6. Gotcha!

When I woke up the following morning, I still couldn't really believe I wasn't met with the stink of weed and leftover pizza. For the first time in months, my back didn't ache as I sat up in bed, and when my feet hit the floor, it wasn't sticky and splintery but soft and cool. I smiled, looking around the room, most of my stuff sitting in their places like they'd been here a long time already. If only Lennox could see me now, she'd certainly be changing her tune.

The door crept open, revealing Camille, standing there in a pink top, her curls in a tangle on top of her head, her small hand clutching the neck of a fluffy plushie. "Mommy said — mommy said I could wake you up," she said, tumbling over the words.

She looked adorable, with sleep in the corners of her eyes, and my heart warmed. See? This wasn't the worst job in the world. And today, today I was going to try to win over Manon as well. We talked for a bit, and then I told her to go pick out clothes to wear and that I'd come to her when I'd dressed myself. She scuttled from the room on her tiptoes, singing quietly to herself.

I wasn't going to let anything ruin the mood on this fine morning. The sun was shining, I had slept like a baby, and I was wearing my favorite shorts and a tank top. What could go wrong?

I stepped out on the landing, and immediately, my question was answered. A pair of raised voices traveled from below, and it wasn't hard to recognize who they belonged to. Here we go... Sighing, I set off for the stairs.

Down in the hall, Elizabeth and Manon were arguing with each other, both of them flushed red in the face. Manon was in her nightdress, her straw blonde hair a mess, her fists clenched. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was impeccably dressed in a pencil skirt and a blouse, her long coat still unbuttoned, her honey locks flying everywhere as she shook her head angrily. "...don't have a say in this!" I just caught her saying.

Manon cried out. Her eyes were glistening with tears, and her teeth were bared. "I'm going to live with dad anyway! I hate you!" she screamed, turning around and barging up the stairs. Ignoring me completely, she stomped into her room, closing the door with such a loud bang I flinched.

Ouch. Poor girl. What had happened to make her say that? It was probably best to leave her alone for now. No point trying to reason with a furious child.

Elizabeth hadn't moved. Her eyes were shut, and she'd placed a hand on her forehead. Although I didn't think Manon had really meant that, it seemed to have hit her hard. It surprised me — she hadn't seemed to have any problems with her daughter's cold behavior before. Maybe I should say something. But what?

As if on cue, she looked up, immediately arching her eyebrows at the sight of me. "Aren't you the nanny?" she snapped. "Go talk to her! That's what I pay you for, isn't it?" She didn't wait for me to reply, already snatching her car keys from the salon table and, without another word, marching out of the house.

So much for a good start to the day.

Ari shouted something, lifting her toy gun and pointing it at one of the boys from next door. He made a run for it, but she sprinted after him, her wet ponytail bouncing up and down. One of his brothers came to his aid, throwing a balloon at her — she just laughed, pulling the trigger and hitting him full in the face with an unrelenting jet of water. Camille stood to the side, a little away from me, squirming in place with her arms behind her back, trying to decide if she was going to join her sister or not.

It was swelteringly hot: the sunscreen bottle lying in the grass next to me was half empty, and I had made Camille wear a hat, which she tried to get rid of every ten minutes or so. The next-door neighbors' nanny and I were lounging on chairs in the shade, me still drying up from participating in the fight earlier. Her name was Raquel. She was a little younger than me, with square glasses and an oversized dark blue tent dress. I'd met her this morning, by chance, and hearing our plans for the day, she'd suggested the kids play together.

"I tell you, that woman is crazy," she said. "What kind of parent hires an inexperienced nanny right off the street?"

She also happened to have a lot of opinions about her employers, and, as it turned out, Elizabeth.

"I mean, yeah, but she had miss Schneider keeping an eye on me the first time. And when I signed my contract last night, she admitted she ran a background check on me and made some calls asking around." I wasn't sure why I felt the need to defend her; it wasn't like I was fond of the woman myself.

Raquel made a disbelieving sound. Her youngest boy was about to drop a balloon on an unsuspecting Camille, and she called something out to him in Spanish — it made him change his mind, and he threw it at Ari instead. "I feel sorry for you," she said, like our conversation had never been interrupted. "Wouldn't want to work for her even if she'd pay me a million a week. She's the worst kind of rich white mom there is."

"She's not that bad — Camille, keep your hat on, sweetie," I said to Camille, who had once again been about to cast it aside. She'd been in the sun long enough already, refusing to stay in the shadow of the trees. With a small pout, she jammed it back on her head, then squatted by the bucket of balloons to pick one. "She's fair," I continued. "She pays me well. And I don't even need to cook or clean; she's got miss Schneider for that."

Raquel didn't seem to be impressed. She pushed her glasses higher on her nose, always keeping her gaze trained on the two boys. "Well, if I were you, I'd be on my guard when she's around. With the things she's done. Even Mr. and Mrs. Campos never invite her over for dinner."

I shifted in the chair. If there was something I didn't like, it was gossip. As a young girl, I had been used to being the subject of rumors, being a gay, limping, black-haired kid in a family of pale blondes. I'd been miserable more than once because of some lie someone had spread about me, and it'd taught me that most of the time, tales like these were exaggerated or just plain false.

Raquel wasn't fazed by the lack of response. "Do the kids know?" she asked. "I hope not. That would surely lead to mental health problems."

"What are you talking about?"

There was a sinking feeling in my stomach, and I was starting to regret inviting her over. It had seemed like such a good idea to try and make some adult friends in the neighborhood — still, I wasn't sure if I liked Raquel all that much.

Her hand flew to her chest. "You mean you don't know?" She made it sound like I had said I had no idea who the current president was. Before I could answer her question, though, she spilled: "She slept with half the neighborhood. Why do you think Mr. Miller left her? He was heart-broken, of course. They say the youngest girl isn't his and that that was the last straw for him."

I didn't say anything. Camille had finally dared to insert herself in the firing range, clumsily flinging a pink balloon at one of the boys. The balloon didn't burst, instead bouncing off the grass, and the boy, grinning, picked it up and aimed it at her — she ran, squealing, on her little legs, and hid behind a pile of empty flower pots.

Mr. Miller. So, they were divorced — that much I'd already gathered. I had no idea what the man looked like, and therefore no idea if the girls resembled him or not. Maybe Manon had inherited his hair and eyes; she looked nothing like her mother, after all. But Elizabeth sleeping with half the neighborhood? And why did he leave the kids behind if she had been the one to wreck their marriage? I couldn't for the life of me picture her flirting with anyone, much less having affairs all over the place. And yet, gorgeous as she was, there was no doubt she could easily attract bored married men and seduce them. Wasn't that what bored rich wives usually did? Who knew. There could be a truth to this.

"Hey, what's going on with the oldest?" Raquel nodded towards a window on the second floor.

Looking up, I just saw Manon ducking away, accidentally making the curtains flutter. Obviously, she had been watching her sisters having fun. Maybe my plan was working. "Oh, she thinks she's too old for a nanny, so I told her we wouldn't bother her with our childish water balloons."

Raquel clicked her tongue. "You should've nipped that right in the bud. Let her know who's in charge."

I doubted that was the right way to handle this. It certainly wasn't helping Elizabeth. In fact... "Will you look after them for a sec? I'm gonna go talk to her."

Before she could spring any more unwanted advice at me, I jumped up and toweled myself off, disappearing into the house, right up the stairs, to knock on Manon's door.

It was like she'd been waiting for it: she opened it immediately, with an annoyed "what?". Curiously, she was wearing a bathrobe, while I distinctly remembered having seen her in a skirt earlier — not to mention it was way too hot for one.

"Can I come in?"

She shrugged but stepped aside to let me in. Her room was the largest on this floor, with two bookcases filled with colorful children's novels along one wall and a four-poster bed with lavender drapes in the center. There were cushions in the windowsill; she sat down on one of them, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her cheek on her knees.

Even though I didn't want to think it, I did. Do the kids know? If Manon did know, whether it was true or not, it would explain her attitude towards her mom.

"Is it okay if I sit in your chair?" I asked.

She shrugged again.

"Don't worry, I'm dry," I said, rolling towards her in her desk chair. She didn't seem to care all that much. I waited for a while, pretending to admire a painting of a butterfly, only she remained silent. Seems it was up to me. "You know," I began, "what you said yesterday about being capable. You're right about that, of course." She lifted her head, blinking at me. "But I think it can still be nice to have a grown-up to talk to." My eyes shifted to her bathrobe: it had opened, revealing a green bathing suit spotted with white dots. "And to have fun with."

A blush rose to her cheeks, and she looked away. Then she said: "Yeah, maybe."

I had to keep from grinning. Yes! Progress. "Do you want to talk about this morning?"

She seemed to consider it, staring at her hands, then shook her head. "I just... Do you think mom will still be mad when she gets home?"

Yes, of course. This was Elizabeth we were talking about. She probably considered the day wasted if she hadn't been angry at someone for most of it. "Well, if she is," I said carefully, "maybe it would help to apologize for saying you hate her. Your mom isn't made out of stone. She can have her feelings hurt too." At least, I assumed so, or there was even more wrong with her than I realized.

"I know that."

"Why were you mad at her?"

She shook her head again. "I don't know."

I had the feeling she did know — maybe she couldn't put it to words, or maybe she simply didn't trust me. "Well, that happens sometimes. To me, as well."

She only nodded.

"You want me to talk to her when she gets home?"

"No, it's okay. I can do it."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

She didn't seem convinced, but I still felt like we'd had a breakthrough. I stood up and put the chair back, then sent a smile her way. "So, you wanna join in on the fun? I think Ari could use some help going up against the neighbors' kids."

And, like some kind of miracle, she smiled right back, showing me a row of slightly crooked teeth. "Yeah. I think she can really use a plan of war. Look at her. She's just running around like a madman." Indeed, down in the garden, her sister was racing in circles with a gun in each hand, squirting water at everyone and everything in her vicinity.

We shared a look and burst out laughing. Ha. Seemed like I'd managed to save the day after all.