I shove the money in my pocket and go to my room. I’ll bring it to Jackson later, after I’ve cleaned up. Even with the change of clothes, I still feel gross after being covered in seaweed and dirt.
The shower stings my cuts but feels good on my muscles, which are sore from trying to fight the waves that were pulling me down. After a long shower, I put the clothes Jackson gave me in the laundry hamper, then go to my dresser and take out a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I don’t want Brock seeing my scraped knees and asking how it happened.
After I’m dressed, I get my new phone out. As I’m setting it up, there’s a knock on the door.
“Anyone there?” a voice asks.
“Yeah. Hold on.” I go and open the door. A short, middle-aged woman with dark hair held up in a bun is standing there. She’s wearing a white dress that looks like a uniform and white tennis shoes.
She smiles. “Are you Rumor?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Maria, Shayla’s mom. She said you two met yesterday?”
“Yeah, we did. Is she here?”
“No, she only comes with when I need extra help. She’s at home enjoying what she calls her last days of freedom before school starts next week.”
“I’m doing the same. I’m not looking forward to school. I’m getting kind of nervous.”
“Don’t be,” she says, waving her hand around. “You’ll do fine. Did you ask the boys about it?”
“A little, but I don’t really trust what they tell me.”
She laughs. “They have their own little world there. They’re so into their sports.”
“From what I’ve heard, I don’t think I’ll like it. I’d rather go to public school.”
She shrugs. “They both have their problems.” She looks behind me. “Do you need me to make your bed?”
I look back at the pile of sheets of blankets that got tangled up when I was sleeping.
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “It can stay like that.”
She shakes her head. “Brock doesn’t like messes. The bed has to be made. Let me do it.” She goes around me to the bed, pulling the blankets back and yanking on the sheet.
“I can help,” I tell her.
“No, no. I can do it.”
She’s finished within minutes. It looks professionally made, like a bed in a hotel. I’ve never made my bed, but it’s kind of nice having it done. I could get used to this.
“Any laundry?” she asks, heading over to the white wicker hamper that’s in the closet.
“Yeah, but I can do it. Just show me where the machines are.”
She shakes her head. “Brock doesn’t want anyone doing laundry but me. He has very specific washing instructions.”
“I don’t. I just throw everything in and push the button. How about you wash his clothes and I’ll wash mine?”
“I really can’t let you do it. It’s Brock’s rule.”
I meet her at the hamper and pull out the shorts and shirt I had on. “I really just need you to wash these. I had to borrow them and need to give them back.”
She gives me a confused look. “Who did you borrow them from?”
“A neighbor. I was out walking and got soaked by a sprinkler that turned on. The guy offered me dry clothes to change into.”
