So yeah, Slade was not my favorite person, not by a long shot. But this whole mentoring idea was whacked out. On top of all the money weirdness, there was the whole question of how incompetent he’d be with the kids. I just knew I’d end up nannying three kids instead of two.
Then again, if Slade was incompetent, maybe I could justify the extra salary from his mom. A new MacBook Air would be so much nicer than my ancient desktop PC. My mom couldn’t afford to buy me a new computer on her salary.
“Trina, this will benefit both of you,” Dr. Edmunds said in a soothing voice. I knew she was trying to hypnotize me into doing what she wanted. She probably had years of practice with anxious clients.
“You’ll have someone to help you with the kids, and Slade will learn from your example.” She paused. “You mentioned having the right to fire him. How about if we compromise? You send me a weekly report on how he’s doing, and if we agree that he’s not improving, we’ll discuss whether or not he stays on.”
Report on Slade’s progress? My stomach twisted in protest.
But that laptop was calling my name. And with the money I’d earn, I could help Mom out with expenses. Things had been tight lately, and even though she worked overtime at the hospital, we rarely had money left over for fun stuff. Maybe I could splurge on pizza nights and pedicures for us.
Max’s mom handed me a coconut macaroon, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Sort of like me, since I was about to cave.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it. But you all have to swear to me that he will never, ever find out about this deal.” I could only imagine how he’d feel if he found out his mom paid someone to mentor him. Ugh.
The moms nodded, their faces solemn with promises, and I wondered if this was how it felt to sell your soul to the devil.
I bet there were some awesome cookies in hell, too.
Chapter Two
Slade
Saturday, June 1
“I’m sorry, Slade, but that’s the deal. You either go to this interview or give up your allowance for the summer.” My dad leaned against the counter, sipping coffee from his NPR mug. His gray ponytail hung over his shoulder. He was a walking hippie caricature, right down to the beard, Grateful Dead T-shirt, and Birks. With socks.
I slumped in my chair and stared at the half-eaten homemade granola bar in my hand.
This sucked. My parents were forcing me to interview for a freaking nanny job. Not a normal job at the mall or a movie theater where I could see my friends and get discounts on cool stuff.
Who did they think I was, Mary Poppins?
“Slade, I know you enjoy spending time with Max,” Mom jumped in, playing mediator. She looked innocent, sitting there in her robe and fuzzy slippers, but I knew this crazy idea had to be hers.
Fact: Having one shrink parent sucks. Two shrink parents? Twice the suckage.
I ran my hand through my hair. “Max is okay, I guess.” I rolled my eyes. “For a five-year-old.” What did she expect? Just because he was in my guppy swim class didn’t make us Vegas road trip buddies.
“Slade, you just have to go to the interview,” Mom said. She blinked her eyes really fast, which freaked me out because I hated it when she cried. “Just go and see what happens. If you don’t get hired—”
“Then he’ll find another job, or forfeit his allowance for the summer,” Dad said. “And give up driving his car.”
“What?” I jerked so violently that coffee spilled out of my mug. Dad glared at me. He bought stupidly expensive coffee beans from some local roaster and acted like the stuff was liquid gold. One time I’d started the coffeemaker and forgot to stick the pot under the filter. Coffee had spilled everywhere and Dad had reacted like I’d kicked a puppy or something.
“Slade, it’s time for you to start living up to your potential.”
Not again. If my dad came with a mute button, I’d press it.
Mom cleared her throat. “I don’t think we need to have this conversation right now, Mike.”
Dad glared at her. “Karen, we talked about this.”
“I know, I know.” She sighed. “Which is why he has the interview today.”
“That you set up,” Dad snapped. “He didn’t even do that part on his own.”
“Sitting right here,” I chimed in. “Hearing every word.”
They both gaped at me, like they’d forgotten I was there. I sighed and took a long drink of the liquid gold, preparing my argument.
“I’m completely unqualified,” I said. “I’ve never babysat. I can handle little kids in small doses. But all day? With the crying and whining and peeing their pants?” I shook my head and tried to look disappointed in myself. “It’s just not a good fit. How ’bout I apply at Victoria’s Secret?”