Playing the Player(3)

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?”

Mom narrowed her eyes. “Hilarious, Slade.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You’re going to this interview.”

“For once, I agree with Slade.” Dad crossed the kitchen and refilled his mug.

“Mike! What are you talking about?” Mom stared at him like he’d turned into an alien.

Dad shrugged. “Slade’s right. He’s completely unqualified. I can’t figure out how you got Max’s mom to even consider—”

“We’re friends,” Mom interrupted. “Book club. Bunco parties.” She waved her hand dismissively. “She trusts me. I’ve told her all about Slade.”

Dad and I looked at each other, and I suspected we were thinking the same thing: If she really had told Max’s mom all about me, why would she give me an interview?

“Look,” I said. “I get why you guys want me to get a real job. You’ve never made me work, other than the toddler swim lessons and lifeguarding, which were my idea, by the way—”

“That’s what, a few hours a week?” Dad interrupted. “Since you’re only a substitute lifeguard this summer.”

I ignored him, focusing on Mom instead. “You gave me a car when I turned sixteen. You give me a decent allowance. You don’t—”

“Decent?” Dad interrupted. “Your allowance is more than I made while I worked my way through college.”

I rolled my eyes. “As I was saying, you don’t make me pay for my car insurance. Or gas for my car.” I sighed. “So I get it. But I’d really like to choose what jobs I apply for.”

Dad stroked his beard. “Karen, I believe our son is showing a modicum of sense. For once.”

Mom got all blinky-eyed again, then took a bite of her cereal and chewed for a long time.