Page 27 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HANNAH

When I arrive at the school to pick Ollie up a couple of hours later, a tweed-wearing male teacher asks me to come inside because Mrs. Applebaum needs to speak to me.

My first thought is: holy shit, this matchmaking gig is going to be way easier than I thought.

Then again, there’s no way she knows about my connection to Eugene. So I’m guessing either Ollie did something objectionable or she’s still pissed about the imaginary mouse.

Tweed Teacher guides me through the halls of the school, looking half asleep from boredom. He looks middle-aged, and from the way he’s guiding me, tapping into muscle memory honed by years of walking the same hallways, he’s very familiar with this school.

“Hey, did you know Eugene Peebles?” I ask on impulse.

At the sound of Eugene’s name, he glances back with a bemused expression behind his reading glasses. “You know Principal Peebles?”

“I do,” I say. “He’s a close, personal friend of mine.” He clearly thinks I’m BSing him, so I add, “I had tea with him just this morning. ”

He glances around, then adjusts his glasses before asking in an undertone, “Is it true that he’s working at that crappy brewery with all the nautical décor?”

“I love Big Catch,” I say frostily.

“Yeah, sorry.” He hesitates, his feet planting on the linoleum, and makes a scrunched-up face. “I mean…you know…I’m glad he landed on both feet after the nervous breakdown.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve said too much.” He starts walking again abruptly. “Principal Peebles is a great guy. Very…uh…organized.”

“What nervous breakdown, exactly?”

“Oh, man, there have been multiple?” He glances in both directions, but no small children or wandering teachers are there to distract him.

“Which time are you referring to?”

He does his glance-around move again, then whispers, “I’m talking about when he drank all that hard seltzer and drove the groundskeeper’s golf cart around the school to correct spelling mistakes on all the posters with a Sharpie.

You know, they had to have the vending machine professionally serviced after he crashed into it.

5B wouldn’t work, and everyone knows the flaming hot Cheetos are the best.”

Oh, Eugene.

My heart melts for that hot mess of a man, and I double down on my determination to help him get his shit together.

The teacher doesn’t say anything else to me before we reach the classroom, and he raps twice on the door.

“Come in,” a woman says in a voice that drips with dissatisfaction and reminds me of three-fourths of my own grade school teachers.

To be fair, it sounds like both of my guys have given her the runaround today .

I open the door and see Ollie sitting at one of the front desks, one hand pressed to his head.

“Are you okay?” I ask, bounding forward, my heart racing. “Did someone hit you?”

“Now, now, it was nothing like that…”

I shoot Mrs. Applebaum a hostile glare, because it sure as hell seems like it was something like that.

She’s an older woman with iron-colored hair coiled into a bun at the base of her neck and blue eyes so light they look like ice behind rectangle-rimmed glasses, with a chain dangling from them that’s surprisingly rainbow-colored.

Ollie has tears in his eyes, a rarity for him, and he buries his face into my dress.

“What happened, Ollie?” I ask, wrapping an arm around him.

Mrs. Applebaum begins, “One of the boys?—”

“I asked him ,” I snap.

“Mickey put gum in my hair,” he says into my chest.

“Why did he even have gum at school?” I ask, glaring at Mrs. Applebaum again.

“For the same reason he had a donut this morning,” she retorts. “Parents see fit to send in whatever they wish without any regard for how it affects the learning environment.”

Well, she and Eugene certainly have similar world views.

“We’ll take care of it, Ollie,” I say, rubbing his little back. “But why don’t you go wait in the hallway for a minute so I can have a nice, cozy chat with your teacher.”

“She says chitter-chatter is a waste of time,” he says into the folds of my dress.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to him. “Here, you can use that coloring app you like.”

“Thanks, Hannah,” he says, taking the phone. One of his little hands lifts again to check if the gum is still there— roger —but he steps out of the classroom without any further argument, shutting the door behind him.

“You shouldn’t allow a child unobserved access to your phone,” Mrs. Applebaum says primly.

“I trust Ollie more than ninety-nine percent of adults. Now, why are you letting him get bullied? I’m told that’s frowned upon in schools these days.”

She gapes at me. “Well, I never. If you’d bothered to ask me what happened, I would have told you that Mickey stuck gum in Ollie’s hair as retaliation after Ollie shoved him.

Now, obviously neither behavior is acceptable, and both boys will be missing recess on Monday, but this is hardly a cut-and-dry case, young lady?—”

“I’m Hannah.”

“All right, Miss Hannah. Ollie has struggled to make friends in the classroom, and this morning’s little stunt didn’t help.”

“That was an honest mistake,” I say tightly.

“I don’t see how. The boy lied about seeing a mouse, and it caused chaos. His father didn’t so much as reprimand him.”

I don’t see the point in explaining the code word misunderstanding to her. Something tells me it wouldn’t soften her. So I settle for saying, “Maybe he did see a mouse.”

She gives me a withering glare. “A mouse would never dare enter my classroom.”

“Rodents don’t pay attention to invisible territory lines.” I pause, trying to remember this severe woman might be Eugene’s secret beloved. “Did you know Mickey has been bullying Ollie? I’m guessing he said something to him.”

“I struggle to believe that.”

“Are you kidding me?” I snap. “Did you hear about the whole Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles thing?”

She sighs and folds her hands. “Mr. Thomas told me about it, yes. What you must realize, Miss Hannah, is that Ollie’s reading level and comprehension are several years ahead of the rest of his classmates.

Mickey genuinely believed the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were real.

When Ollie told him the truth and wrote down a list of facts about sewers, Mickey was embarrassed and upset. ”

So the kid’s not some master manipulator, at least. He’s just a fan boy, kind of like Alice and the other Ships Ahoy obsessives. Maybe we can work with that.

“I’ll have a talk with Ollie,” I say.

I’m about to leave, but I pause, remembering that I’m supposed to be sugar-talking her for Eugene’s sake.

I check out her folded hands and don’t see a ring on her finger, but there is an indent where a ring used to be.

“Do you have any children of your own, Mrs. Applebaum?” I ask, changing tack with an ingratiating smile.

“If that’s quite everything, Miss Hannah, I’ll be leaving. We’re not paid to stay overtime.”

“Oh, do you want to get back to your husband? I totally get that.”

“I’m not married,” she says. “Not anymore.”

That’s good news for Eugene, but I try to keep a neutral expression as I ask, “Was he a jerk?”

She actually smiles for half a second. “I have a policy not to discuss my personal life with any of my students’ parents or guardians.”

I lift my hands up, palms facing outward. “I get it. I was just curious.”

She makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Right now the only thing you need to be curious about is what that young man is doing on your phone.”

“Wait,” I say, desperate to make greater inroads for my new friend. “Travis told me there was a casualty after this morning’ s…misunderstanding. A hedgehog pencil cup? We’d love to replace it, of course.”

Her lips flatten. “It’s irreplaceable. A colleague made it for my Secret Santa gift one year.”

Hot damn. There’s our in. If Eugene made the pencil pot, he can remake the pencil pot. Maybe he can even write his invitation onto it!

Slam-freaking-dunk.

I consider my subject and come to the conclusion that he will also need a little more coaching before I send him back into the dating world with a pat on the back and a Hail Mary.

So I tip an imaginary hat to Mrs. Applebaum and head into the hallway. I figured Ollie would be playing on my phone, but he’s waiting outside with a solemn look on his face.

“How good is your hearing?” I ask.

“It’s normal, I think,” he says, “but you’re pretty loud.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

“Let’s get that gum out, Ollie. I know someone who’s aces at getting gum out of hair. In fact, he’s done it for me on more than one occasion. We’re gonna go see my brother Liam.”

I text Travis, filling him in on the situation, and ask him to head home before band practice to hide the spoils of our toy store trip, so they’re not all sitting out on the table when we get back.

I may not be the best nanny ever, but I’m guessing it’s a bad idea to give a kid a dozen presents on the same afternoon he shoved someone.

Travis: Dammit. Is he okay?

Me: Getting gum out of hair is Liam’s special talent, and if he can’t do it, I’ll give Ollie a haircut. I give a mean haircut.

Me: What I’m saying is that either way, I’ve got this.

Travis: Thank you.

Travis: Should I cancel practice tonight?

Me: Nah. Go. You need it .

Then I text Liam, asking if he could help, and he immediately responds. Probably because I haven’t suggested any hangouts for weeks.

Liam: Yup. Bring him over. I’ll get out the oil and peanut butter.

I’ve missed my brother. Longed for him.

But I’m still figuring out who I am as just Hannah, not half of the unit who helped raise Connor.