The Education of Hailey Kendrick - Eileen Cook [30]
“Have you considered a career in stand-up? Your talents are clearly wasted here,” I said. I sprayed the desk closest to me, inhaling the oily stink of the cleaner. I wiped it down and moved to the next.
“Don’t worry, Prima Donna. If you start to look faint, I’ll drag your body to safety.”
“My name is Hailey.”
“Okay, Hailey. I’ll drag your prima-donna butt to safety, right after I finish my lunch break. Never underestimate the appeal of a leftover Spicy Italian from Subway.”
I made a face at him. “Chlorine gas can cause brain damage too.”
“You’re going to want to make sure you wipe under the desktop as well. A lot of these classy kids drill their noses during class and leave boogers under there,” he said, pointing.
“That’s disgusting.” I pulled my hands away from the desk. I sat in some of these chairs. It had never occurred to me to check underneath them.
“You’re telling me. I’m not joking either. Look for yourself if you don’t believe me. Some of the desks practically have snot stalactites growing down. You would think instead of a Mercedes they could have bought some manners.”
I glanced at Drew as he mopped the floor. I’d met his type in town before. They resent us for who we are. It isn’t our fault our parents have money. What did people expect us to do? Give it all away to charity? Did he think I believed for a moment that he would send it all to Afghanistan to build schools if the situation were reversed? Most likely he’d spend it on fast food and NASCAR races. I wiped the desks with renewed vigor. The last thing I wanted Drew to do was whine that I didn’t pull my weight. I really wished I had a pair of rubber gloves to wear, though. The idea of touching someone else’s crusty snot grossed me out. Since I was on restriction, I couldn’t buy any gloves in town, and I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to ask Drew to do me any favors. Maybe I could buy a pair from someone who worked in the cafeteria.
“So, what did you do to land yourself here?” he asked as he moved the mop across the floor.
“What makes you think I did anything?”
Drew’s lip raised on one side. “Of course. My mistake. How kind of you to volunteer your time. Or are you planning a career in the cleaning arts and looking to log some valuable practical experience?” He leaned on his mop. “Come on. Fess up. Did you get caught pawning someone’s silver spoon right out of their mouth?”
“What is your issue with me?”
Drew laughed. “You should see yourself. Your face is all red.”
“You like annoying people, don’t you?”
“As you can tell, this job isn’t exactly a huge intellectual drain. I have to do something else to keep myself entertained.”
“I wouldn’t think you would require much to keep you intellectually challenged. Walking and talking, for example.”
“I’m remarkably skilled at multitasking, actually. Check this out.” Drew grabbed a couple rolls of toilet paper off the cart and began to juggle them. Great. I was stuck working with Bozo the Cleaning Clown.
“You’re impossible to insult.”
“Years of practice. My ego is armor plated.” He tossed the toilet rolls back into the cart and picked the mop back up. “Besides, I knew you’d insult me, so I was able to prepare. Your type never likes the help when we get uppity.”
“My type? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“You shouldn’t ask. The answer is just going to upset you. In my experience your type is overemotional. Sensitive.”
“You think you know everything about me?”
“Not everything, but I’m betting I’ve got the big picture covered.”
“You know what I did to land myself here? I was the one who broke the statue in the quad,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. I felt almost proud of myself when I saw his surprise.
“You?”
“Yes, me. I guess you don’t know my type as well as you thought.”
Drew looked at me as if he were reappraising my character. “I guess not. My opinion of you has just gone up. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the vandal rebel-without-a-cause type. Personally, I’ve always hated that statue. The knight always looks