”

“No, because you moved all the way to Tennessee and we didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“I have to go, I’ll call you later.” I tell him suddenly.

“You’re mad.”

“No, I’m not mad. I’m hungry and my grandmother left me a chore list.” I assure him.

“Okay, well I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” I retort before quickly hanging up the phone.

Oh my God. People actually know. It’s spreading around L.A. In L.A., particularly at Bayside Country Club, being broke is worse than boiling live hamsters. I would know, I mean, in my families time belonging to the Country Club, like five families went broke and I’m not gonna lie, we all made fun of and talked crap about them. I suddenly realize just how hot it is in this stupid little compact house. Almost as hot as it was yesterday. I spring up from my bed, leaving my phone there. I yank the green sleeveless shirt up over my head and toss it to my ‘worn clothes’ pile. In my carry-on, I luckily find a thin camisole that will at least make me a little less hot. I slide the blue and white striped shirt on and then pull on a pair of cotton shorts. God, it’s been so long since I’ve worn cotton. I feel like such a peasant. I put on a pair of sneakers - the one and only pair I own - and grab my list as my stomach growls. I don’t actually intend on doing any of the chores, but I guess I may change my mind. Leaving my room, I go over to Spencer’s and find him still in the same position he was when I left a little while ago.

“I hope you’re not leaving here wearing that.” He says, referring to my choice of clothing.

“Spencer,” I whine, ignoring his comment.

“What’s up?”

“They know!” I cry.

“They who?”

“They! Everyone at Bayside!”

“What, that we’re broke?”

“Yes!”

“How?” He asks nonchalantly.

“I don’t know! Samuel’s mom is on the board and so she knows when families leave, and she saw that ours did. She told Samuel, and Samuel told me that most of the members of the Country Club already know.” I explain.

Spencer runs his fingers through his brown hair, making it stick up at the front. “Damn, that blows.”

“’Damn, that blows’?” I repeat. “Is that all you can say?”

“What else am I supposed to say, Stef? I mean, think about it positiv-“

“Spencer, there is no positive way to think about it! Look around! We live in a fucking shoebox with our half senile grandmother and our parents in the middle of freaking Tennessee!” I exclaim, getting flustered. I don’t know if it’s just me, but it feels like the temperature in here just rose about four million degrees Fahrenheit. I feel my face turning red as sweat begins to form on my forehead. I hate sweating, it’s disgusting and thinking about it makes me sweat even more. Not to mention the fact that it’s ridiculously hot in this house. “They’re probably all there laughing at us right now! How does that not make you feel terrible?!”

Spencer sits up in his bed, sweating practically glistening off of his face. “Because, I don’t give a damn what those people think. I mean, sure it sucks that we’re poor. It really sucks. It sucks that we have to live with grandma. It sucks that mom and dad don’t have jobs. It sucks that we have to be grandma’s little bitches from 5:30 in the morning to seven something. It sucks that I’m not gonna get to walk with my graduating class. It sucks that Julia is way in L.A., still living the good life and we’re not. It sucks that Sam’s in Puerto Rico doing Puerto Rican shit. It sucks that you have to go to a new school where the food, ‘causes Lyme disease’. It sucks that we’re probably never gonna have calamari again. It sucks that Jimmy Camden took over Vandergeld Industries. I know it sucks, Steffy. I really do, but there’s not a damn thing we can do about it and I wish it was. I hate being here almost as much as you do, but right now we really have no damn choice. So stop whining about and deal with it.” He snaps.

The heat must be getting to Spencer. He never talks to me like that. Never. And there’s a reason.

I decide that arguing with my brother would not be a good thing to do, especially since I don’t like him when he yells at me. Instead, I take a deep breathe, and push a lock of my hair that’s fallen from my ponytail behind my ear and say, “How the hell do you turn on the goddamn air in this place?”

“Hell, if I know.” Spencer says in a quieter, normal voice.

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” I mutter.

“Me too.” He replies, then lies back down on his bed.

And just like that, our mini-fight is over. Like I said, Spencer and I are close; we never fight. That wasn’t really even a fight, just a minor argument. Whenever things like this happen, we always quickly resolve them.

“I’m gonna go look for a thermostat or something,” I tell him.

He nods, acknowledging that he heard me and gets up off of his bed. Spencer walks over to his window, yanking it up and groaning loudly. I walk out of his room, going down the corridor. I use the back of my hand to wipe a thin layer of sweat from my forehead and make my way to the kitchen. My stomach growls again as I pull the refrigerator open. I see no food. None at all. Well nothing that I’d eat. There’s a few tall grey thermoses holding some sorta liquid, but I have no idea what. Unless she keeps water in there, which would be weird seeing as how there’s a pitcher. I guess I could try the ‘Ramen’ my grandma was talking about. The way my dad described it, it didn’t sound too bad.

I examine the kitchen until I find a pack of noodles proclaiming to be ‘Ramen’ in the cabinet. I rip the pack open and lean again the counter, reading the directions. Hmm, well that seems simple enough. Following the instructions, I get the pot - which is not hanging down from a series of hooks like they were in my old house, which makes it a lot harder to find them. I set it on the stove and fill the pot with water, trying precisely to follow the instructions so that I don’t screw it up.  Once the pot is filled with water, I rip the back of ‘Ramen’ open and drop the block of hardened noodles in there. Then I fumble with the gas stove, until I finally get it to come on. It’s just that, at home we had an electric stove, so on the rare occasion when the chef’s didn’t prepare my meals, I knew how to use the stove. The fire shoots out of the, whatever it’s called and lights underneath the pot. Whether or not that’ll cause the pot to catch fire, I have no idea.

I’m guessing I don’t have to stay here the whole time and watch them, so I leave the kitchen in search for the thermostat to turn this hell house into an igloo.

✈✈✈✈

“Hello?” I say, grabbing my phone and answering it about ten minutes later.

“Steffy, hi.” Anna Grace says in a chipper voice.

“Oh, hey Anna Grace.” I reply. “What’s up?”

I gave her my number at school earlier today, just because that’s what friends do. Right? I mean, friends exchange numbers, I’m sure. I balance the phone in between my shoulder and ear, leaving my room again and walking out to the hallway back to where the thermostat is. It’s been ten minutes, and I still have no idea how to make it work. I push the thing back and forth and nothing happens. It’s still blazing in here.

“Do you like to party?” She wonders.

“Oh,” I say, pushing the little knob to the left. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Well, tomorrow is Laurel’s seventeenth birthday and she’s having a party.”

“On a Wednesday?”

“Yeah, I mean, her parents don’t really care. It’s not gonna be like a huge thing, like you’re probably used to, probably. And most of the parents around here don’t care, as long as we’re all home by county curfew.”

“Which is?”

“11:45.”

“11:45?” I repeat and scoff. “What are we, twelve? My curfew is 2:30.”

“Wow, that is late.” Anna Grace says, laughing.

“No one sleeps in L.A.” I reply, half serious.

“That’s so cool, visiting there has just moved to number one on my bucket list.” She informs me.

I laugh, “You definitely have to go. It’s a must.”

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind. Oh, so about the party? You’ll come?”

“Sure,” I reply. I don’t really think my parents would mind, and if they do, then too bad because I wanna go, so I’m going. “Oh and Anna Grace?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you by chance know how to work a thermostat?” I ask desperately.

✈✈✈✈

Anna Grace is my savoir.

The house is now a cool 42 degrees, and it feels amazing. I don’t know how she knew how to get it going, but she did and I’m finally not sweating like a diseased pig anymore. It’s nearly 6:00, and I haven’t done any of the chores my grandmother left for me. I guess I can try to load the dishwasher, but I’m not exactly sure how, so this could turn out bad. Won’t be my fault though. Surely she knows we had people for this kinda stuff back home. So I think I kinda screwed the Ramen up because it tasted really plastic-y and I just couldn’t take it all back so I ended up dumping it in the sink. It was after I emptied the bowl that I learned my grandmother doesn’t even have a garbage disposal. I mean, what kinda kitchen sink doesn’t have a garbage disposal? I wasn’t gonna just stick my hand in the sink - like, who knows what happens in that sink? - so I just left it alone. Matter of fact, it’s still in there right now, unless it’s all…evaporated down the sink.

I’m currently in the kitchen in front of dishwasher, trying to understand exactly how to work it. I mean, I’ve never washed dishes before - okay, I take that back, I have, like as a punishment for missing curfew or whatever, but it was with my hands. That’s actually really simple. But there’s this big machine in front of me and I have no idea what to do. Spencer did tell me that the only thing he knows about dishwashers is that you have to put the dishes in first, which I just did. Now all the dishes are just kinda sitting there idly. Seeing that it’s 5:55, I grab a bottle do dish washing liquid soap and pull the top up. Well I used this last time I hand-washed and since I don’t see anything else, I’m assuming it’s to use in a dishwasher.

I find a little hole and untwist it, squeezing a hefty amount of soap in there. I smile, satisfied and closed the dishwasher door, turning the knob onto full cycle - whatever that means - and I leave the room, going back to my room.

Author's Note: I know, I know, this chapter isn't very eventful, and it's not the greateast. Sorry about that. This is like, the shortest actual chapter, excluding the prologue, but I still think it's kinda long-ish. Chapter 10 will be like, ten times better though, I swear! And it'll be up on Friday, [5/17]. I swear, it's like one of my favorite chapters, chapter 10 is. Oh, and a picture of Anna Grace off to the side, because you've already seen Carly, Madison and Laurel. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter! Lemme know? 

Dedicated to writerbug44 because even though she doesn't read this story, I don't think, she's like, one of my two closest Wattpad friends, a really amazing writer, like just wonderful and overall just a lovely girl. And I used lovely there because to sound British. It worked, no?

Don't forget to follow me on Instagram if you, I dunno, just wanna see pictures of various things I post? I dunno, haha. But if you followed me on there, that'd be really really awesome. My username is millie_wattpad. Also, Kik me at millie_wattpad if you wanna. Don't forget to comment and vote!

Okay, I'm leave now. ♥