Page 123 of Worst Nanny Ever
“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 ofMatchmaking 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.
“Whatisthat?”
“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.”
