Poor Little Rich Girl | ✓

Chapter 22: #Rich Girl Problems

Chapter 22: #Rich Girl Problems (Hashtag Rich Girl Problems)

“Tennessee Rescue Mission?” I ask, reading the label on the dirty white sign above the rugged looked building before us.

“Yep, this is my brilliant idea for our project,” Conrad explains to me, parking his car near the front of the dirty looking building.

I mean, really, it looks like it’s covered in mold and moss. It just looks disgusting. Like, my family’s help had better homes than this and they were the help. Oh man, I miss the help. Lucy, especially. She was our gardener and she was super sweet. Spencer and I always had this little theory that she and dad had an affair though. Which I don’t think I would have minded because Lucy was way nicer than my actual mom is. Wow, that sounds bad.

“What even is this place?” I wonder, unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out, walking around the car to Conrad.

“It’s a homeless shelter,” He nonchalantly explains as we reach the front door and he pulls it open, motioning for me to go first.

“O…kay,” I slowly say, stepping over the threshold. “And this is gonna benefit the community how, exactly?”

“Well, basically we’re gonna serve them lunch and stuff and get their cots ready for them.” Conrad says, leading me down the hall.

“What’s a cot?” I query, crinkling my nose as a weird stench invades it while we walk deeper and deeper into the disgusting shelter.

“It’s like a bed, Steffy,” Conrad chuckles, then glances down at me briefly. “Why’re you doing that?”

“Doing what?” I ask him, nearly gagging at the awful smell. It’s like I’ve smelled it before, but I can’t exactly place it.

“Holding your nose like that,” He expounds. “You look like a guinea pig.”

“How would you know what a guinea pig looks like?” I ask him, rolling my eyes.

“Madison got one when we were twelve,” Conrad shrugs. “She overfeed it though and it died.”

“That’s very…erm, tragic.”

“Mhm, his name was Kangaroo.”

“Kangaroo?” I echo, with a small giggle. “Like the animal?”

“Like the animal.” He confirms. “There was a funeral and everything- worst thing ever.”

“I bet,” I chuckle. After a few more steps, Conrad walks forward to a pair of doors and slings one open. “After you,” He chimes.

“What’s that?” I ask, tentatively walking into the room. It doesn’t take me long to realize that it’s a kitchen. Like a kitchen where you cook stuff. I don’t cook. I can’t cook. I mean, I’m surprised that I can drive a car seeing as how Spencer and I got chauffeured around a lot. But cooking? No, that’s something I can’t do. I still haven’t even mastered the art of cooking Ramen Noodles.

“A kitchen,” Conrad answers, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind me. “Here, turn the camera on and record me putting on my apron,” He tells me, pushing Madison’s camera into my hands and turning around to a hook.

“You’re really, really weird,” I mumble, but turn the camera on nevertheless and point it towards him, pushing the record button.

“I’m not weird,” Conrad argues. “You’re weird.” Then, he takes a white-ish apron off of a hook and turns back around, pulling it on.

“Wow, that’s a very clean apron,” I sarcastically remark. “And did you say your apron? Do you come here very often?” I wonder.

“Ah, well, not all the time,” Conrad denies, shaking his head. “Only like, twice or thrice a week.”