"Such as?"
Poppet shrugs. "You work with Madam Karina on Sundays. And some girls say this place will be left to the Top Girl when Madam Karina gets too old to run the joint."
My fingertips tingle with excitement. "You mean Top Girl will actually own this house one day?"
"Yep. Course the madam would want it to stay an entertainment center because of the competitive thing she's got with her sister. But I guess whoever inherits the house would decide that."
I hear the part about Madam Karina's sibling rivalry, but that's not what I focus on. Candy told me last night I'd need twelve hundred dollars to rent an apartment, or maybe a house. But Poppet is telling me that this house, the very floors beneath my feet, is up for grabs. What's more, this house is a source of income, and many of these girls could benefit from a leader who ensures everyone is treated kindly and equally.
Maybe this house could serve as a sandwich shop, or a piano bar, or a bed and breakfast. I wonder how far we are from the town center of Pox.
"You've got a crazy look in your eyes." Poppet giggles before remembering my original question. "Why do you think the girls are picking on you? Did something happen?"
"No, nothing." I hesitate. "Poppet, why do the girls stay here? What do they really want?"
Poppet curls a lock of frizzy hair around her finger. "Most of us don't have anywhere else to go, for starters." She lowers her voice. "But I think the real reason we stay is the madam. She's kind, and she cares about us, and who doesn't want to live with someone who believes in them? When Eric found me and brought me to meet her, I just knew I wanted to work for her. You know she told me that I reminded her of a dandelion? Said I was a girl you could pin wishes on."
I smile.
"It's this place, too, I guess. It's easy to forget about my life before when every night is a celebration." Poppet brushes invisible crumbs off her T-shirt. "We should get cleaned up before breakfast. The other girls usually shower after assignments, but because it's Sunday, there aren't any. So we should get in before they do." Poppet eyes my silver wig and the bags under my eyes. "You can borrow some of my stuff, and later today when market opens you can get some of your own." And then, quieter, she adds, "If you want."
I swallow the emotion in my throat. Poppet does a lot for me, and I've done so little in return. "That'd be great. Thank you."
After bathing with some of Poppet's body wash, I towel off and put on a fresh shirt and shorts. Poppet even lends me a pair of flip-flops that are two sizes too big, but somehow feel perfect on my feet.
As we walk toward the kitchen, I drill Poppet about market and what exactly it is.
"You'll see." She beams. "Oh, and after breakfast we'll find out placements."
"What's that?" I ask, but Poppet has already darted to the table we sat at yesterday morning. Now that I've spent a day here, I know these are only the Carnation girls. The others that live on the second and third stories, the Daisies and Tulips, usually eat at different times.
I take my seat and, when I look up, Cain holds my eye. I have no idea why, but I find myself smiling. It's like we both broke a house rule last night, sneaking out back, smoking cigarettes and lounging in plastic chairs beneath a smoldering summer moon. And now, well, now we're criminals in cahoots.
Cain doesn't smile back, but he does hold my gaze for a moment longer before picking up two plates and walking toward Poppet and me. When he sets mine down, his arm brushes the outside of mine. It doesn't cause goose bumps to race across my skin or cause me to fantasize about what he looks like beneath his low-slung jeans. But I don't shrink away from his touch either, which for me is intimacy with a capital I.
Poppet stares at the inside of my forearm with a question she doesn't ask. It makes me like her even more for not asking. Just because I don't try to cover up the Xs trailing from elbow to wrist, doesn't mean I want it to spark a conversation.
She bumps my shoulder. "I think Cain really does like you. He totally lingered."
I avoid her stare. "You're imagining things."
"It's rude to whisper at the table." A girl with crooked teeth shovels French toast into her trap and chews with her mouth open. She turns her attention to Cain and holds up her plate. "Hey, King Kong, I need more syrup."
Cain's shoulders tighten, but he moves toward her with the bottle.
As he pours it on, the girl continues talking over her mouthful of food. "How many towers have you climbed, ape?"