I pause. “By that you mean the shamper, right?”
“Yeah, the shamper.”
I straighten and stretch my shoulders back. “Nope. That’ll be all. Show me to my bed, and tomorrow we’ll get to work.”
“Thisis the shamper?”
For the second time since I’ve met her, Rowe is genuinely smiling. I glance away in disgust and focus on the posters lining the small camper, my new living quarters.
Every inch of wall space is covered in pinups featuring ’80s pop artists. Some of the posters are sun bleached, but many of them lookbrand new, like Rowe’s mom kept them rolled up and hidden away for years before deciding that her candle-making haven would house them.
It’s a study in the feminization of men. Every man wears makeup, yet they all look masculine. There’s Duran Duran, the Thompson Twins, Culture Club, Adam Ant—and so many more.
The only reason I know their names is because they’re printed at the bottom of each poster.
Even the ceiling is covered.
“Home sweet home,” she says brightly. “If there’s anything you need, let me know. There’s a bathroom that’s hooked up to its own septic. The water works.” She points to a window unit. “There’s the heat and air. You should be good to go.”
“One more thing.”
She rolls her eyes. “What?”
“Don’t tell anyone who I am. Word will spread anyway, but I’d rather it do so in a trickle instead of a deluge. If my mother finds out and thinks that it gives me an unfair advantage, it will ruin our chances of saving this farm.”
“You mean winning your company.”
“That, too.”
She mimes locking up her lips and tossing the key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I nod in thanks.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Without another word she exits, and the next thing I hear is the door clicking.
Son of a—
I try the knob, but it’s locked.
“Okay, so I decided to lock you in,” she yells from the other side, “in case you’re a murderer. Don’t worry, I’ll let you out early enough.”
“What time?” I demand.
“Hmm. I’ll have it unlocked by six.”
“Five thirty—and I take my coffee black.”
“Maybe I’ll be here by then, and maybe I won’t. Good night!”
The sound of her sassy mouth lights my insides on fire. When I’m bringing in money hand over fist for this place, we’ll see how much backtalk she gives.
I drop my suitcase on the floor and survey my new home. “Well, guys, I guess it’s just the fifty of us.”
The camper is small, and there’s not much to explore, but I do have clothes to put away. The first cabinet I open is filled with smelly candle things that immediately make my allergies flare. After a head-pounding sneezing fit, I forego putting anything away, strip down to my briefs, and collapse onto the bed.
