Page 53 of Worst Nanny Ever
“So he looks like you.”
He glowers at me. “That’s not very nice, Travis.”
I lift my hands. “Sorry. I’m just not getting a good mental picture.”
“How about I say a code word when I see him? They do that on that showOdd Squad.”
“Okay, what about…” My mind’s sluggish, but I plug in Mickey and it comes up with, “Mouse.”
He nods. “Okay.” Then he glances at me, taking in my button-down shirt and jeans. “You don’t look very tough. You should have worn one of your band T-shirts.”
“Excuse me if I didn’t want to come into your classroom wearing a shirt that says ‘Garbage Fire.’”
“Maybe your old leather jacket, then. It makes you look like you have big arms.”
“Idohave big arms, but it’s not like I’m going to beat this kid up, Ollie,” I say, frustrated. “He’s seven years old.”
“Would you beat him up if he were eighteen?”
“If an eighteen-year-old were following you around and messing with you? Yeah, he’d definitely regret it.”
“Really?” he asks, sounding excited about the prospect. “What would you do to him?”
I tap the wheel with two fingers, hesitating, then turn off the ignition. “You don’t need to physically intimidate people to get them to leave you alone. You’re smarter than this kid is. Intelligence is a strength.”
He gives a world-weary sigh. “My mom told me people don’t really like you when you’re smart.”
“Other smart people do,” I say tightly.
I can practically hear Hannah saying,and what would you want with stupid friends anyway?
The thought would probably have made me smile if I weren’t so pissed at Lilah. How dare she make Ollie feel like being smart is something to be ashamed of?
Ollie sighs again. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
“Everyonelikes donuts,” I say, making eye contact in the rearview mirror and holding it. “You’ll be the class hero.” Because I’m weak, I add, “You know, Hannah thinks this is a good idea too.”
“Really?” he asks, leaning forward to look at me from his booster seat in the back. “I wish she were coming.”
It feels a bit shitty hearing him say that. Clearly he thinks coming through those doors with Hannah and the donuts would gain him more social currency than going with me. But I can’t deny he’s probably right. She’d step through those doors and within five minutes she’d be friends with the custodian, half the kids, most of the teachers, and maybe even sour-faced Mrs.Applebaum. Hannah has a gift for drawing people in. For dazzling them.
If I’d had that same gift, maybe I’d have wanted to be the front man instead of the drummer.
Maybe my son would be more impressed by me.
“I wish she were here too, bud,” I admit.
We leave the car together, the bribery donuts in hand, and enter the school. The building’s neither new nor old, with whitewashed walls and the slight unwashed funk all schools seem to have. Some of the teachers give us wistful looks as we pass them, and Ollie seems to notice. I can tell from the new pep in his steps that he’s realizing the donuts are their own form of gold.
We step into his classroom and are immediately mobbed by kids and questions?—
“Are those donuts?” one kid asks.
“Is this your dad?” another wants to know.
I feel Ollie looking at me, and I prepare myself for another long explanation like the one he gave the clerk at the bookstore a couple of weeks ago.Biologically, but we barely know each other. I thought someone else was my dad up until a couple of months ago.
But he nods, his eyes still on me. “Yeah, he’s the drummer in a band.”
