"Dude, a babysitter! I'm fifteen! I don't need a babysitter! They're only going to be gone for a week and a half!"
"A WHAT?"
"A babysitter." Randy, a tall, muscular, not-quite-freshman-anymore was on the phone. He had made a three-way call the second he found out that his parents were leaving town for 11 days. And hiring a babysitter to make sure he didn't 'exercise inappropriate behavior,' as they put it.
"That blows, man," his friend David said.
"Yeah," agreed John, another friend, "I was counting on a party!"
"The worst part is that they're get some old woman. I just know it, man." Then, despite that it was only a phone connection, they all heard it. Mrs. Elaine Orton. Her signature screech of, "RANDALL!" practically rattled their windows.
"Looks like you've gotta go," David sighed.
"Yeah, have fun hearing epic tales of the terror of the Nazis."
"Dude, shut up!" Randy growled, hanging up the phone. "Yeah, Mom!" he yelled down the stairs.
"THE BABYSITTER IS HERE!"
"Dude, I'm right here. I can hear you."
"Randy, I'm NOT a dude, I'm your MOTHER," she turned to a girl in the hallway who looked about seventeen. "This is Randy."
"Uh," he said awkwardly, "Are you the newspaper girl? Mom, where's the babysitter? Isn't she ancient?"
"The babysitter is right here," the girl said, "And is more ancient than, well, you. So there you go."
"Oh."
"INTRODUCE YOURSELF, RANDALL!"
"I'm Randall- I mean Randy."
"Right, Chris."
"No, it's Randy."
"MY name is Chris. It's short for Christina."
"Oh, bye, Mom! Weren't you leaving? Yeah, so bye, have fun. Love you, bye!"
"Don't be so sad, Randy. Here, Christina," she said, handing Chris a large stack of papers, "This is the important information you might need. I'm not sure if it's enough . . . We've never left him alone overnight before and . . ." Randy's father walked up. He was a tall man wearing a cowboy hat with an obnoxious accent.
"Randy'll be fiiiine, Elaine, don't worry ya'll's little heads over 'im, he's a real good little boy."
"Dad, I'm not a little boy."
"Well, we're going over yonder to the car right about now, and then we'll be on our way to the big ol' boat." Randy's parents kissed him on the cheek and walked out to their car, waving one last time before tearfully taking off for their cruise. It was a sad day for the parents of Randy Orton. Their only son, left all alone, but for a babysitter. How he'd grown up!
"Okay, Randy, your parents want you to . . . Wow. They want you to bow before me and do everything I say without question!"
"What?" Randy asked. He had been too busy taking in her not-ancient-semi-older-woman-totally-hot-appearance to realize that she hadn't been implying something sexual. Chris looked at him with an amused look on her face. Randy looked her over. She was tall, about 5"10, just the way he liked them, with long brown hair that was twisted into a sophisticated knot. Her large eyes betrayed everything she thought and were a trusting dark brown.
"Um, nothing, I was just making a joke about this huge stack of 'vital information' that your mother decided to leave me. She wants us to eat some kind of pasta for dinner and then you're supposed to show me what room I'm assigned to. I wouldn't mind a tour either."
Stay in my room! Randy shook himself out of his mini daze and took Chris on the grand tour. But not before noticing that she had been checking him out too. This could only mean one thing. Trouble.