Poor Little Rich Girl | ✓

Chapter 8: Some Might Say It's Nepotism

Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter is kinda a filler, like to feed in to Steffy's relationship with her brother, Spencer, so yeah. I mean, there's more, but that's mostly what's the point of this. Hope you guys like it! Lemme know in a comment? See y'all Tuesday! (:

Chapter 8: Some Might Say It's Nepotism

“Steffy, it’s not that hard; you can do it.” Spencer encourages standing up beside me.

“No, I really can’t.” I whine. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s pretty gross, yes, but at least she doesn’t have you feeding the chickens.”

“What’s so bad about throwing food at chickens?”

“There’s like thirty of them, and those birds really like to eat. They’re very impatient.”

“Well, I’d take that over this. A chicken doesn’t way three times what I do, but a cow does.”

It’s Tuesday and Spencer and I are out again in the barn. He had to force me outta my bed this morning because I was completely tuning grandma out as she threatened me this morning to get up. She didn’t bring the air horn this morning, which was good, because I seriously would have gone off on her if she had. Grandmother or not, there’s absolutely no reason to ever do that to a human.

It’s 7:20 now, so we’ve been out here a while. Since 5:30. All I’ve managed to do is sit on this stool and half way milk this damn cow. Daisy is the one I’m eventually going to milk. Yesterday morning I tried, to no avail, to milk Betsy, so I’m switching it up today. My grandmother also said that neither Spencer nor I is allowed back into the house until 7:45 - because she apparently thinks it requires exactly two hours and fifteen minutes to do all of what she’s making us to do.

I was actually kinda smart this morning, and wore the crappiest clothes I could find that I brought along with me. I have on a pair of paint splotched black sweatpants and a ratty grey t-shirt that I stole from Samuel, with a pair of old flip-flops.

“Stop being dramatic Steffy, and just milk the damn cow.” Spencer snaps. “Sorry.” He mumbles.

“Are you okay?” I wonder, looking up from Daisy’s milky udders.

Well of course he isn’t. Neither of us is okay. How could we be? We live in this tiny locker room sized home with our old grandmother and no money to the Vandergeld name. This is rock bottom. I mean, honestly, this is the lowest point a person can hit in their life. People like me, at least. I bet they’re all back in California laughing at us. Well not right now of course, because no one is up this early in California. Not in L.A. at least. But when they are up, and they hear the news of the Vandergeld’s going broke, they’ll all be laughing it up at the country club, sipping on lemonade, eating turkey imported from Maine and shit. And yes, I just made a reference to High School Musical 2. 

Spencer shakes his head, “Julia and I had a fight last night.”

“Really? What about?” I ask.

He and Julia hardly fight and when they do, it’s always over something stupid and irrelevant. Example? The last time I know of them getting an argument was last year over the Christmas Break. Julia’s family went to Prague and we went to Monaco, but Julia wanted him to go to Prague with her family and he wanted her to come to Monaco with us. They got into this stupid little squabble over it, and in the end, neither of them got to go anywhere because my parents were tired of my brother’s bitching and they grounded him and I don’t know what happened with Julia, but she didn’t come to Monaco.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. I gotta finish feeding the chickens. You gonna be okay in here alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I reply, genuinely concerned about my brother.