Playing the Player(4)

Finally she spoke. “All right. I’ll make you a deal, Slade. I still want you to go to the interview. If Mrs. Gonzales doesn’t offer you the job, then you can apply for any job you want.” She frowned at me. “Except Victoria’s Secret.”

I glanced at Dad, who shrugged. “I’d take the deal if I were you.”

I nodded at Mom. “Deal.”

My parents had zero faith in me, but they showed it in different ways. Dad attacked me head on. Bs should be As. Cs were unacceptable, even though I got them all the time. Making state in swimming was good, but why didn’t I medal?

Mom was more subtle. “That’s great you got a B minus on that essay. But if you’d worked a little harder, it would’ve been an A. And by the way, how many laps did you swim today?”

Honestly, they’d both be shocked if I got a job offer. On one hand, I’d like to shock them.

On the other hand, actually getting the job sounded like a nightmare come true.



Mrs. Gonzales shoved a cookie platter under my nose. I took one with brown sugar and cinnamon. Snicker strudels? No, that wasn’t right. I took a bite. Whatever it was, I liked it.

“Slade, I’m so glad you’re interested in this job. Max just adores you.”

Max played on the floor with his mountain of rubber dinosaurs. Judging from his suspicious expression, he didn’t adore me. I grinned at him, but he focused his attention back on his T. rex battle.

Mrs. G. poured me a glass of iced tea. I started to drink it then noticed something weird inside the ice cubes. “Uh,” I held out the glass. “I think maybe there’s mold or something in the ice.”

She smiled. “It’s crushed mint leaf. For flavor.”

Wow. How did chicks come up with stuff like this? I took a sip. Not as good as Dad’s coffee, but not horrible.

“So, the job is Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays, about nine hours a day, depending on our schedules,” said Mrs. G. “The kids go to church day camp on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you’ll have those days off. We’ll cover all the expenses of course, for outings and lunches, etc. The pay is ten dollars per hour.”

Two hundred seventy bucks a week just to hang out with a little kid? He couldn’t be that much trouble.

“That sounds good,” I said, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth.

Mrs. G. smiled. “Your application was great, Slade. But can you answer a few more questions for me?”

“Sure.” I reached for another cookie. They were way better than my mom’s nasty granola bars, which I only ate so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings.

I’d filled the application with stuff I knew Mrs. G. wanted to hear. Like how much I loved kids (which was an exaggeration) and how I was CPR certified (which was true). And then I added a killer line about wanting a job that would be more meaningful than just working in the mall. Damn, I was good.

“What would you do if Max started having a tantrum? Screaming and causing a scene in public?”

I glanced at Max, who frowned at his mom. “Does he do that?”

“Just tell me what you’d do.”

Suddenly the T. rex was tossing toy raptors across the room.

“Huh.” Offering the kid a beer to chill him out probably wasn’t the best answer. “Give him a cookie?” I took another bite. “They’re awesome.”

Max and the T. rex stopped attacking the smaller dinosaurs.

Mrs. G. frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t be my first choice. Maybe you could ask him to use his words.”

“Um, isn’t he already using his words? If he’s screaming and stuff?”

Mrs. G. gave me one of those fake mom smiles, the ones where you know they’re thinking all kinds of un-mom-like stuff, but won’t say it out loud.

One point to Mrs. G.

“Next question.” She brushed imaginary crumbs off her lap. “What if the house catches on fire?”

Did Mom tell her I was a total moron? “Get Max outside and call 911 from my cell.”

One point to me.

“All right, Slade. This one’s important. Let’s say you and the other nanny get distracted and the kids—”

“Wait, there’s another nanny? And did you say kids, plural?”

She raised an eyebrow, like she was surprised I knew the word plural. What had my mom said about me, anyway?

“Yes. You’ll be nannying with a…partner. She’s very experienced. Very responsible. She’ll be watching Max’s best friend, Gillian.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Gillian’s the one who might be throwing tantrums, not Max.”

“Yay! Gillian!” Max’s T. rex did a somersault in the air.

Another nanny? A girl, obviously, since who ever heard of a guy nanny, besides my mom and Mrs. G. Maybe she’d be hot. If not hot, at least cute. That would definitely make this babysitting gig more interesting. Depending on how well we hit it off—

“Slade? Did you hear the question?”

I blinked, refocusing on Mrs. G. “Sorry, I got distracted. Could you repeat the question?” I gave her my most sincere apology face, the one that worked on all my teachers when I zoned out in class.

Mrs. G. passed me the cookie plate again. “So the question is,” she continued, “if you and the other nanny were busy and then you noticed the kids were missing, what would you do?”