Playing the Player by Lisa Brown Roberts
For party boys and good girls everywhere. May you dare to look below the surface…
Chapter One
Trina
Friday, May 31
“Trina, just think about it,” said Mrs. Gonzalez. “You’ll still be the supervising nanny for the kids. Slade will be your…apprentice nanny.”
I swallowed quickly, almost choking on the white chocolate cookie crumbs. I hardly ever disagreed with adults, but we were talking serious responsibilities: taking care of two vulnerable five-year-olds for the summer. No way should Slade Edmunds be entrusted with their care. I had to stand my ground.
I took a breath then spoke. “But if it’s like that apprentice TV show, I get to fire him if he doesn’t work out, right?”
Dr. Edmunds studied me. She was the apprentice nanny’s mom, and a psychiatrist. No doubt she was analyzing me, trying to figure out how to sway me over to her side.
“Trina,” Dr. Edmunds said, “I understand if you have a few reservations about working with my son. I know Slade has…um…a…go-with-the-flow personality.”
I snorted. Go with the flow? That was the understatement of the century. Slade was the original slacker, right down to his pathetic fashion sense, living in old T-shirts, faded shorts, and flip-flops. He even tied back his shoulder-length hair with a shoelace, which most girls thought was all grungy sexy.
Not that his wardrobe or messy hair hindered his social life. He was one of the most popular guys in school. Everyone loved him. Jocks, stoners, honor kids, geeks, GSA, NRA. Teachers, too, even when he totally screwed off in class. They fell for some sort of charm that everyone saw.
Everyone but me.
“Trina, sweetheart, let’s discuss this rationally.” Mrs. Forrester poured me a glass of iced tea, with mint leaves frozen in the ice cubes.
Curse these desperate housewives and their Food Network tactics.
It was hard to resist Mrs. Forrester. I’d babysat her daughter, Gillian, since she was two years old. Gillian was a total spaz, but I loved her. I was looking forward to nannying her and her preschool BFF Max Gonzalez, even though they were nothing alike.
He’s all, “Ew! Gross. I hate dirt. I hate swinging. I’m dizzy. Let’s go home.” And she’s all, “Woo hoo! Let’s go down the slide backward and chase the geese into the pond and wear our lunch boxes on our heads!” Maybe it was true about opposites attracting, at least in preschool.
“I’m prepared to offer you an increase in your salary if you’ll go along with this idea, Trina.” Dr. Edmunds’s gray eyes locked onto mine.
Wait, what? Extra salary?
She kept her gaze focused on me, and it occurred to me that Slade must have gotten his legendary topaz eyes from his dad. Apparently when Slade activated their golden power, half the girls in my school willingly peeled off their panties. It would take a lot more than gorgeous eyes to get me out of my underwear.
But what had his mom just said about money? As in, a raise? I reached for a snicker doodle. These moms could pry state secrets out of James Bond with their awesome cookies.
Dr. Edmunds massaged her forehead. She suddenly didn’t seem as intimidating as when I’d first met her. The other moms watched her sympathetically, and I felt a twinge of guilt for asking if I could fire Slade if he didn’t work out.
“So maybe you can explain exactly what you want me to do,” I said, as the sugar melted my resolve.
Dr. Edmunds’s face lit up, and I caught an echo of the infamous Slade grin. His grin had magically persuasive properties, too, from what I’d observed when he talked his way out of detentions.
She cleared her throat and glanced at the other moms, who nodded encouragingly.
“Here’s the deal, Trina. Slade needs to learn some responsibility. And I know he’s capable of it, even though his father says… Oh, never mind. Anyway, I know how responsible you are. You’re always on the honor roll, and Mrs. Forrester raves about your babysitting skills, and didn’t you organize that Burger Barn boycott last year?” She paused to take a breath. “Which I supported, by the way.”
“Slade’s great with kids,” Mrs. Gonzalez piped up. “Max is taking swim lessons from him at the rec center, so I’ve seen him in action.”
I tried not to snort again. Okay, so it just so happens that I don’t know how to swim (yet), but that’s a whole other story. But seriously? Paddling around with kids in the shallow end and blowing bubbles? How did that compare to having complete responsibility for children all day? Including potential potty emergencies?
“Just think how much easier it will be for you, having someone to help wrangle the kids,” insisted Gillian’s mom.
Right. Like Slade was going to be Super Nanny. I fiddled with my binder and the sharp plastic corner dug into my leg. I remembered how I’d been stuck next to Slade during bio class last year.
“What is in that thing?” he’d asked, staring at my binder like it was a pile of toxic waste.
“Only my entire life,” I’d told him. “Homework, college apps, articles on time management, recipes, medical records—”
“You keep your medical records in there?” He’d stared at me in mock horror with those hypnotic topaz eyes, but I was unmoved.