“Oh yeah. I’m sure she’s shaking in her boots at the possibility.” I snorted, steering my character off the bridge, bored of waiting for him to find me. Time to go track him down.
“Speaking of, how’s the story going?” he asked. “You haven’t been too busy to work on it, have you?”
About that. I swallowed hard.
“Oh no. Of course not. The story takes first priority,” I tried to say brightly. “And it’s coming out great. Really . . . great.”
I wondered if I sounded at all believable. Or just tired. Or maybe like I was lying through my teeth?
In truth, I hadn’t worked on the story in almost a week. I’d been too busy, too exhausted, and, lately, altogether too frustrated.
Not that Brody needed to know that.
I glanced over at him. His lips had curled into a smile. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “Because I’ve got great news.”
“Oh?”
“I asked my dad, and he’s agreed to look at it before you send it in to the contest.”
Wait, what?
I hit the controller with my thumb and the screen spun. Brody’s character jumped out of nowhere, taking me down. I stared at my character’s corpse on the screen and groaned as the real-life Brody jumped up to do a victory lap around my living room.
“Who’s the gamer now?” he cheered.
I collapsed onto the floor. “You’re such a cheater!” I cried. “You can’t just say something like that and then jump out at me!”
He grinned impishly. “Sorry,” he said, looking anything but. Then he winked. “Best two out of three?”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. I was running out of time. But still . . .
“Duh,” I said. “Prepare to get royally stomped.”
He dropped down to the floor again and grabbed his controller. I pressed the buttons to reset the match. “So go back,” I said, as the game loaded. “Your dad wants to read my story?”
Brody grinned widely, obviously pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I should have asked you first. But I told him about how you wanted to enter it in the Comicpalooza contest and how it was really important that you win. He said if you wanted, you could send it to him and he could give you a few pointers.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m sure it isn’t already awesome . . .”
I bit my lower lip. It wasn’t already awesome. In fact, it barely even existed. Just a few paragraphs I’d jotted down weeks ago and hadn’t been able to continue with since. Every day I would sit down at my computer to try to work on it. Opening up the Word document and reading over what I had already written. Then I’d usually end up deleting half of it—realizing that what I’d thought was pretty good the day before was actually garbage. Which made for very little progress and a lot of frustration.
I realized Brody was still waiting for an answer. “What do I think?” I stammered. “I think that’s amazing. I don’t know what to say. Um, thank you! Thank you so much. You really didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Brody assured me. “After all, I know how important this all is to you. You’ve been working so hard, doing all these babysitting jobs just to get to the convention so you can enter the contest. You deserve to have every chance to win.”
“Thank you,” I said at last. “I really appreciate it. And I will get the story to you as soon as it’s ready. I just need a few more days to polish it up. Then I’ll send it over to you so you can forward it to your dad.” I paused, then added, “Also, you’re dead again.”
“What? NO!” he cried in dismay as I unleashed my full force on him. He dropped the controller in his lap, sighing loudly. “Completely unfair.”
“Completely, absolutely fair,” I corrected. “Now, sorry, but I really must get ready.”
“Get ready for what?”
I looked up to realize my stepmother had poked her head into the living room. I scrambled to my feet. “Oh. I have a babysitting job in an hour,” I told her.
To my surprise, her face creased into a scowl. “Since when?”
“Um, since last night? Don’t worry—it’s just for the Jacksons down the street. So I don’t need a ride.” My stepmother had been complaining lately that I was using her as a taxi service for all my various jobs. Thankfully, this one wouldn’t be an issue.
But, to my dismay, her frown didn’t lift. “Hailey, you were supposed to stay home this afternoon to let the plumber in, remember?”
“Oh.” I squinted at her. “I was?”
“Yes. You were. We talked about it at length on Wednesday. I have my board meeting for the Saint Francis group. It’s very important that I be there this afternoon. I told you this, remember? You said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
I winced, starting to remember. “Can’t the plumber come later?” I asked. “I really can’t just bail on Mrs. Jackson last minute.”
“You shouldn’t have told her you could babysit in the first place,” my stepmother shot back, her voice now raised in anger. “You had a commitment here at home.”
“I know. But I forgot. Can’t Ginny stay home?”
“No. She can’t. Ginny has her study group. And anyway, she shouldn’t have to ruin her afternoon because you double-booked yourself.”
She looked really angry now. I bit my lower lip. Stupid, Hailey. How could you forget something like that?
“You know, this babysitting thing is getting to be too much,” my stepmother added, evidently now on a rampage. “I didn’t say anything when it was just a couple hours a week. But now it’s like you’re busy every day. You have some responsibilities to this family, young lady, not to mention your schoolwork. And if you can’t live up to those, then you’re going to have to stop babysitting altogether.”
Panic seized me. “No!” I cried. “Look. I’m sorry. I just forgot. That’s all. It won’t happen again.”
I realized Brody had come up behind me. “I can wait for the plumber,” he told my stepmother.
She looked at him. “Sweetie, that’s nice of you. But you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “It’ll give me an excuse to get some more PlayStation time in. Just let me know what I need to tell him when he gets here and I’ll take care of it.”
My stepmother pursed her lips. I could tell she wanted to argue—to say it was my mistake and I should take responsibility. But at the same time, she needed someone to meet the plumber, and Brody was the only one who could do it.
Finally she sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Thank you, Brody. I’ll show you the toilet that’s been giving us problems.”
As she led him away, she stopped at the door, turning around to give me a look. A look that told me exactly how much I had disappointed her.
A look that I was starting to know all too well.
17
“AHOY, YE LOUSY LANDLUBBERS, IT’S time for all hands on deck!” Madison cried, dancing around the living room, waving her plastic sword in the air. She was a little out of breath from doing her show, but she hid it nicely.
“The deck, in this case, being your beds,” I clarified from my position on the couch, in case either of the boys wasn’t fluent in piratespeak. As backup pirate princess tonight I had put on one of the less . . . large princess dresses we’d picked up at the thrift store. It wasn’t as impressive as my ball gown, but I had to admit, it was nice to sometimes babysit with full lung capacity.
Madison lunged at the boys. They shrieked and ducked out of her grasp, running for the other side of the room and hiding behind the kitchen table.
“Aw,” cried the older one. “But we want to find more treasure first!”
“Yeah!” cried his little brother. “More tweh-shore!”
Madison shook her head sternly. “There will be time for treasure another day. A good pirate knows when to batten down the hatches and get a good night’s sleep. To live to fight another day.” She gave them a knowing wink. “But if you’re good, you may find a little something special under
your pillows—to light the treasure map of your dreams.”
The boys exchanged curious looks, then raced upstairs, practically tripping over each other to get there first. I glanced over at Madison questioningly. She grinned. “Glow sticks,” she said. “Their parents left them for us in case we needed to resort to bribery. Which, clearly, we do.”
The cries of excitement coming from upstairs soon confirmed her words. “You make a good pirate,” I told her.
“You make a pretty decent princess yourself,” she shot back with a smile. “Now let’s get these scallywags to bed so we can pop the popcorn their parents left us and watch movies. All this adventure has left me starving.”
“I’ll eat the popcorn,” I said with a sigh. “But no movie for me. I am dreadfully behind in my homework.”
I rose from the couch, and together we headed upstairs, where the boys were brushing their teeth, now eager to get under the covers to play with their new glow toys. I just hoped the excitement of the “treasure” wouldn’t keep them awake until their parents got home.
Once we had tucked them in and said good night—with a stern warning from Dread Pirate Madison not to get out of bed except for an emergency—we headed downstairs to start the popcorn. The boys’ parents had promised to be home by nine, meaning we had about an hour to kill.
Or, you know, prevent me from flunking out of school.
Large bag of popcorn in hand, Madison settled down in front of the TV, flicking through the Netflix options. She finally settled on Pirates of the Caribbean. (To get some inspiration, she said, though she already had her pirate act down to a science. I think she just wanted to stare at Orlando Bloom.)
She set down the remote and stretched her hands above her head. “This is the life,” she said. “Getting paid to eat and watch movies.” Then she turned to me. “This isn’t going to distract you from your homework, is it? ’Cause I can go into another room. I think there was a TV in the den.”
I waved her off. “I’m fine,” I assured her. “I can watch and study.”
“And finish the next chapter of the Collin Prince adventure?” she teased, her eyes sparkling. ’Cause I’m pretty sure Sarah said something about resorting to decapitation if you didn’t produce something new this weekend.”
“I happen to have sent her a chapter this morning, thank you very much. And if she decapitates me? That’ll be the very last one.”
“Good point. Not sure she’s seeing things that clearly, though.”
I groaned. “Sometimes I wish I’d never started that story,” I said.
“What?” Madison frowned, turning to me. “But it’s so good. Sure, I don’t get as into it as much as Sarah. But I love reading it. You’re really talented, Hailey. I bet you could even write a real book someday—if you wanted to. And get it published.”
I forced myself to nod, but I couldn’t prevent the sinking feeling that dropped in my stomach at her words. I knew that she was trying to be encouraging. That she had no idea how much I had been struggling. But still—her blind confidence stung.
I sighed. “Look. I love that everyone loves the Collin Prince story. But I have to take a break. With all the babysitting . . . and . . . stuff, I’ve gotten crazy behind. And if my grades drop? My dad’s going to long-distance decapitate me himself.”
Madison gave me a sympathetic look. “Oh, I hear you,” she said. “I mean, this babysitting stuff is awesome for making money. But I’ve had to miss a couple practices, and Coach is threatening to bench me if I miss any more.” She sighed. “In fact, you know that job you have me set up for on Thursday? Can you possibly get Sarah or Kalani to do it? I just realized I have an away game.”
I pulled up the calendar on my phone. “Looks like Sarah has dance that night,” I said. “And Kalani has some kind of family thing going on.” I shrugged. “I guess I could do it myself.”
“Thanks.” Madison looked relieved. “I’d really appreciate that.”
I made the adjustment in the calendar, my stomach twisting a little as I did. I had a big project due for my English class on that Friday after. But I could probably knock it out on Tuesday or Wednesday. . . . It wasn’t ideal, but it would be worse to cancel on the parents altogether. We’d end up losing them as customers, and they might tell other parents as well.
I closed the calendar and looked up. “Okay,” I said. “We’re all set. Now I really need to start looking at this—”
A loud bang interrupted my words, followed by a long wail—coming from upstairs. Madison and I leaped out of our seats, just in time to see Noah run to the landing.
“What’s wrong?” Madison demanded.
“It’s Liam,” he said. “He’s stuck in the toilet.”
Madison shot me a look. “What do you mean . . . stuck in the toilet?” she asked. I could tell she was wondering if this was just another excuse to get out of bed or if she should take it seriously. One thing we’d learned from these babysitting jobs was how creative kids could be when coming up with reasons they shouldn’t be in bed. From drinks and snacks to going to the potty to needing a back rub or a night-light . . .
They’d all make great lawyers someday.
“Uh, well . . .” Noah looked sheepish. “We were just playing and I threw his glow stick and it landed in the toilet just as he was trying to flush. So he reached in the toilet and tried to grab it and his arm got stuck.”
I sighed, setting my homework on the couch. “I’ll go check on them,” I told Madison. “You deal with the popcorn.” She nodded and I trudged upstairs, thankful once again I’d worn the shorter, easier-to-manage princess dress.
“Where is he?” I asked Noah when I reached the top of the stairs. He grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bathroom, where, sure enough, his brother was leaning over the toilet, one arm stuck down inside.
I rolled my eyes. “You guys will do anything not to go to sleep, won’t you?” I dropped down to my knees and grabbed Liam’s arm, tugging on it to free it from the toilet.
But it didn’t budge.
I bit my lower lip. Tried again, tugging harder this time. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I couldn’t just leave him like this either. “Can you just wiggle your hand a little?” I asked Liam. But he just shook his head, looking scared.
“What if I have to pee?” Noah demanded. “Do I pee on his arm?” He paused, then added, with a wicked grin, “What if I have to poop?”
Liam burst into tears. “Don’t poop on me!” he begged his brother.
I groaned. “No one’s peeing or pooping on anyone,” I assured them. “You have a second bathroom downstairs, you know.”
“Yeah, but what if I can’t hold it?” Noah asked, looking far too delighted for his own good. I gave him a scolding look.
“Stop teasing your brother. And go tell Madison to come up here. I need her.”
To his credit, Noah did as he was told, and a moment later I could hear Madison’s footsteps on the stairs. She popped her head into the bathroom, her eyes widening when she saw Liam.
“Is he really stuck?” she asked.
I rose to my feet, grabbed her, and pulled her out of the room. No need to scare Liam more than he already was. “He’s really stuck,” I said, my heart pounding nervously now. “What should we do?”
“Let’s try together,” Madison suggested.
The two of us returned to the bathroom, bright, fake smiles pasted on our faces. “So, Liam, we’re going to just try again, okay?” I asked.
He whimpered and nodded. I grabbed his upper arm. Madison grabbed the lower. Together on the count of three we pulled.
But he was stuck fast.
18
I STARED AT THE TOILET, then up at Madison. She stared back at me with a look of horror that I was pretty sure matched my own look.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We can’t just leave him there.” I swallowed hard. “I think we need to call his parents.”
“No!” Madison’s ey
es widened in horror. “They’ll think we’re the worst babysitters ever!”
I glanced over at Liam. “They might not be wrong.”
“No.” Madison shook her head. “There has to be another way.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: “I know! My uncle Mike is a fireman!”
“So? He’s stuck in a toilet. Not on fire.”
“I know. But firemen help people who are stuck. Like cats in a tree.”
I gave her a skeptical look. She waved me off. “Seriously, Hailey. He will totally be able to help us.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number.
I turned to Liam. “Help is on the way,” I assured him. “Do you want a cookie while you’re waiting?”
Liam indeed wanted a cookie. As Madison explained the situation to her uncle on the phone, I walked downstairs to get him one. My heart was still beating nervously in my chest. Could a fireman really get him free? What if they had to break the toilet to do it? His parents were so not going to be happy if they came home to a broken toilet. How much did a new toilet cost, anyway? What if they made us pay for it—using our savings for Comicpalooza?
Five minutes later we heard a siren outside. Noah ran to the window, flush with excitement. “This is so cool!” he cried. “A real-life fire truck!” He pressed his face against the glass. “Ooh! Make that three fire trucks!”
Three fire trucks? I bit my lower lip. Were three fire trucks really necessary? Three fire trucks making siren noises, for that matter? I mean, I thought we were trying to keep a low profile here, not put the whole neighborhood on alert!
The doorbell rang and Madison ran to answer it. She swung it open and let her uncle—and his three fireman friends—through the door. They were dressed in full-on fire gear, including hats. One of them had an actual ax. Noah looked as if he was going to pass out from excitement. I wanted to pass out too. But for a much different reason.
The firemen looked us up and down, confused looks on their faces. “Costume party?” one of them asked.