My Summer with the Jenkins

2

There are 2 types of people in this world. People that have everything handed to them on a silver platter, the ones whose servants fall over each other the second they say their feet hurt to rub them. The ones who have people come to your beck and call, the ones who know people will do anything for them, just to get a sliver of approval.

Then, there are the servants. The help, the people who have nothing in life, and would have nothing in life if not for the first type of people.

I am the former. Hank and Jane Jenkins, are the former.

"Daddy, please don't make me do this. It's the summer before senior year! Everyone is getting their pictures taken, everyone's at parties at the country club! Please!" I beg my father as we exit off the interstate down a small 2 lane road.

"Welcome to Hollywood, West Virginia!" A beat up but picturesque sign stated, welcoming me to my own personal hell for the next 2 months. It's a joke, really. I should be spending my summer vacation in the REAL Hollywood, the one with Selena Gomez and Angelina Jolie. The happy people painted in the mural on the town sign stared at me, taunting me, saying "Welcome to your worst nightmare".

"Izzy, you need to learn some humility. Your mother and I have given you everything you've ever asked for, you've never wanted for anything. We thought we were doing the right thing, being good parents. But now we've realized we've failed at doing 1 big thing - making you a decent human being." I flinched as though my father's words were acid thrown on my skin. I AM a decent human. I've only fired 1 nanny, I've only ever made the cook cry twice, TWICE, in my whole life! Allie makes her nanny cry almost on the daily, SHE'S the one that should be here isolated in the mountains all summer, not me.

I cross my arms and look out the window, studying the buildings as we pass by them. This must be the town's main road. There's a small grocery store I've never heard of before, a post office, a couple of small stores, and a movie theater that looks like it's from the 1800s. Great. I bet it doesn't even have recliner seating. I sink further into my seat. This summer really is gonna suck.

We drive about 5 minutes past the edge of town, when my father pulls off onto a side dirt road. At the end of the road stands a little flat house with white siding and blue shudders. It sits on at least a few acres of land, with many smaller, shed-like dwellings. In front of the house stands a couple. The man is average height and a muscly build, with chocolate colored hair and bright blue eyes. The woman, while plump, isn't fat. She has the same body as Ashley Graham, but much shorter. Probably closer to 5". She has her jet black hair tied into a messy bun on the top of her head and eyes to match her husband's hair. This is Hank and Jane Jenkins, my new prison guards.

"Daddy-"

"Isabella," he says harshly, killing all the words in my throat, "No matter how much whining and crying you do, you will be staying here in the Jenkins house for the next 2 months. You will not act like we have given you no home training. Now, I would advise you to act like a lady, exit this car, and politely greet Hank and Jane. Am I clear?" He says in a deadly quiet tone. I swallow and nod, pulling my door handle and stepping out into the grass.

"Ian!" Hank exclaims loudly, coming towards my father with his arms outstretched. "Hank!" My father reciprocates, pulling the man into a tight hug. "How are ya, buddy?" Hank asks, holding my father's shoulders. "I'm good, old pal. How are you? Thank you so much for taking Izzy in for the summer. She's just so excited, aren't you Izzy?" He says, craning his neck to look at me.

"Ahh, you big ole liar." Hank says with a chuckle. My father smiles sheepishly before motioning me with his eyes to go over to the man. I shuffle over as best I can in heeled boots on the grassy and gravel driveway. "Hello, Mr. Jenkins." I say politely, holding my hand out to shake it. He takes it and smiles warmly at me. "Hello, Izzy. I ain't seen you since you was just a tiny thing. How is ya?" I take a moment to collect myself over his terrible grammar and heavy southern accent. No wonder he's not in the same position as my father. "I'm good, Mr. Jenkins, thank you." He shakes his head at my words. "Oh no no, none of that Mr. Jenkins crap. While your stayin' in my house you call me Hank, you hear?" At this, I fluster a bit. Daddy was so worried about me not acting like I had home training, while this man doesn't even know how to speak proper English!