Page 104 of Ruthless Legacy

The racks are labeled with our names, but how are we supposed to pick an appropriate outfit if we don’t know where we’re going? I can’t even look up the address. They confiscated my phone as soon as they loaded me onto the bus this morning.

Dresses, business suits, skirts, boxes of shoes stacked under each section of clothes. This is supposed to be my signature style? I don’t think so. At the back of the rack there’s a black pair of skinny jeans. I grab them, a black camisole with lace embellishments, and the peek-a-boo booties I spotted under the skirt section. I grab a pair of panties and a strapless bra, placing them over the top of the rack, then head to the bathroom.

A few other girls have made it into the bathroom as well. They’re arguing over how long we each get in the shower. I snag a toothbrush and toothpaste from the basket of toiletries on the sink and brush my teeth. When I’m done, I grab a loofah and one of the travel sized body washes. When the first girl gets in the shower, I bring out my detention center skills and open the glass door right after her. “Hey! Wait your turn.”

“Look, I don’t know what your card says, and I’m assuming we all intend to shower, because that’s quicker than getting in the tub. This will go faster if we share. You wash while I turn my back and soap up. When you’re done rinsing, I’ll rinse, and the next girl can soap up. We make this quick and efficient, then you have plenty of time to pick out your outfit and do your makeup.”

She’s still staring at me, horrified at the idea of sharing.

The girl who’s standing at the door says, “That’s not a bad idea. I still need time to pick out the perfect outfit, do my hair, and hide these circles under my eyes. Her suggestion will be faster.”

The girl standing under the water with shampoo in her hair says, “Turn your back.”

“Absolutely.”

I strip off my clothes and step inside the stall with her. She moves to the side, working the lather through her hair while I wet my loofah, add body wash and start scrubbing.

It’s basically a hoe bath, but I know from experience how effective they can be. She’s on to her conditioner and I rinse off quickly. Then step out, snagging a towel, wrapping it around my body as I walk back into the room.

I do a rush job of drying off, slip on the clothes I picked out, and put my hair up in a messy bun. I’m not gonna bother with makeup. A quick swipe of gloss is all I need. I’m zipping up the back of the boots when an alarm sounds.

The other girls are in varying states of undress. One has on a skirt and bra, the other just a pair of slacks, a third has on her blouse no bottoms, another is in her bra and panties, and the last girl is still in the shower.

I snag a gray plaid blazer off the rack as I hurry out the door. Muffled footsteps click behind me on the carpet. Through the spindle on the stairs, I see the girl who supported my idea of group showers running behind me, with a pair of shoes in her hands. She’s the one who had on slacks. She’s thrown a shirt on, no bra.

We exit the house to find a fleet of cars parked along the circular driveway. The driver stands outside of each car, holding signs with our names on them.

“Good luck!” I call out to her as she ducks into the second car. Mine is the last in line.

“Where to miss?” The driver asks as he climbs behind the wheel. I give him directions and he sits idling instead of taking off.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry here.”

“We can’t leave until the other cars pull out.”

I see the second car is idling too. The other selectees still haven’t come down. “Back out. We’re last in line. We don’t need to wait.”

“Back out?”

“That’s right. Back up and go around the cars. If you can’t do that, get out and let me drive.”

He throws the car in reverse. Instead of pulling forward to follow the driveway around, past the cars, he stays in reverse until we hit the bottom of the drive.

“Well, alright then.” I say with a laugh. “Now we just need to get me where I’m going in twenty minutes?”

“We’ll be there in less than fifteen.”

I sit back, trying to take in the scenery as we go by, but my attention is drawn to the time on the dashboard.

We pull to a stop behind other cars. “What’s going on?”

“The road’s closed. Traffic’s being detoured.” He points to the gate. “That’s the street right there, but we have to go another five minutes out of the way, and enter through the back of the neighborhood.”

I look where he’s pointing. A closed to vehicle traffic sign is posted in front of a gate. “I’ll walk in.”

“The gate is closed, so there’s probably no one on duty on this side to let you in.”

I open the door. “Then I guess I’ll have to climb it. Thanks for the lift.” I hear him open his door, but I’ve already slipped off my shoes and tossed them over the gate.

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