The Janitor Girl Sang One Song, and the Billionaire’s Son Stopped Laughing

the spring trip. He said I needed to learn what work feels like before I say another word about people who do it.”

Despite myself, I almost smiled.

“What kind of work?”

He looked embarrassed.

“The dry cleaner downstairs. Afternoons. Sorting tickets and carrying bags.”

“That place gets busy.”

“I know. Mrs. Alvarez already told me I fold like a raccoon.”

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