Page 564 of Filthy Elites

I don’t have much time to spare, so I head to the shower. As soon as I step on the tiled floor, I feel my cheeks heat as images of yesterday assault me, unbidden. I groan in frustration and wash as fast as I can before dressing and heading out.

Sundays are half days, but they’re apparently a lot busier than weekdays. Ginny’s daughter is there, but she has to man the register nonstop, while Ginny and her second florist, Peter, alternate between composing bouquets in the back and greeting clients. I suppose Manny’s Bouquets isn’t as irrelevant as I’d believed. It gets so hectic at one point, I have to help at the point of sale. I can’t say I complain about setting down the broom for a while.

By the time the clock strikes two, my shoulders hurt, my lower back is on fire, and my feet want to sue me for abuse. I’m wearing my Timberlands again. I really ought to make better choices with my footwear, to mention one aspect of my life that could easily see some improvements. Though, let’s face it, the rest would still be a train wreck.

“You didn’t do half bad on the till,” Ginny mutters.

I shrug. “It was straightforward.” Check the price on the tag, punch it in, choose the payment method, done.

“Hmph. Don’t think I’m giving you a raise.”

Like that had even crossed my mind. I’ve never had so much as a Christmas bonus from her. I shed the ugly green apron and make my way out of there.

I have my heavy skating bag with me, but I can’t imagine heading over to the rink after running around nonstop for four hours. On the other hand, going home holds little appeal for me, especially in the rain, so I cross the road to the cozy little cafe that just opened this summer, Your Daily Fix. If a place with that name had opened up on the westside, it would have been raided by the police within the day, but here, they mean coffee. I order a caramel frappé and enjoy sitting on my butt, people watching through the window. The cafe closes early on Sunday, so I have to head out. I take a bus that leaves me at the bottom of the hill; it saved me a good fifteen minutes of walking, and it’s dry when I set off again.

I only stop by the house long enough to change into my most comfortable shoes—a pair of old, beat-up pink Converse—then I leave again to go further uphill, to the trail leading up to the falls.

The land used to belong to the Thorns and the Archers, but they’ve given it to the town, with one caveat: no one is to build anything. They say they want to keep a bit of nature. If you ask me, they probably buried a body or two up there, and they don’t want anyone to dig too deep.

I like the trail. It’s well traveled in the warmer months. Every kid converges on the falls as soon as the temperature hits eighty. Now, in November, it’s muddy, but I’m not going far. I walk to the waterfall the town is named after, and sit at one of the dozen picnic tables set out beside the river. The water’s so different now than it was the last time I was here just three or four months ago. The constant flow keeps it relatively clear, and I think the town ensures it’s clean enough for us to swim in there in the summer, but right now, green particles float on top. Nature has taken over.

Headphones in my ears, I listen to an audiobook, letting my mind wander to anything except last night, when I suddenly jerk forward. “That’s it!” I call to no one at all.

I must look like an absolute weirdo, but thankfully, no one’s here to see me.

I can’t pinpoint how or why, but I know exactly what I’m going to do for my science project. I pull my phone out of my jacket, ignoring the three unread messages to head straight to my browser. A grin splits my face when a quick search confirms my idea isn’t totally stupid: there is tons of research about the use of algae as an alternative to liquid fossil fuel. That’s right up my alley, and it might get me attention from MIT, assuming I don’t mess it up.

I didn’t bring anything with me, so I can’t take any algae, but my plan’s forming in my mind. Jars. I need jars. Maybe something bigger. An aquarium? I’ll have to ask Audrey to drive me to carry it. And maybe I can get algae from different sources. I can choose a few different strains and grow my own. Compare their potential energy output…

Ideas swirl as I rush down the path, heading back home. I stop my audiobook, my attention completely diverted from the fantasy world it contains.

It’s getting dark, despite being just past four, but I know the path well enough. The Archer mansion is pretty high on the hill, so it shouldn’t take me more than twenty minutes. I’ve almost left the bushiest part of the grove when I hear something that makes me pause. A twig snaps. My head jerks in the direction of the sound, because it’s close.

My eyes narrow on the shadows of the trees. It’s already too dark to tell for sure.

I guess it could have been a deer or something.

I speed up a little, and I don’t like letting little nothings freak me out, but when I am safe inside, I lock the door behind me.

A good thing too. I’m still removing my jacket when the doorbell rings. I hang it on a hook and this time, I think to check the peephole before answering.

Chase stands on the other side, glaring at the door like its existence offends him.

I huff. “Unbelievable,” I whisper to myself, before screaming, “Go away!”

“Open the door, Erica.”

Great idea. I might as well flog myself, while I’m at it. “Haven’t you messed with me enough this week? Like, for a lifetime!”

I can hear him sigh on the other side. “Please, open up, Erica. We need to talk.”

Right, of course. “Wedon’t need anything. There’s no ‘we’. Go back to your McMansion and leave me the hell alone.”

Silence. I get on my tiptoes to look through the hole again. He’s still staring, intently focused, as though the door could disappear if he concentrates hard enough. Then, to my surprise, he listens to me.

I watch him retreat toward his place, taken aback.

Well, that’s a first.

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