Page 17 of Even Beneath the Stars

Mom watches me calmly from the kitchen table. "You can wait a couple more days to make a decision, hon. It was just two days ago Denise called."

"I know… but a few days won’t change my mind. I’m ninety-nine percent decided." I throw my head back. "It’s a great opportunity."

It's crazy. Me—temporary live-in nanny. For Finn. At the Rockwell Estate.

Their latest nanny quit (clearly a pattern), and Finn has apparently insisted since the summer that the only nanny he wants is me. Which is… really flattering.

At her wit’s end, Denise figured she’d take a shot, even if hiring a part-time high school student isn’t exactly conventional. It’d be temporary, buying them time to find a full-time, long-term fit.

Yeah, it’s unconventional, but also really appealing.

"Don't just make the decision based on the money, Maggs," mom tells me. "We are going to be fine. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do."

But also—the nanny salary makes my Welsford job look like pocket change. Enough that I could help Mom keep pursuing her dream—and fast-track mine, too.

I build miniature dystopian dioramas—post-apocalyptic ruins, neon-drenched cityscapes, entire worlds shrunk down to the size of a shoebox. My YouTube channel is gaining some traction, but supplies areexpensive. I need a pro airbrush to up my graffiti game, better materials, plus business and specialized miniature skills courses I want to enroll in after graduation—all things that would leave me with big loans.

But this job? It could change everything.

And yet… it isn't just about the money, either.

"I swear, Finn is the cutest kid ever." I stretch out along the couch and peer over at my mother as she reinforces the back of a game board with duct tape. "You would love him. He's just… so sweet, and precocious, and larger-than-life. And he's got the most infectious giggle. And comes up with the zaniest game ideas."

"But don't forget the meltdowns." Mom is playing devil's advocate, which I'm grateful for.

Honestly, I was a little stunned she was even open to the idea. But once she spoke to Denise and had all her questions answered, she was surprisingly chill about it. Denise explained it's more of an occasional after-school and weekend babysitting job than traditional nannying position, except I'd be sleeping there a few nights a week.

Another game-changer for mom is the fact that Denise lives on the Rockwell Estate with her own family and is always just a few minutes away. Mom hit it off with her. I think because she respected that Denise felt strongly that school would still be my top priority, assured her I'd get plenty of time off, come home every week… and that there are plenty of people on staff to step in any time I might need a last-minute break or whatever. There’s even a woman, Rita, who fills in when the “regular” nanny is off. And their driver would do most of the school and activity drop-offs and pickups.

"Finn is literally impossible not to love." I sigh. "Even though he's spoiled rotten. The kid is a total scallywag, but also… perfection."

"He sounds adorable," mom chuckles. "It would certainly be an experience, that's for sure."

I think maybe, in a way, my mother sees this as her opportunity to make up for the fact that, for money reasons, I wasn't able to do the exchange I had wanted to do to Europe last year. And yeah, obviously, this wouldn't be the same thing, but it could still be a good compromise to a live-away experience. Something new and challenging and independent from my mother, while only being a fifteen-minute drive away.

And yeah, the job would be hard. But I could do it. I’d be a rockstar nanny. I'm used to working with kids and juggling an after-school job. For years I've helped my mother babysit the foster kids she's taken in, or the occasional times she ran an after-school babysitting service at our home.

It's a no brainer. I need to accept the position.

Except…

Except… there’s freaking Xavier.

I’d have to live withhim. The infuriating smirk. That perma-chill attitude teetering dangerously between confidence and straight-up arrogance. And the worst part? His helicopter brother routine every time I set a boundary with Finn.

I roll onto my stomach, groaning into the throw cushion on the couch.

"You alright over there?" Mom laughs.

"Decisions suck," I whine.

"Decisions are a gift."

"What—are you like Dumbledore now, or something?" I lift my head enough to grin over at her.

She deliberates for a second. "Maybe notthatwise, no. But I've wracked up my share of wisdom over the years."

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