Fact: Having one shrink parent sucks. Two shrink parents? Twice the suckage.

I ran my hand through my hair. “Max is okay, I guess.” I rolled my eyes. “For a five-year-old.” What did she expect? Just because he was in my guppy swim class didn’t make us Vegas road trip buddies.

“Slade, you just have to go to the interview,” Mom said. She blinked her eyes really fast, which freaked me out because I hated it when she cried. “Just go and see what happens. If you don’t get hired—”

“Then he’ll find another job, or forfeit his allowance for the summer,” Dad said. “And give up driving his car.”

“What?” I jerked so violently that coffee spilled out of my mug. Dad glared at me. He bought stupidly expensive coffee beans from some local roaster and acted like the stuff was liquid gold. One time I’d started the coffeemaker and forgot to stick the pot under the filter. Coffee had spilled everywhere and Dad had reacted like I’d kicked a puppy or something.

“Slade, it’s time for you to start living up to your potential.”

Not again. If my dad came with a mute button, I’d press it.

Mom cleared her throat. “I don’t think we need to have this conversation right now, Mike.”

Dad glared at her. “Karen, we talked about this.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “Which is why he has the interview today.”

“That you set up,” Dad snapped. “He didn’t even do that part on his own.”

“Sitting right here,” I chimed in. “Hearing every word.”

They both gaped at me, like they’d forgotten I was there. I sighed and took a long drink of the liquid gold, preparing my argument.

“I’m completely unqualified,” I said. “I’ve never babysat. I can handle little kids in small doses. But all day? With the crying and whining and peeing their pants?” I shook my head and tried to look disappointed in myself. “It’s just not a good fit. How ’bout I apply at Victoria’s Secret?”

Mom narrowed her eyes. “Hilarious, Slade.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You’re going to this interview.”

“For once, I agree with Slade.” Dad crossed the kitchen and refilled his mug.

“Mike! What are you talking about?” Mom stared at him like he’d turned into an alien.

Dad shrugged. “Slade’s right. He’s completely unqualified. I can’t figure out how you got Max’s mom to even consider—”

“We’re friends,” Mom interrupted. “Book club. Bunco parties.” She waved her hand dismissively. “She trusts me. I’ve told her all about Slade.”

Dad and I looked at each other, and I suspected we were thinking the same thing: If she really had told Max’s mom all about me, why would she give me an interview?

“Look,” I said. “I get why you guys want me to get a real job. You’ve never made me work, other than the toddler swim lessons and lifeguarding, which were my idea, by the way—”

“That’s what, a few hours a week?” Dad interrupted. “Since you’re only a substitute lifeguard this summer.”

I ignored him, focusing on Mom instead. “You gave me a car when I turned sixteen. You give me a decent allowance. You don’t—”

“Decent?” Dad interrupted. “Your allowance is more than I made while I worked my way through college.”

I rolled my eyes. “As I was saying, you don’t make me pay for my car insurance. Or gas for my car.” I sighed. “So I get it. But I’d really like to choose what jobs I apply for.”

Dad stroked his beard. “Karen, I believe our son is showing a modicum of sense. For once.”

Mom got all blinky-eyed again, then took a bite of her cereal and chewed for a long time.

Finally she spoke. “All right. I’ll make you a deal, Slade. I still want you to go to the interview. If Mrs. Gonzales doesn’t offer you the job, then you can apply for any job you want.” She frowned at me. “Except Victoria’s Secret.”

I glanced at Dad, who shrugged. “I’d take the deal if I were you.”

I nodded at Mom. “Deal.”

My parents had zero faith in me, but they showed it in different ways. Dad attacked me head on. Bs should be As. Cs were unacceptable, even though I got them all the time. Making state in swimming was good, but why didn’t I medal?

Mom was more subtle. “That’s great you got a B minus on that essay. But if you’d worked a little harder, it would’ve been an A. And by the way, how many laps did you swim today?”

Honestly, they’d both be shocked if I got a job offer. On one hand, I’d like to shock them.

On the other hand, actually getting the job sounded like a nightmare come true.

Mrs. Gonzales shoved a cookie platter under my nose. I took one with brown sugar and cinnamon. Snicker strudels? No, that wasn’t right. I took a bite. Whatever it was, I liked it.

“Slade, I’m so glad you’re interested in this job. Max just adores you.”

Max played on the floor with his mountain of rubber dinosaurs. Judging from his suspicious expression, he didn’t adore me. I grinned at him, but he focused his attention back on his T. rex battle.

Mrs. G. poured me a glass of iced tea. I started to drink it then noticed something weird inside the ice cubes. “Uh,” I held out the glass. “I think maybe there’s mold or something in the ice.”

She smiled. “It’s crushed mint leaf. For flavor.”

Wow. How did chicks come up with stuff like this? I took a sip. Not as good as Dad’s coffee, but not horrible.

“So, the job is Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays, about nine hours a day, depending on our schedules,” said Mrs. G. “The kids go to church day camp on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you’ll have those days off. We’ll cover all the expenses of course, for outings and lunches, etc. The pay is ten dollars per hour.”

Two hundred seventy bucks a week just to hang out with a little kid? He couldn’t be that much trouble.

“That sounds good,” I said, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth.

Mrs. G. smiled. “Your application was great, Slade. But can you answer a few more questions for me?”

“Sure.” I reached for another cookie. They were way better than my mom’s nasty granola bars, which I only ate so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings.

I’d filled the application with stuff I knew Mrs. G. wanted to hear. Like how much I loved kids (which was an exaggeration) and how I was CPR certified (which was true). And then I added a killer line about wanting a job that would be more meaningful than just working in the mall. Damn, I was good.

“What would you do if Max started having a tantrum? Screaming and causing a scene in public?”

I glanced at Max, who frowned at his mom. “Does he do that?”

“Just tell me what you’d do.”

Suddenly the T. rex was tossing toy raptors across the room.

“Huh.” Offering the kid a beer to chill him out probably wasn’t the best answer. “Give him a cookie?” I took another bite. “They’re awesome.”

Max and the T. rex stopped attacking the smaller dinosaurs.

Mrs. G. frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t be my first choice. Maybe you could ask him to use his words.”

“Um, isn’t he already using his words? If he’s screaming and stuff?”

Mrs. G. gave me one of those fake mom smiles, the ones where you know they’re thinking all kinds of un-mom-like stuff, but won’t say it out loud.

One point to Mrs. G.

“Next question.” She brushed imaginary crumbs off her lap. “What if the house catches on fire?”

Did Mom tell her I was a total moron? “Get Max outside and call 911 from my cell.”

One point to me.

“All right, Slade. This one’s important. Let’s say you and the other nanny get distracted and the kids—”

“Wait, there’s another nanny? And did you say kids, plural?”

She raised an eyebrow, like she was surprised I knew the word plural. What had my mom said about me, anyway?

“Yes. You’ll be nannying with a…partner. She’s very experienced. Very responsible. She’ll be watching Max’s best friend, Gillian.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Gillian’s the one who might be throwing tantrums, not Max.”