So I decided to reupload FON! I haven't had much inspiration/motivation/time to write anything new lately, so this is what I have for you guys. This is an edited version, so you might notice some changes… guess you'll just have to reread and re-review to find out what's new!

If you see any mistakes, pretend you don't xo

Check out an extra bonus chapter at the end that wasn't there when you read this the first time…

Love yall so much!

…

APRIL

I don't get to play exciting songs in the lounge, but at least slow jams pay the bills.

At the moment, I'm practically falling asleep as I play a 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 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 and entertain myself to a certain degree.

What comes along with this job is the perk of being able to riff and improvise - within reason. No one stands over my shoulder in the manner of my old lesson teacher, telling me not to move so much or sing along. Now, I get paid to get lost in the music and act as the soft backdrop for a magical evening. 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 attention it deserves. This was the first full song I learned at five years old, and the one I performed during my first recital. The 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, though. I was young and just incredibly proud to have their eyes. No matter how many times I play this song or in how many different ways, that memory always floats to the surface. 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; most of them probably don't consciously realize the piano music slipping through the air. They're here to socialize with friends and I don't exist in their realm. That's perfectly fine - 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, and I've gotten good at blending in. 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 go after my shift is over. The Whistler, which hosts live music seven nights a week. I always sign up for as many slots as are allowed - three per week. Sometimes, I get more if business is slow, but if I'm too busy playing piano then I don't make it in at all. That's rare, though - singing is my passion; 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 tells me.

I don't usually book myself a double - meaning going from Uncommon Ground to The Whistler in one night, but tonight there was no other choice. It was either take this slot or 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 onstage 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 great."

"No problem," I say, waving over my shoulder as I push through the revolving doors. "See you tomorrow for another exciting round of smooth jazz."

I hear his laugh before I'm out on the street and smile, 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 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.

"There," 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 my best friend, Steph, coming in.

"What are you doing?" she asks, pulling up her bra strap that's fallen down her shoulder. "The dressing room has empty chairs."

"Just came from work," I say. "Didn't want everyone to see me in the suit."

"Oh, god, not the suit," she says, chuckling. "Okay. They'll just be excited you're here. What are you gonna sing?"

"I don't know," I say, leaning forward to apply a dark red lip. "I was thinking maybe Praying?"

"Yes, please," she says. "You haven't done that one yet, have you?"

"Nope," I say, blinking on my mascara. "I just got it down the other day in the living room." She laughs. "You sure it's good enough?"

"It's amazing. Don't be coy."

"I'm serious," I say, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "It's a new song. I get weird."

"I know. But I swear, it's awesome. As good as my rendition of Best Thing I Never Had that you missed? Well, that's up for debate."

"God, 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 to give her a hug, squeezing her shoulders for a beat too long - the contact feels good after a long day. Steph and I live together; we fight 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, if you wanna get home," I say. "I don't mind. It's only fair since I missed your set."

"I'm not missing Praying," she says, raising her eyebrows. "You're crazy. Just throw me a bone and toss 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. 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?"

"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 from 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. Tonight, I'm gonna sing something new 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. 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 the new song; the whole room is enraptured from what I'm able to do. It's a thrill like no other, knowing I can captivate them like this.

I come back to consciousness for the big hit, though; 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, ending 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 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, Steph." 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; the song is 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 once I finish.

"Thank you," I say. "Just one more. We'll 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 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 in the living room. Everyone was 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, quoting a Will Ferrell movie, then we both crack up while heading out 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 the star quality I need, and 'April Skye' does. Steph always teases me that it sounds like a stripper name, but I argue that at least it's not boring like 'Steph Edwards.'

"Thank you," I say, tone lilting. "Can I get a gin and tonic from you, sir?"

"Anything for the star," he says, then turns around to make my drink.

…

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.

"What is it?" she asks.

I take a minute to read the scrap – it's typed and official-looking, which makes my stomach drop. As I read, I see that it's a notice alerting us that our rent will increase in the following month along with our utilities, which puts the lump sum closer to $200 higher than it is right now.

"Shit," Steph says, reading over my shoulder as we walk in. My stomach sinks further, 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 hard times, Steph has to cover me until I get the money. Uncommon Ground doesn't pay 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.

"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."

"Yeah," I say, though there's not much conviction behind my words and I'm painfully aware of it. I think of the checks from Uncommon Ground 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, 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'll figure something out. 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 tomorrow," I say, walking towards my room.

"You're not gonna go on the dark web and sell an organ, are you?" she asks. She's joking, but there's something in her eyes that isn't quite laughing.

"No," I say, scoffing. "But 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 bedroom, 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 the childcare listings. It's not something that's ever crossed my mind - I never babysat in high school, I was too involved with the drama club to have time. But nannying jobs apparently pay well and have stable, predictable hours.

As I read through them, it's hard to picture myself as a nanny. In the movies, nannies are always old women with a spark of something special that they bring to a child's life. I've never dealt with kids; I don't know the first thing about them. I might be a complete failure and make a fool out of myself. And for what? I shake my head and click out of the page, losing hope with that idea. I'm not a nanny. I'm not a caretaker. No one would hire me, anyway.

I keep looking, though. I scan the pages until my eyes burn, sifting through hundreds of retail jobs, secretaries, personal assistants and intake coordinators. I can't picture myself working behind a desk all day any more than I can picture myself being a nanny. At least, though, with kids, it would stimulate my brain. At least, it might be fun.

I find my way back to the childcare listings and try to put away my prior judgments. I need the money. I need to try something. This is not something I can be stubborn about.

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 away. I see ads that require owning a car, which I don't. I'm qualified for plenty of things - with a nursing degree, it's hard not to be - but the problem is the lack of experience. My acting classes from high school might come in handy, because I'm too desperate for this money to let one of these opportunities pass me up.

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 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 during the week, so there is flexibility during the day, but household help is needed. Flexibility is key.

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. I can handle one kid, and because I have a degree in nursing, they'll probably pay me on the higher end of the spectrum. I can't think of anything better. I allow myself to continue with these thoughts only after submitting my resume, proud that I did so, and close my laptop with hopes to hear from the mother by morning.

But unfortunately, I don't wake up to any calls or emails and my pride is somewhat wounded because of it. I go about my normal routine - I clean up the house while Steph is at her day job and eat lunch on the balcony. Pretty soon, it'll be too cold for this, so I soak in the last bit of fall that I can.

Just as I'm finishing my 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 plate down. I clear my throat and bring the phone to my ear, saying, "Hello?" while trying not to sound like I was 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 – no men besides Owen or Richard ever call me. "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 mother, but apparently, I was wrong. "Oh, yeah!" I say. "That was me."

"Yes," he says. "I'm very interested in what you have to offer. You're the only candidate with a background in nursing, and it'd be a relief to know that my daughter is in capable hands."

"Of course."

"So, would you like to come by 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. "Sure, um… sure!" I blink fast, trying to process everything that's happening – too good to be true, too fast. But I don't question it. If I want to make rent, there's no room for questions.

"Great," he says. "How about this afternoon? My daughter gets out of school at 3 and we're home by 3:30."

"Definitely," I say.

"Alright," he agrees. "Let me give you our address."

…

As I'm leaving the house and plugging the house number into Google maps, I realize I'm headed towards the wealthy part of Lakeview. When I get to Surf Street, I'm overwhelmed by the size of the houses and how much they must cost. Coming from Uptown, my neighborhood, this is an entirely different world.

I look for number 639 and stand at the gate for a few moments, taking it all in. The house is built with Greystone, statelier than anything I've ever seen. There's well-kept foliage in the front yard; 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, then jump because of the sudden voice. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

I look towards the front door and see a man standing there - he has brown skin, trimmed facial hair, and the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen. I'm overcome by it all. I don't know how to handle this. I'm in over my head and I haven't even stepped through the door yet. "Hi," I say, feet rooted in their 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 to clear it. "Sorry. 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 it."

"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 have been done professionally. "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 at me steadily, eyes twinkling. "Hi. My name is Athena Violet Avery and I'm 7 years old."

I laugh a little bit. "Well, aren't you cute," I say. "It's 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?"

"27," I say.

"I like that age," she says, grinning. "I like your hair, too. It's really red. I don't have hair that color."

"Your hair is beautiful," I say genuinely. "I love the pink bead."

"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 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 she could teach me, Daddy."

"And maybe not," he says. 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 sweet," I tell him.

He smiles and nods but wears an expression that 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. "Interested?" I echo.

He gives me a look like I should know what he's talking about. Maybe he assumes I'm more familiar with this environment than I really am, I don't know. "In the job," he clarifies.

My eyes widen and somehow, my brows go higher. I knew this was going well, but I hadn't expected a decision so quickly. I don't know how these types of things work. "Oh," I say. "Wow. Yes. 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 3:00 and she appreciates punctuality very much."

My thoughts are scattered, and I don't know where to begin. I know I should have questions, but my mind has gone blank. "Um…" I say, blinking hard. "If you don't mind me asking, should I meet her mother? I know you're a single parent, but-"

"Her mother is dead," he says quickly, barely moving his lips but somehow keeping a cordial face. "She's been gone for a long time. So, please, don't worry."

"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 them. Homework help would be appreciated, as well as reading practice each night. We've been doing it before bed, but it never turns out too well. I don't want her falling behind."

"She won't," I say. "We'll work on that."

"Great," he says. "And you said you have childcare experience?"

"Um… no," I admit, after a few moments of deciding whether or not to lie. Put on the spot, my honest nature can't help but come through. "But I have a degree in nursing."

"Right," he says. "Well, that works." 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. But he 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 got you hot and bothered?"

"Don't say that!" I laugh, cackling with my eyes closed.

"Fine," she says. "Well, I'm happy you got the job. I didn't plan on visiting you in your cardboard box under the bridge."

"Cold," I say, sitting up. "You should've seen the little girl, though. She was adorable and so sweet." Steph nods, looking at the pan full of rice and vegetables that she's stirring. "What?" I say. "What's the lack of response?"

"It's great that she was cute, 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 mom. You're not gonna go in there acting like… I don't know, a mom, are you?"

"Geez, no," I say, glowering. "You know who you're talking to, right?""I know," she says. "I just don't want you getting your hopes up thinking this is gonna be picture-perfect. Kids aren't like you see in the movies."

"I know," I say, miffed over her comment. It's not something we talk about, really, my late mother. It was a long time ago; she died when I was seven. Just because it wasn't yesterday doesn't mean it didn't happen, though. That doesn't mean I don't know how it feels.

After it happened, I saw a therapist for a few months who tried to discover the 'real' way I was feeling. It didn't amount to much. I didn't know how to put my emotions into words – I was seven. All I knew is that remembering her hurt. At least, it hurt until I created something that was all mine. I crafted a version of heaven that I was sure housed my mother, no matter how true or untrue it was. It made me feel better. And even though it's childish, I lie in bed and imagine her there tonight, just like I used to when I was little. The image has always made life a little softer around the edges.

…

I was confident until Steph said what she did, but I try to push the insecurities away as I 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 in the opposite direction. She pushes through the crowd while gripping her backpack straps, stealing glances over her shoulder 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 flat on the wall behind her. "Why are you running?" I pant.

"Kidnapper! Kidnapper!" she shrieks. "She's trying to take 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."

"Kidnapper! Kidnapper!"

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 colliding 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! 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 call your father and figure this out?" she suggests.

With Jackson on the phone in the principal's office, Athena and I sit 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 a different world as I try to keep my frustration in check. I can't believe she made me look like a criminal on my first day.

"Athena," Miss Finch says. "Your dad would like 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 flashing 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 something 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," I say.

"I want to go home," 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. "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 gonna walk. It's a short trip."

She turns and looks at me, wearing an expression 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 familiar with the city."

"I don't care about the city," she says. "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.

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 had been right, though I don't plan on giving her that satisfaction.

"I want a snack," Athena says 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 loud! Make it stop!"

"I'm getting there," I say, trying to remember the number order.

"You're so slow. It's 1-1-7-1-1. My birthday. Duh."

"Sorry."

"I want my snack."

Taking a deep breath, I make my way into the house and 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 eat those," I say. "They're not a healthy choice. Especially not over there on the couch."

"My daddy doesn't care," she says. "Plus, I'm the boss."

"You are not," I say.

"Who says?" she counters. "This is my house where I live. Not yours."

I open my mouth to refute her, then realize that 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," I say, padding into the living room where Athena still sits. "What do you think?"

"Boring," she says. "I don't like doing stuff with other kids. They're all babies."

"Not everyone is a baby," I say.

"You are," she volleys, shooting me a nasty look. "I don't even like your hair. I lied."

"That's okay," I say. "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, 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 either, and after a while she turns the TV on, and it stays 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 off. Can I get a 'hi, Daddy'?"

"Hi, Daddy," she says, eyes glued to the screen.

"Athena Violet," he says, voice turning stern. "Turn the 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 before I go. "What you did to April today was unacceptable. And watching TV? You know better."

"I didn't know who she was," she tries. "She was like a kidnapper."

"Uh-uh," he says. "I've about had it up to here with your behavior," he says, motioning with a flat hand just above his head. "It's not working. We've been through too many nannies for me to fall for this again. Things around here are gonna change."

She starts to cry, face crumpling as she stands and slams the remote down on the couch cushion. "It's your fault you get stupid, dumb nannies!" she shrieks.

"Up to your room," 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," he says. "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 'kidnapper' up her sleeve." He rubs his temples. "It'll get better. I promise, she's a good kid. She just has 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 clearer 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 and try to bolster myself with confidence. I'm not sure how well it works - maybe not at all. But I can, at least, 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, her voice seemingly coming from nowhere.

Jackson closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to look right into mine. An electric shock jolts through me, but I try not to let it show. "Yes, there will," he assures me. "And it will be kinder."