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"No, Miss Pandora."
"Good." I'm pleased with myself for once, watching her put the blazer back in my walk-in closet. "But trust me, you don't want to be going to Eden Falls Prep. It's boring as fuck."
"It seems wonderful," Minnie admits. "But not for the likes of us."
"The likes of you?" I repeat, giving her a long, inquisitive look. "That sounds like a phrase someone put in your head."
She smiles at me, her eyes lingering on mine. She doesn't respond to my words, instead glancing to my walk-in wardrobe. I flop down on my bed and get comfortable.
"So, what exactly does a personal maid do?"
"I make sure everything is running smoothly. Help you with school, getting ready, looking... presentable."
"Oh, great." I roll my eyes. "More rules to follow, I'm presuming?"
Minnie gives me a shy smile. "There are many rules at Oakes Estate. For the help, and for the residents."
"No shit," I mutter. "So, what's your story?"
"My story?" Her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you and your mom both work here, right?"
"Yes." She looks frightened suddenly.
"Do you like it?"
"Yes," she says.
I'm not sure whether she's lying. I'm about to call her out on it and ask when she takes a hesitant step closer.
"You're bruised, Miss Pandora."
"What?" I look down, finding new bruises blooming on my wrists, from when Lai and Dexter had assaulted me in the changing room. "Oh, that."
"I can apply some cold salve," Minnie suggests. "It should stop it from bruising."
I nod, and she disappears in the bathroom, bringing back a small jar of clear gel. She applies it expertly to the fingermarks on my skin, making me wonder how many times she's done this. She seems awfully good at it.
"Are you seeing someone, Minnie?" I ask her, and she blushes, looking away before shaking her head. "Why not? Surely there's someone you like."
"No," she gets out almost too quickly, firmly twisting the lid on the jar of salve. "There's no one."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"My age."
I can't help but look at her differently now. How strange. We're the same age yet she's serving me like a maid. Still, I'm not sure which one of us has it worse. At least she's not my father's puppet.
Something overcomes me, and before I can stop myself, I point to the framed photo on my nightstand.
"Do you know Dexter?"
"Mr. Booth?" She nods vigorously. "Yes, of course. He's been to the house many times."
"What's your take on him?" I give her a curious look, knowing the only acceptable answer would be that she hates him as much as I do.
