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Getting the razor out of the packaging was no easy task. It required another trip out of the tub and the use of a small set of scissors she found in a little kit with a nail file and clippers. By the time she had everything she needed her water had run cold again so she did a refill, this time foregoing all the soaps, salts, and jets.
“Okay, Scout, you can do this. Time to get girlie.”
She squeezed a big pile of peach-scented gel into her palm and spread it thickly over her leg. Swishing her hands in the water, she picked up the razor. It glided up her calf slowly like a snowplow clearing away a blizzard. The blade immediately needed to be rinsed, and she repeated the process.
Five minutes later she was sitting in hairy, peach-scented sludge and completely grossed out. No longer clean. Worse, although everything looked good at first, her skin had begun to bleed where she’d accidentally made little nicks.
“Shit.”
Growing frustrated, she abandoned her plan to also shave under her arms, and stood. Reaching blindly beneath the sludge, she felt around and released the plug. The water drained leaving a slimy film at the bottom of the once-shiny tub. Embarrassment flooded her and she suddenly wanted to cry.
Scout ignored the mess, needing a shower more than the tub needed one. Moving to the enclosed glass stall, she turned on the water and rinsed away the proof of her disastrous first attempt at being girlie. She felt marginally better after she shampooed her hair with a lovely, foamy wash. Her hair had never been so soft.
Once she dried herself off and attached little scraps of tissue to the nicks that refused to stop bleeding, she cleaned the tub. By the time all was said and done it was seven o’clock. If she planned on catching Parker she needed to get a move on.
Forgoing the numerous boutique packages and bags, Scout slid on her jeans, hoodie, and old sneakers, ensuring that her money belt was wrapped tightly around her waist. There was no way she was walking all the way to St. Christopher’s in death shoes. She quickly made the bed, and because of her own stupid embarrassment, she placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and left.
It was cold and she regretted not waiting for her hair to dry or taking her new coat. She walked fast, taking advantage of all shortcuts, and cursing herself for not bringing Parker one of the apples from her room. Dodging into an alley, quickly pulling five dollars from her money belt, she made a detour to a bakery and bought him a huge muffin. The cost was exorbitant for what was basically bread, but she had been eating so well, Parker deserved a treat too.
Scout made it to the shelter just in time. She spotted Parker’s brooding face as he came out of the school doors. He hunched into his sweater, shielding away the cold, and she ran over to him.
“Parker,” she called and he turned, relief clear on his face.
“Jesus! Scout, where the hell’ve you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m really sorry. I couldn’t make it back in time. I knew you’d be worried and I felt terrible. Here.” She handed him the muffin.
“Where’d you get this?”
“It’s a present. Don’t worry about it.”
He frowned then leaned close and sniffed her. “Where were you? You smell different.” He bit into the muffin.
“It’s a long story. Where’re you going right now?” He shrugged and they made their way to a low brick wall where the old school courts used to be. “How’s the muffin?”
“Incredible. Scout, what’s going on? Why aren’t you at work? And you better not tell me you slept at the tracks last night.”
“I didn’t sleep at the tracks. I slept in a bed.”
He froze. Putting the muffin aside, he faced her, something akin to fury darkening his otherwise calm expression. “Whose bed?”
“Well, Mr. Patras’s. I stayed in the hotel.”
“Is that allowed?”
This was going to be hard. She figured keeping things as honest and simple as possible would be best for now.
“Yeah, the owner of the hotel actually suggested it. They sort of changed my hours and adjusted my job description. I’m going to need to be at the hotel a lot more.”
“Well, that’s great. Maybe one of these days I can come visit you at work. Do you think anyone would give me shit if I tried to get in there?”
“No. That’d be awesome if you came to visit. I want you to, but I need to sort out some things first.”
He seemed genuinely happy for her. “That’s really great, Scout. You may actually make it in the real world after all. I’m glad you’re getting out of this shit hole. St. Christopher’s isn’t any place for a girl like you. You know that new guy, the one with the eye? Well, I knew I didn’t like him for a reason. He snuck into the girls’ room last night and attacked Deborah.”
