HEY GUYS! This is my NaNoWriMo story for this year! I hope you guys remember Brand New World, which I wrote for this contest last year. Hoping FoN can get the same amount of love. Happy reading!
…
APRIL
I never get to play exciting songs in the lounge, but at least it works towards paying the bills.
At the moment, I'm practically falling asleep as I play my own rendition of Moon River, which is a popular request among these types of people. An older crowd with refined taste, a proclivity for soft, lilting tones with sweet melodies that they're familiar with. Some nights, I get to play jazzier, quicker tunes, and others I play songs even slower. At least I can hum along to Moon River under the notes and entertain myself to a certain degree.
What comes along with the job is the perk of being able to riff and improvise - within reason, that is. There's no one standing over my shoulder in the manner of my old lesson teacher and telling me not to move so much or sing along. No, now I get paid to get lost in the music and act as the soft backdrop for a magical evening to many. It's a privilege, really. Just sometimes, a very sleepy one.
As Moon River ends and I begin a gentle version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I smile to myself and give each note the amount of attention it deserves. This was the first full song I learned when I was five years old, and the one I performed during my very first recital. The only recital that both my mother and father were present for - the only one my mother ever witnessed. And even then, she had tubes in her nose and an oxygen tank alongside her - I hadn't noticed those things, though. I was young and incredibly proud that I had their eyes, just me. None of my sisters were allowed to come because it was my day. No matter how many times I play this song or how many different ways, that memory always floats to the surface of my consciousness. I don't think I'd play the piano quite the way I do without it.
Demure applause sound throughout the dining hall as I finish the final notes, and I smile at the keys instead of looking up and making eye contact with anyone in particular. It's a strange, symbiotic relationship that myself and the audience have. They aren't here for me, they're here to eat, and most of them probably don't consciously realize the piano music slipping through the air. They're here to eat, to socialize with friends, and I don't exist in their realm. That's perfectly fine with me - that's a big part of why I like this job so much. I'm allowed to be content in the soft bubble I create for myself and I've gotten good at blending in with the atmosphere. Only on rare occasions do patrons come up after they've eaten to thank me for the music. I don't accept tips - I'm paid an hourly rate - so it's just an added cordiality that I hold close for hours after.
It's much different than the bar where I find myself after hours. The Whistler, which hosts live music seven nights a week. I always sign up for as many slots that are allowed - three per week. Sometimes I can get more if business is slow, or if I'm too busy at the Grand Luxe playing piano then I don't make it in at all. But that's rare - singing is my passion; it's what I love to do and I'd walk through fire to get to that bar. Someday, someone from a record label will be sitting in the audience and they'll snatch me up. At least, that's always what the owner, Owen, always says.
My dad doesn't know that I play the piano to make a living, and barely a living at that. He thinks I'm still looking for a job in the nursing field, which is what I went to school for. Not willingly, either. He told me, fresh out of high school, that he'd only pay for my college education if I majored in nursing. Assuming I'd get used to it and eventually come to enjoy it, I agreed. But assimilation never happened and I never got an ounce of gratification from the avenue I was forced to take. I graduated with honors, it's not that I wasn't good, but it's not something I want to do during the day, no less the rest of my life. So, needless to say, he has no idea what I've been up to and I don't plan on telling him anytime soon.
I don't usually book myself a double - meaning going from the Grand Luxe to The Whistler in one night, but tonight there was no other choice. It was either take this slot or take none at all, and that was something I wasn't willing to do. I hadn't been able to get in earlier this week, and there's an itch in the pit of my chest that can only be scratched by standing on that stage with everyone's eyes on me. That's my favorite place to be, and I'm dying to get there.
"Thanks for your work tonight, April," the restaurant manager says as I clock out and gather my things. "It was wonderful."
"No problem, Rich," I say, waving over my shoulder as I push through the revolving doors. "I'll see you tomorrow night for another exciting round of smooth jazz."
I hear his laugh before I'm out on the street and smile to myself, knowing we share the same thoughts and sense of humor about the audience the restaurant usually attracts. I don't have to think about that anymore tonight, though, because it's time to switch to the next mindset. I hurry to The Whistler so I have time to change out of my stuffy uniform and into something flashier - leather leggings and a thin, sparkly shirt with a deep V. My hair is still up in a tight bun as I shove my feet into the high heels I brought, and as I stand in front of the mirror to give myself a once-over, I pull the elastic out and watch it tumble around my shoulders in loose waves.
"That's more like it," I say to myself, increasing the volume by fluffing the sides. I do some vocal warm-ups while watching my reflection, only to be interrupted by the bathroom door coming open and Stephanie coming in.
"What are you doing in here?" she asks, pulling up her bra strap that's fallen down her shoulder. "The dressing room has empty chairs. We were all wondering where you were."
"I just came from work," I say. "I didn't want everyone to see me in that suit."
"Oh, god, the suit," she says, chuckling. "Okay, I get it. They'll be excited you're here. What are you gonna bless us with?"
"I don't know," I say, leaning forward to apply a dark red lip. "I was thinking maybe Praying?"
"Yes, please," she says. "A definite yes. You haven't done that one here yet, have you?"
"Nope," I say, blinking on my mascara. "I just got it down the other day for you in the living room." She laughs. "So, you're sure it's good enough?"
"Bitch, it's amazing and you know it. Don't be coy."
"I'm serious," I say, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "I get nervous with new songs. You know that."
"I know. I swear, it's awesome. But as good as my rendition of Best Thing I Never Had that you missed? Well, that's up for debate."
"Shit, I'm sorry," I say. "I literally just got off."
She gives me a smile that lets me know all is forgiven and she understands. "I'm kidding. It's fine. I know you're a working woman."
I stand up straight and turn around to give her a hug, squeezing her shoulders for a beat too long because the contact feels good after a long day of not seeing her. Steph and I live together and we're best friends - fighting the stereotype that best friends should never be roommates. Nothing has ever gone wrong between us, and she's my other half as I am for her. We always say that we don't need men in our lives because of how important we are to one another, and if we're both single by 35, we're going to adopt children and raise a badass family together. We're that close.
"You don't have to stay for my set if you wanna get home," I say. "I don't mind. It's only fair since I missed yours."
"I'm not missing Praying," she says, raising her eyebrows. "You're fucking crazy. Just throw me a bone and toss a little Memory in there, too."
"Shut up," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'm not singing anything from Cats. I won't do it."
"Come on! No one knows Cats anymore. It's a great song. They'll just think it's a jam."
"They will not. It's depressing as all hell and you know it. Pick another one - literally anything else, and I'll sing it. I'll even throw you a dedication."
"Ugh, the charity," Steph jokes, and I elbow her in the side. "Alright. Tears in Heaven, then."
"You want the audience to cry?"
"Hell yes."
"April, you're on in 5!" a voice shouts from the hall.
"Shit," I say, dusting a bit of blush on the apples of my cheeks. "How do I look? Be honest."
"10 out of 10. If I were into girls, I'd have you up against that wall."
"I hate you so much," I say, giggling as we walk out of the bathroom together, arms linked. She sits on her usual stool backstage while I get a drink of water, listening to Owen introduce me from the middle of the stage.
"You all know her. She's a familiar face with no need for introduction! Please welcome our very own April Skye!"
With confidence that comes with practice, I strut onto the stage and smile into the lights, hoping to make eye contact with a few audience members though I can't see them very well. "Hi, everybody," I say, waving my fingers a bit. "Thanks for having me. I'm gonna sing a new song for you tonight that no one's heard yet. Well, no one but my showerhead and my best friend, that is. This is Praying, originally sung by Kesha. But tonight it's sung by… me." I smile and nod towards the sound guy, who turns on the track at just the volume I need it. I sway back and forth, finding my groove as the notes of the piano come through. "You almost had me fooled. Told me that I was nothin' without you. Oh, and after everything you've done… I can thank you for how strong I have become."
It's not often I'm cognizant of what's going on around me while singing for a crowd. I lose myself in the notes, the lyrics, everything about performing. I get lost in my head as I present this new song, and the whole room is enraptured because of what I'm able to do. It's a thrill like no other, knowing I can captivate them in such a way.
I come back to my consciousness for the big hit, though, because the song is emotional and I want to put every ounce of myself in the highest note. "Sometimes, I pray for you and I… someday, maybe you'll see the light. Some say, in life you're gonna get what you give, but some things only God can forgive...!" The whistle tone that follows earns me uproarious applause and pride swells in my chest from how easily I'm able to reach it, smiling the whole way. I grip the mic and close my eyes, letting it linger as everyone cheers, and end the song with high energy still circling the room.
"Thank you," I say once I'm done. "I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to just jump into my next one here. It's a softer ballad, it's called Tears in Heaven, originally by Eric Clapton. We're gonna bring it down a notch, I think. This one's for you, Stephy." I flash my best friend a gentle smile and the track comes on; I swallow to bring myself back to center and take a deep breath before beginning. "Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven? Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven? I must be strong and carry on, 'cause I know I don't belong here in heaven."
The crowd quiets for this one, being that it's sad and the notes put across a somber vibe. No one rushes to their feet, but if I'm not mistaken I hear a few sniffles in the crowd when I finish.
"Thank you," I say. "I have just one more. We can lighten the mood a little, how does that sound? My last song is called Human by Christina Perri. I think you guys will like this one." It doesn't take me long to prepare this time, given that Human is a selection I commonly choose. It's an old favorite and one I can sing well. "I can hold my breath. I can bite my tongue. I can stay awake for days, if that's what you want. Be your number one."
When I hit the high notes, people cheer and I once again can't help my grin. I sing close to the mic but not too close, finishing strong with emotion coursing through my veins as I exit the stage.
"You killed it!" Steph says, giving me a big hug. "Sounded even better than the living room. People were cheering so loud!"
"I heard, oh my god," I say, still a little breathless. "That high note. How was it?"
"Like Fergie and Jesus," she says, then we both crack up while heading out of the backstage area and towards the bar.
"Amazing as usual, April Skye," Owen says, using my stage name with a wink. April Skye Kepner is my legal name, but I hate the simple way 'April Kepner' sounds. It doesn't have that star quality I know I need, and 'April Skye' does. Steph always teases me that it sounds like a stripper name, but I argue back that at least it's not boring like 'Stephanie Edwards.'
"Thank you," I say, tone lilting. "Can I get a gin and tonic from you, sir?"
"Anything for the star," he says, turning around to make the drink.
I've just opened my mouth to make a comment to Steph when I feel someone touch my arm. "Excuse me," a voice says, and I turn around to see an older man I don't recognize.
"Hi…" I say, feeling Steph poke me subtly in the lower back. I know it's a lofty dream, but every time I get done with a set I always picture some record company hotshot seeking me out to scout me. Saying they need my voice on an album right this minute and they want nothing more than to whisk me to Hollywood. It's a little stupid, but it's not like I go around telling people. Only Steph knows.
"I saw you sing," he says, nodding towards the stage. "You were pretty awesome."
"Uh-huh…" I trail off. "Thanks."
"My name's Robert," he says, leaning on the bar and making heavy eye contact. "And you'd be April Skye."
I furrow my eyebrows a bit, realizing, unfortunately, that he isn't a scout. He's just a guy trying to get my number, which isn't a novel situation. In fact, quite the opposite. "Sorry, not interested," I say, already turning back around to face Steph.
"I didn't ask you anything yet," he says indignantly.
"Sorry, not interested," I repeat in the same tone, widening my eyes towards my friend.
"Bitch," he mutters, and I hear him get up without turning to look.
I let out a sigh after Owen sets my drink down, watching his eyes trail the guy who had bothered me. "Need me to kick him out?" he asks.
I nurse the drink and shake my head, watching him maneuver through the crowd with his back towards us. "I already chopped his balls off," I say. "No need to make it worse."
…
When Steph and I get home, I notice a piece of paper taped to the door that wasn't there this morning. "What the hell…" I murmur, pulling it off to take a closer look. It's a notice about how our rent is going to increase in the following month along with our utilities, which puts the lump sum closer to $200 higher.
"Fuck," Steph says, reading over my shoulder as we walk inside. My stomach sinks and I scratch my forehead nervously after setting the note down. I can barely make rent as it is; every month is a stretch and during really hard times, Steph has had to cover me until I can get the money. The Grand Luxe doesn't pay very well, and The Whistler doesn't pay at all. "April, you okay?" she asks, sounding worried. Probably worried that she's going to have to save my ass, though I would never ask her to do that.
"I - uh - yeah," I stammer. "I'm fine. Just… I didn't expect that."
"Yeah, I know," she says. "It sucks. But we're gonna be okay, right?"
"Yeah," I say, though there's not much conviction behind my words and I'm painfully aware of that. I think of the checks from The Grand Luxe that pale in comparison to what I need and if I keep going like this, I'll get evicted. I'll have to move back home and work at the hospital, which is not something I'm willing to do. I love my dad, but the idea of living under his roof again is not a pleasant one. I've gotten too used to piloting my own life.
"Maybe we can contest it," Steph suggests. "They sprung it on us. It's not fair. I… I can get you, the first month, if you need me to."
"No," I say firmly. "I'm gonna figure something out. I just need time. By tomorrow, I'll have it figured out."
"April, you don't need to figure it out by tomorrow. You have the rest of the month."
"It'll be by tomorrow," I say, walking towards my room.
"You're not gonna go on the dark web and sell an organ, are you?" she asks. I know she's joking, but there's something in her eyes that isn't quite laughing.
"No," I say, scoffing. "Trust me. I always find a way."
"Alright," she responds cautiously. "Just please wake up tomorrow with both kidneys."
I chuckle as I shut the door to my room, then sit down at my desk without bothering to change out of my bar clothes. I draw one knee up and turn on my laptop, opening Indeed to search nearby job listings. It's clear I won't make it with just one income; I need to find a supplement. My resume is decently up-to-date, so I upload it and search around, though I'm not quite sure what to look for. I have a degree in nursing, sure, but I'm not about to work at a hospital. It would take up too much time and I'm not willing to sacrifice my happiness for that.
I try to think of another pathway, and click through what feels like hundreds of pages until I come across childcare listings. It's not something that's ever crossed my mind - I wasn't much of a babysitter in high school, I was too involved with the drama club to have time for that. But nannying jobs apparently pay well and they have stable, predictable hours. There's nothing wrong with trying.
I scroll through listings that involve taking care of multiples, long days with young babies, and live-in situations. I see ads that want multilingual nannies to teach their children French, Spanish and Portuguese, and immediately click out of those. I see ads that require owning a car, which I don't, so that won't work. I'm qualified for plenty of things - with a nursing degree, it's hard not to be - but the problem is that I don't have experience with kids. My acting classes in high school might have to come in handy because I am desperate for this extra money.
But finally, after hours of searching, I find one that seems reasonable.
Lakeview family seeking a nurturing, kind, interactive and professional nanny ASAP for a 7-year-old girl. Understanding developmental milestones, willingness to explore parks and create age-appropriate activities is a must.
Requirements: CPR/First Aid certification, background check, 3 current and applicable work/character references.
$15-20/hour based on experience.
5 days a week - 3pm-7pm.
Please note, the child is in school 5 days a week, so there is flexibility during the day, but sometimes household help will be needed. Flexibility is key as parent sometimes travels for work and hours are apt to fluctuate (with advanced notice.)
Coursework or a degree in early childhood, child development, education, nursing or a related field preferred.
The last part is all I need to put a seal on whether or not I should apply. It sounds like there's only one child to a single mom, which means much less for me to worry about. I can handle one kid and one adult. It probably won't feel like a job at all, and because I have a degree in nursing, I'm guessing they'll pay me on the higher end of the spectrum. I can't think of anything better.
But I'm getting too far ahead. I allow myself to continue thinking these things only after I submit my resume, feeling proud that I was able to do so, and close my laptop with hopes that I'll hear from the mother by morning.
But unfortunately, I don't wake up to any phone calls or emails and my pride is somewhat wounded in the morning. I go about my normal routine, clean up the house while Steph is at her day job, eating lunch alone on the balcony. Pretty soon, it'll be too cold to do this, so I soak in the last bit of fall that I can.
Just as I'm finishing my egg salad sandwich, my phone rings with an unsaved number flashing across the top of the screen. "Shit," I say to myself, wiping my mouth and hurriedly setting my sandwich down. I clear my throat and bring the phone to my ear, saying, "Hello?" while trying not to sound like I was just chewing.
"Hi, I'm looking for an April Kepner?" a male voice says.
I frown, squinting into the distance while wondering who this could be. I don't give my number out - I don't allow men to call me unless it's Owen or Rich. "Uh… I'm April," I say slowly.
"Oh," he says. "Well, good. My name is Jackson Avery, I'm responding to the resume you sent to the nanny ad I posted."
My eyes widen as it dawns on me. I'd been assuming the parent was a single mom, but apparently I was wrong. "Oh, yeah!" I say. "Awesome."
"Yes," he says. "I'm very interested in what you have to offer. You're the only candidate with a background in nursing, and that's important. It'd be a relief to know my daughter is in capable hands."
"Of course."
"So, would you like to come by the house and meet her, have a chat? I don't want to call it an interview, but we could see if you're a good fit."
"Oh," I say, surprised at how fast this is happening. "Sure, um… sure!"
"Great," he says. "How does this afternoon sound? She gets out of school at 3 and we're home by 3:30. I'd love for you to stop by."
"Definitely," I say.
"Alright," he agrees. "Let me give you my address."
…
As I'm leaving the house and plugging the address into Google maps, I realize I'm headed towards the wealthy part of Lakeview. When I get to their street, Surf Street, I'm overwhelmed by the size of the houses and how much they must cost. Coming from Uptown, this is an entirely different world.
I look for number 639 and stand outside the gate for a few moments after arriving, taking it all in. The house is built with greystone, more regal than anything I've ever seen. There's well-kept foliage in the front yard that I'm guessing is taken care of by a gardener; everything looks cohesive and gorgeous. I can't imagine living in a place like this. What do you have to do to afford a home so big and beautiful?
"You must be April," I hear, jumping because of the sudden voice. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
I look towards the open front door and see a man standing there - he has bronze skin, trimmed facial hair, and the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen. I'm overcome by all this. I don't know how to handle it. I'm in over my head and I haven't even stepped through the door yet. "Hi," I say, feet rooted in place.
"Come in," he says. "Please. We just sat down for a snack." I make my way up the steps and onto the porch where he's waiting. He extends a hand and I shake it while making eye contact, heart fluttering like a bird inside my chest. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jackson."
"April," I say, then shake my head. "But you just said that."
"It's alright," he says, leading me in. "Welcome to our home. I hope you didn't have any trouble finding us."
"No, it was fine."
"Good," he says, walking further inside. "The little angel is right in here."We come around the corner to the kitchen area, where a little girl with big, brown eyes is eating apples at a glass table. She has her legs tucked beneath her, wearing a black velvet dress with cap sleeves and white tights. Her hair is tied into a ponytail with a pink bead at the base and her fingernails are painted blue so perfectly they must be professionally done. "This is Athena, my daughter. Thena, this is April. She might be your new nanny."
"Hi, there," I say, smiling warmly.
She returns my smile and looks steadily at me, eyes twinkling. "Hi. I'm Athena Violet Avery and I'm 7 years old."
I laugh a little bit. "Well, aren't you cute," I say. "It's very nice to meet you."
"You, too," she says, and shakes my hand. I smile at the gesture and she stands up, her head reaching my ribcage. "How old are you?"
"I'm 24," I say. "Thank you for asking."
"I like that age," she says, grinning. "I like your hair, too. It's really red. I don't have hair that color, but I love my hair, too."
"Your hair is beautiful," I say genuinely. "I love the pink bead you have."
"My daddy put that in," she says. "Sometimes, he's good at doing my hair, but other times he's really not."
"That's how it goes with dads, I think," I say with a chuckle.
"You're wearing pretty makeup," she says sweetly. "I wish I could put on makeup like that." She bats her eyelashes at her father standing a few feet away. "Maybe April could teach me how, daddy."
"And maybe not," he says. "No makeup 'til you're 13." She pretends to pout, but the expression turns out cuter than she intended, I think. "Let me talk to April in private for a few minutes, little miss," he says. "Finish your apples."
I follow him into the next room that has a couch against the wall, and he invites me to sit after doing the same. "Your daughter is very sweet," I tell him.
He smiles and nods, but wears an expression in his eyes I can't quite get a hold on. "She's something," he says. "I think we might have something good here. Are you interested?"
I raise my eyebrows. I knew it was going well, but I hadn't expected a decision so quickly. I don't really know how these types of things work. "Oh," I say. "Wow. Yes, thank you!"
"Thank you," he says. "I'd love for you to start tomorrow. Athena attends Chicago City Day School, over on Hawthorne. Pickup is at 3 sharp, and she appreciates punctuality very much."
My thoughts are scattered everywhere and I don't know where to begin. I know I should have questions, but my mind has gone suddenly blank. "Um…" I say, blinking hard. "If you don't mind me asking, should I meet her mother, too? I know you're a single parent, but-"
"Her mother is dead," he says quickly, barely moving his lips. "She's been gone for a long time. So, please, don't worry about that."
"Oh," I say, a bit shocked. "Okay."
"I'll make a list of extracurriculars that Athena can choose from, then I hope I can depend on you to take her to such classes. Homework help would be appreciated, as well as reading practice each night. We've been doing it before bed, but it never turns out well. I don't want her to fall behind."
"She won't," I say. "We can work on all of that."
"Great," he says. "And you said you have childcare experience?"
"Um… no," I admit. "But I do have a degree in nursing."
"Right," he says. "Well, that works too." He flashes me a smile akin to his daughter's. "I'm looking forward to having your help, April."
…
"He was so hot," I say, lying flat on the couch while Steph makes dinner. We trade off on nights we're both home, and tonight she's making stir fry. "That's not why I took the job or anything. But he really, really was."
"What does he do?" she asks.
"I didn't ask," I say. "I forgot. I kept losing my train of thought."
"'Cause Daddy made you all hot and bothered?"
"Don't say that!" I laugh, cackling with my eyes closed. "You can't say that when he actually has a kid, then it's just gross."
"Fine," she says. "Well, I'm happy you got the job. I didn't plan on ever visiting you in your cardboard box under the bridge."
"Coldhearted," I say, sitting up. "You should've seen the little girl, though. She was adorable and so sweet." Steph nods, looking down at the pan full of rice and vegetables she's stirring. "What?" I say. "What's the lack of response?"
"It's great that she was cute and sweet, but you should be prepared what you're getting into," she says.
I groan and throw my head back. "I hate it when you get wise," I say.
"Listen," she says. "This girl lost her mother. You're not gonna go in there acting like substitute mommy, are you?"
"Geez, have a little faith," I say, glowering. "I lost my mom, too."
"I know," she says. "I just don't want you getting your hopes up that this is gonna be a picture-perfect scenario. Kids aren't like you see in the movies."
"I know, Steph," I say, miffed over her comment. It's not something we ever talk about, really, my late mom. I don't talk about it with anyone because it happened a long time ago and I don't let myself miss her. That doesn't mean it didn't happen, though. That doesn't mean I don't know how it feels. I know better than anyone.
I was confident about my first day until Steph said what she did, but I try to push those insecurities away as I stand and wait for my charge to get out of school. I look around at the other nannies and mothers, all dressed very posh, most of them on their phones. Some are talking to one another, socializing in circles I can't imagine myself fitting into. I look away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, and watch the door until the bell rings. When it finally does, I study the crowd of uniformed children until Athena comes into view, wearing a green plaid skirt, white knee socks, buckle shoes and a white blouse with a green sweater vest. "Athena!" I call over the numerous heads in front of me. "Athena Avery!"
She makes quick eye contact then darts away. She pushes through the crowd while gripping her backpack straps, stealing glances over her shoulder at me as I'm right on her tail. I can't run as fast as she can, though, without colliding with innocent bystanders and bulldozing small children.
"Athena!" I shout. "Remember me? It's April!" She picks up the pace until she reaches a brick wall and can't go any further. At this point, we're both out of breath and her chest is heaving, hands flatl behind her. "Why are you running?" I pant.
"Stranger danger! Stranger danger!" she shrieks. "She's trying to steal me! Help!"
I gawk at her, taken aback by what she's saying. "You know me!" I insist. "We met. I'm your nanny. Your dad hired me."
"Stranger danger! Stranger danger!"
I take her hand. "Athena, it's-"
She screams at the top of her lungs, forcing me to be quiet and drop her hand. She tries to run but ends up face-first into the stomach of a teacher who's come to see what all the fuss is about. "What is going on here?" she demands.
"She's trying to steal me, Miss Finch, she's trying to steal me away! Where's my daddy?"
"I'm not trying to do anything like that!" I say. "I'm her nanny. I was just hired yesterday. We met yesterday, too, but I guess she doesn't remember." I let out a long sigh. "My name is April Kepner. I swear to god, I was hired as her nanny."
Athena presses her face further into the teacher's cardigan and away from me. The teacher gives me a knowing look, then pats Athena's back. "Why don't we go call your dad and figure all this out?" she suggests.
With Jackson on the phone in the principal's office, Athena and I are sitting next to each other on hard, plastic chairs. She's swinging her legs and sucking on a blue lollipop that's turning her lips the same color. She hums a tune to herself, completely immersed in her own world as I try to keep my frustration in check. I can't believe she made me look like a kidnapper on my first day.
"Athena," Miss Finch says. "Your dad wants to talk to you."
She hops up from the chair, lollipop in tow, and walks behind the secretary's desk. She spends a good amount of time back there, and when she comes out she's dragging her feet and looking at me with embers in her eyes. "We have to go home, he said," she growls.
I stand up and look to Miss Finch, who's hanging up the phone. "We know you're her nanny," she says. "Mr. Avery confirmed it. Athena…" She catches the young girl's attention. "Do not pull a stunt like this again. It's very dangerous to cry wolf. How will we know when to really believe you?"
"I don't care," she says, turning her head so her voluminous hair bounces in the teacher's face.
"Hey, no need to be mean to her," I say.
"I want to go home now," she demands, and I obediently follow her orders.
We walk out of the school with her backpack looped over one of my shoulders as she stays a few paces ahead of me. "You took your hair out of the ponytail," I notice.
"I didn't like the pink bead," she says. "Where's your car?"
"No car," I say. "We're walking. It's just a short trip."
She turns and looks at me wearing an expression much older than her seven years. "You don't even have a car?" she exclaims. "Are you poor?"
"I don't have a car because I don't need one," I say. "I take public transportation or I walk. It's good for you. It helps you become more familiar with the city."
"I don't care about this dirty city," she says. "And I don't wanna walk."
"I'm sorry, but you don't have much choice," I say.
"After today, I'm not walking again!" she shouts, stomping her foot.
"We'll see."
The whole way home, I wonder if I should regret my decision about taking this job. This was not what I signed up for - right now, I feel more like a doormat mixed with a correctional officer rather than a nanny. Steph was right, though I don't plan on giving her that satisfaction. I don't know if the loss of her mother is what made Athena the way she is, though. To me, it seems like Jackson gives in to her every whim. I'd like to claim that trend stops with me, but I don't know how to make that happen.
"I want a snack," she says right when we walk through the front door. The alarm sounds - there's a key code to shut it off, but Athena gives me no time to do so before getting angry. "That's so loud! Make it stop!"
"I'm getting there," I say, trying to remember the number order.
"You're so slow. It's 9-7-1-1. My birthday. Duh."
"Sorry."
"I want my snack now."
Taking a deep breath, I make my way into the house towards the snack cupboard. Before I can ask her what she wants, she zips past me and pulls out a packet of fruit snacks, sitting down on the couch with them shortly after. "I don't know if you're supposed to be eating those," I say. "They're not a very healthy choice. Especially not on the couch."
"My daddy doesn't care," she says. "Plus I'm the boss. You're my nanny."
"You are not the boss," I say.
"Who says?" she counters. "This is my house where I live. Not yours."
I open my mouth to refute her, then realize I'm arguing with a seven-year-old. I refuse to stoop to that level, so I keep my mouth shut. I can redirect the conversation elsewhere because I'm the adult. I can do this. I'm smart and capable. "Your dad was telling me that we should choose some extracurriculars for you," I say, padding into the living room where Athena still sits. "What do you think about that?"
"Boring," she says. "I don't like doing after school stuff with other kids. They're all dumb babies."
"Not everyone is a dumb baby," I say.
"You are," she volleys, shooting me a nasty expression. "I don't even like your hair. I lied."
"That's fine," I say. "You don't have to like it. But your dad really did want us to pick some activities, so I think that's what we should do."
"You do it," she says.
"If I pick them for you, will you go?"
"No."
I let out a long sigh of defeat and stop talking, giving in to sit there and listen to the silence in the room. She doesn't add anything to it either, and after a while she turns the TV on and it stays on until the front door comes open a few hours later. "I'm home!" Jackson calls. He walks through the front entrance and gives me a cordial smile, then looks to his daughter. "Hey. Turn that TV off. Can I get a 'hi, daddy'?"
"Hi, daddy," she says, eyes glued to the TV screen.
"Athena Violet," he says, voice turning stern. "Get that TV off right now. We need to talk."
"But Daddy…" she whines.
"Now." I feel stuck between them, like a fixture in the house instead of another person. I want to get out of there, but I think I should talk to Jackson as well. "What you did to April today was unacceptable. And watching TV after school? You know better."
"I really didn't know who she was," she tries. "It was stranger danger."
"Uh-uh," he says. "No way. I've about had it up to here with your behavior, young lady," he says, motioning with a flat hand just above his head. "It won't work anymore. We've been through too many nannies for me to fall for this again. Your bad attitude isn't gonna fly anymore and things around here are gonna change. You are not the boss, Athena."
She starts to cry, face crumpling as she stands and slams the remote down on the couch cushions. "I hate you!" she shrills. "It's your fault you get stupid, dumb nannies!"
"Up to your room, now," he says, pointing. "Now." With one last shriek, she stomps out of the room and up the stairs, theatrics included. For a long moment, Jackson and I are left in tired silence until he breaks it with a sigh. "I'm sorry about that," he says. "And about everything. I should've warned you, I realize. But I just thought things would be different. I knew she was putting on a show yesterday, but I didn't know how much. I had no idea she had a trick like 'stranger danger' up her sleeve. That's new." He rubs his temples. "It'll get better. I promise, she's a good kid. She just has her issues, as we all do." I nod, staring at him. He's the epitome of exhaustion, standing there in work clothes while looking slumped and lost. I probably look the same, though I did just spend the last two hours zoned out with the TV. At the moment, he definitely has it worse. "She will try to pull the wool over your eyes, but I'll be more clear on rules. What she is and isn't allowed to do. Don't be afraid to be firm." He meets my gaze. "But if this is too much, I understand."
I stand up and try to bolster myself with confidence. I'm not sure how well it works - maybe not at all. But I can pretend. "No, I can do it," I say.
"Okay," he says, smiling softly as we make our way towards the door. "I promise, tomorrow will be kinder."
"There won't be a tomorrow!" Athena shouts from the top of the stairs.
Jackson closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to look right into mine. An electric shock jolts through me because of it, but I try not to let it show. "Yes, there will," he assures me. "And it will be kinder."
