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❝are you always this nosey?❞
"What's this?" Cassandra's mum says as she slams down her report card. "You got three C's?! I thought you were studying!" Her mum gives her a harsh hit to the head in disappointment.
"I was 'ma!" Cassandra says, wincing at the pain shooting through her head from her mother's shouting. "You saw me! I didn't do anything but study study study."
"I want you to do better next year," her mum tuts and shakes her head, standing up to attend to dinner. Cassandra was at her first year of college and her parents had paid for her and they wanted straight A's. "You know your dad has worked extra hours to afford even a term at this college, it's the best in the county for god's sake! You're lucky you're not paying board whilst living here like I had to when I was your age."
"It's the twenty first century, 'ma, people don't pay for board when they're still living at their parents house," Cassandra mutters and her mother rolls her eyes at her, stirring the macaroni cheese she was making for dinner. "I've got to go to work—I'll see you later."
Cassandra was desperate to get out of the apartment, so she left for work thirty minutes early. Her parents and herself lived in a small apartment with her younger brother also. It wasn't great as there was mould and dirt everywhere and the floorboards were squeaking and falling apart.
She makes her way out of the six story building and into her small truck. She'd been saving up for it since she was sixteen and when she was seventeen, she finally purchased the run-down car. It was rustic and old, and the orange paint was crumbling off but she didn't care if it broke down on the way home—it meant she was away for home longer.
She pulls out of the car park and takes a slightly long detour to her work. She worked at a small motel on the highway just out of town. She'd work from six until three in the morning at the desk, and she loved talking to the visitors. Tonight, she didn't have her work-partner, Dean, who was older than her, since he called off for the third time that week.
When she finally reaches her work, she parks up behind the motel and locks the truck, ignoring the smashed window at the back of the truck that some punk teenager had put there.
The motel was painted white, and although it had a few dirty spots, it was pretty much perfect. It was modern, and clean, especially for a motel. The rooms were a decent size, and came with a double bed or two singles, and there were family rooms too. If residents got too thirsty there was a bar and diner on the ground floor and there was also kettles in the room with teabags, cups, milk and biscuits.
"You're here early," Jan, the lady on shift before Cassandra, notices as she looks at the clock hanging across the room from the desk. "Parent trouble?"
"I got three C's on my college exams," Cassandra sighs, resting her elbow against the desk. "Anything I can help with?"
"Not really—have you eaten tonight? I can ask Paul to put some food on for you," Jan offers, already reaching for the phone. Paul was the head chef at the motel, and he was an exquisite cook.
