Page 75 of The Belle and the Biker

He shoots me a dirty look. “I will be out here working on the bike. Try not to accidentally hex anybody, okay?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be accidental.” I smile sweetly.

I return to the trailer to find Tawny already in there. She’s in the kitchen, stuffing the newspaper in the trash. “Hey! I haven’t read that yet. I’m an old-fashioned girl. I like reading newspapers.”

She tries to move the trash can away from me. “You’re also a germophobic girl, and it already has garbage on it.”

I snatch the paper out. “No, it doesn’t. I’ll just wash my hands after I read it.”

I plop down at the table and start reading. One of the articles on the front page says that the Helping Hands homeless shelter is looking for more volunteers.

But I just got off the phone with them ten minutes ago. They said they would call me if they needed anyone.

I slam the paper down on the table.

“Do me a favor,” I say to Tawny. “Call the homeless shelter and ask if they’re still looking for volunteers.”

She gives me a sidelong glance. “Right now?”

“No time like the present.” Her cell phone is sitting on the table, and I push it toward her.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she argues. “If I call, they might want me to come in right away.”

“No, they make you fill out an application and give references.”

She sighs, picks up the cell phone, and calls.

It’s very clear from the conversation that they are, in fact, looking for volunteers.

“Were you deliberately hiding the newspaper from me?”

She stares upwards. “Well, hello, ceiling. Look at you, all keeping the rain out and everything. Good job.”

I nudge her boot, and she looks at me with her wide-eyed, innocent look.

“Is there something wrong with me?” I demand. “They’ve been telling me they have nothing for me to do ever since I got here, which has been two weeks now. They checked my references with the shelters in New York and were told something that made them reject me. And, also, obviously, the homeless shelters in New York stopped giving me volunteer shifts because they didn’t like me, not because they didn’t need volunteers.” I suck in an indignant breath. “I’m not even good enough for a homeless shelter?”

Her face squinches.

“What?” I demand.

“That kinda sounded a little snobby.”

“No, it isn’t! I just meant…” I trail off. “Okay. If it sounded snobby to you, it obviously came across that way. But I didn’t mean it to be.”

“Well…sometimes, without meaning to, you come across as sort of… highfalutin. I know I joke about it, how you’re always trying to correct people’s manners and assume everyone grew up like you. Like, asking people about their favorite nanny, the china pattern they registered for their wedding, or where they wintered last year. Or telling them that you’d love to redo their wardrobe so their colors are more flattering to their complexion.”

“What? But…that’s helpful. Who wants to wear colors that wash them out?”

She smiles sympathetically. “At Bone-breakers, we thought it was cute, but maybe it just doesn’t work in a homeless shelter.”

Now that she’s pointing it out, I see what she means. I get frustrated with Aunt Hepzibah for refusing to acknowledge that not everyone is a millionaire, but I’ve been doing the same thing to everybody else.

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach.

“Oh,” I say quietly. “I see.”

Tawny gets up, walks to the door, and yanks it open.

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