Page 47 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

“Wow, no offense, but your dad’s a piece of work,” I say. “Are you sure he’s not just messing with you to see what it’ll take to get you to say no?”

She releases a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. “I did say no. He threatened to fire five people unless I got on board. If he let five people go, the rest of the staff would be stretched so thin. They’d hate me anyway.”

“Should we introduce your dad to Dottie?” I ask. “She seems to have magic powers to transform assholes.”

“Even she couldn’t save Jonah,” Sophie says, and we all take a moment to savor memories of the asshole’s downfall. Sure, he’s still gainfully employed, but he had to change careers, go work for his daddy, and now every woman in town knows that he’s a philandering creep. That’s got to sting.

“I think I’m going through with it,” Briar says after a moment. “I overheard my dad talking to my mom about his new business. Sounds like they already closed on a space, so it seems like that’s getting closer. This might be one of the final hoops I have to jump through.”

“I don’t think you should have to jump through any hoops,” Sophie says, frowning.

“I can probably convince Travis to send him a glitter bomb,” I offer. “He’s turning into a loose cannon.”

“And you love it.” Sophie smiles at me.

“I do,” I confirm. “He’s this amazing blend of predictable and unpredictable. I can’t get enough of him.”

“I’m probably the one who’s going to be getting glitter bombs soon,” Briar says morosely, playing with her long braid. “Everyone at Silver Star is going to hate me.”

“No one could ever hate you,” Sophie says, with all the confidence of someone sweeter than me.

“Don’t fire the people who are the worst at their job,” I warn Briar. “Fire the ones who are liked the least by the other staffers. Trust me on this.”

She doesn’t answer right away, just keeps playing with her braid, and after a moment changes the subject to scheduling our next viewing of Matchmaking Small Town America .

Sophie hasn’t been watching it with us because she says dating shows stress her out.

I privately suspect that they stress Briar out too, and that she only likes watching it because it validates her decision to stop dating.

But I haven’t called her on it. She’s under enough stress.

“What’s in the bag?” Ollie asks as we wait in the corner of the school auditorium.

I asked the tweed-wearing teacher, who must be in charge of dismissal, if I could have a private meeting with Mrs. Applebaum about a “very important matter,” and he sighed heavily to show his displeasure and then asked me to wait in the corner with Ollie until dismissal was finished .

Judging by the forty or so kids still pushing each other, shouting, and running around the auditorium, this might take some time.

I pull the little pencil pot out of its paper bag to show Ollie.

“What is that?”

“You’ve never seen a hedgehog before?”

“They don’t really look like this, but it’s cool. You said your friend made it for Mrs. Applebaum?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I have high hopes for it.”

“Can I take a look?” he asks, his eyes wide.

I hand it to him—just as a big kid pushes past him to get to the door. A gasp escapes me as the perfectly painted hedgehog tumbles to the vinyl floor. It’s vinyl. It won’t break. It totally won’t?—

It cracks in half, spilling out Eugene’s very nicely handwritten note.

“Dammit,” I say, loudly enough that a teacher hushes me.

“I’m so sorry,” Ollie says, crouching down to pick up the pieces.

I sweep his hands away, not because I’m unhappy with him, but because I don’t want him to get hurt on any jagged edges.

“Hannah, I’m so sorry,” he says louder, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Oh my gosh, Ollie, it’s okay,” I say, sticking the pieces and the note in the paper bag and wrapping an arm around him. “It was just an accident. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He’s crying now, and I hold him close, my heart breaking. This isn’t over the hedgehog (although RIP, you perfectly painted bastard). He’s worried he’ll be punished or that I’ll turn my back on him, all because of an accident.

“It’s okay,” I whisper to him again and again. “It’s okay.”

A little boy with brown hair approaches us, his eyes wide. “ Is Ollie all right?” He pats Ollie on the shoulder. “Ollie, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Ollie says, tears running down his cheeks. So, clearly he goes to the Travis school of emotional repression.

“Don’t worry,” the little boy says. “Leonardo’s not really dead. It’s a fake-out. I know the end of season two is scary, but he’ll be okay.”

My eyes practically pop out of my head. Holy guacamole, this is Mickey? Did the turtle bonding actually work?

“Thanks,” Ollie says. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Hannah has to talk to Mrs. Applebaum.”

“Mickey? Mickey?” Tweed Teacher calls in a harassed tone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Mickey rolls his eyes at us. “I gotta go.”

He runs off, and I gape down at Ollie. “That’s Mickey? I was envisioning a super villain. He’s just…a kid.”

He shrugs carelessly, as if he and this kid haven’t been getting on each other’s cases since day one. “He’s okay. We’ve decided to try to be friends. Mrs. Applebaum said she’d give us some leftover candy on Friday if we have a good week.”

Mrs. Applebaum is bribing them with candy now?

Mind. Blown. I’m instantly desperate to tell Travis about all of this, but he and Rob are taking their Missing Beat students on a field trip to a concert this afternoon, so Ollie and I aren’t joining them. I won’t see him until after his band meeting tonight.

“I’m going to need a minute to process all of this,” I say, “but I want to ask why you reacted like that about the broken hedgehog. You know I wouldn’t get mad at you over an accident.”

“But it was important to you,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I was worried you’d want to leave. I know you’re not going to be my nanny for much longer.”

I crouch down on my haunches so we can be eye to eye. “ No, probably not,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop seeing me. I’m sorry to tell you that you’re stuck with me. We’re going to be friends forever, you and me.”

“Do you mean it?” he asks with those serious brown eyes, so like Travis’s. I feel like I’m answering both of them as I say, “Yes,” emotion burning behind my own eyes.

He hugs me tighter, and then the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me signals me to turn around.

Tweed Teacher is gazing at me expectantly. He is one of the few people left in the auditorium, which has virtually emptied out other than a few teachers.

“Mrs. Applebaum has agreed to see you,” he says.

Ollie holds my hand as I follow Tweed Teacher back toward Ollie’s classroom. Crap, what am I going to do now? The hedgehog present is ruined.

“…” Tweed Teacher clears his throat as we walk. “How’s Peebles doing?”

“He’s doing great. We call him Spreadsheet now.”

“Uh, okay.”

And an awkward silence floats between us before he comes to a stop at Mrs. Applebaum’s door.

I knock and then enter at her officious, “Come in.”

She raises her eyebrows as I step into the classroom with Ollie.

“Hey, Ollie, can you sit over there for a minute while I talk to Mrs. Applebaum?” I point to a desk in the back, and he nods, squeezing my hand before he lets go.

I approach the front of the room, where Mrs. Applebaum is seated at her desk. Can’t say I’m really feeling the spirit of welcome, considering the doom-and-gloom stare she’s giving me.

“What is it now, Miss Hannah?” she asks, then glances back at Ollie. “I thought everything was going quite well this week. I’m not sure if Ollie told you, but he and Mickey have finally found some common ground.”

“I’ve watched an unreal amount of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to help make this happen,” I say with a smile.

She surprises me when she admits, “And I offered them candy at the end of the week if they were willing to work it out. I’m not proud, Miss Hannah, but I do think good work should be awarded, and Ollie has been very good .”

My heart swells with pride, but I admit, “I’m actually not here about Ollie.”

She gives me a strange look. “Do you have an odd relationship with some other child in my class?”

I laugh. “No.”

Oh, what the hell. It’s the thought that counts, right?

I thrust the bag forward, and she looks at it doubtfully.

“It’s for you,” I say.

“I don’t accept gifts from students,” she says, glancing at Ollie again.

“It’s not from Ollie. Or me. Or Travis. A…mutual friend found out about the broken pencil cup, and he immediately decided he was going to make another one for you.” I remember Eugene’s worry about the gym teacher. “But it wasn’t the gym teacher.”

Her frown deepens. “I never said the gym teacher made it for me.”

Oh crap, mayday, mayday…

“Uh, yeah, well, why go for a gym teacher, when you could aspire to have a principal, am I right? Anyway, my friend Eugene Peebles made this for you.”

She gasps and takes the bag from me, and I’m so blown away by her very encouraging reaction that I actually forget that I’m giving her yet another broken pencil cup until she reaches inside and picks up one of the halves .

Giving me a puzzled look, she says, “Is this some kind of joke?”

I very nearly swear in front of her before getting a handle on myself.

I’m about to explain what happened when a quavering little voice behind me says, “No, Mrs. Applebaum. It’s no joke.”

I glance over to see Ollie has walked up to us. He looks nervous, but there’s a sweet determination flowing from him as he says, “I broke it. I’m sorry. I wanted to look at it in the auditorium, and Hannah let me, and it fell down and cracked. I felt so bad, but it was too late to take it back.”

“Oh,” she says softly, then reaches inside the bag and picks up the note, reading it in front of us, which surprises me.

I’m even more surprised when her eyes well up.