15 Days Babysitting For My Star Quarterback Bully

Chapter Ten

As soon as I push open the door, the smell of onions and garlic wafts through my nose.

I smile at the sight of my mother standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in hand as steam curls around her like a halo. Dad is seated at the small dining table, peering down at the stack of papers before him through his glasses.

Without looking closely, I already know those are bills.

“You’re home early,” Mom says, glancing over her shoulder with a smile. “Just in time for dinner.”

“I only came to change,” I tell her, already slipping off my shoes. “I have to be at the Brooks’ in twenty, and I spilled juice all over my shirt.”

Technically, Cassidy cornered me in the girl’s bathroom and dumped her drink all over me because she claimed I looked at her wrong. But my parents don’t need to know that. As far as they’re concerned, my school life is impeccable.

Dad looks up, adjusting his glasses. “I hope that family is treating you right. We’ve barely seen you at home since you took that job.”

I don’t even hesitate before lying through my teeth. “They’re fine.”

“Honey, with the amount they’re paying her, I’m surprised we’re seeing her at all.” Mom turns down the heat and faces me fully. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie. Even I wasn’t working this hard at your age.”

Dad nods swiftly. “You’re so disciplined and responsible saving like that.”

My cheeks grow warm. “It’s just babysitting,” I mumble, staring down at my shoes.

“No,” Mom shakes her head vehemently. “It’s way more than that. You’re thinking about your future, Lila. Not many teenagers have that kind of foresight.”

My future… ironic that she’d say that when it’s something her and Dad have both decided long before I was born.

Dad gathers the stack of papers into a neat pile. “We may not be able to hand you tuition, but you’re giving yourself a chance and I couldn’t be prouder.”

I smile despite myself, feeling my chest swell with warmth.

“With your grades, there’s nothing stopping you from getting a scholarship offer from a good college. Maybe even an Ivy school,” Mom says, beaming as her eyes take on a faraway look. “Can you imagine our daughter in Princeton or Harvard…?”

My stomach tightens and I feel the corners of my lips drop.

“I can,” Dad bobs his head, then turns to me. “Knowing my daughter, you’d probably choose a major like pre-law or medicine,” he laughs, shaking his head.

The urge to yell that neither of them, in fact, knows me is too strong. But I’ve mastered the art of suppressing my desires a long time ago.

“Yes! Something prestigious,” Mom adds, drying her hands as she walks toward me. “You’ve always been smart enough.”

Swallowing, I nod because it’s always been easier than speaking.

I don’t blame them for not seeing my sketchbook peeking out of my bag, or recognizing that my love for art is more than just a hobby, or even seeing the smudges of charcoal I always scrub off my fingers every time I come back home from school.

The rational part of me knows they only see acceptance letters with fancy crests on them, because all they want is a different life than theirs for me. They want a life of stability, one without overdue notices stacked high on the table.

And art school sounds more like risk than prestige. We have no luxury for risk.

“You will get into one,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulder firmly. “I know you will.”

I force a smile. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Maybe.”

Dad checks his watch. “You should go change and head out.”

Not needing to be told twice, I grab my shoes and head upstairs. “I’ll tell them when the right time comes,” I tell myself.

For now, they deserve to dream. They deserve to hold on to their pride a little longer, and I can handle a little more time of pretending that I want what they want.

But that rational part, the one that easily succumbs to the desires of others because “it’s the right thing to do,” softly whispers.

“Why tell them at all?”

***

“You’re late,” Tyler says as soon as I push the door open.

He’s pacing the foyer, with his cleats unlaced and the zip of his hoodie halfway up.

I raise a brow. “It’s only been ten minutes, and I texted that I was running late.”

“You’re supposed to be here by four o’clock, not 4:10,” he insists.

I drop my bag harder than I mean to. “I have my own life too, you know?”

He lets out a derisive snort. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I snap. “I’m trying my best to work, study, and save at the same time. I would like to do what normal teenagers do but I can’t exactly afford to. I would like to hang out with friends, or at least not have to sprint all the way across town just so I’m not late to a house that isn’t even mine.”

Tyler’s eyes flicker with irritation, maybe even surprise. “You chose this job.”

“You don’t think I know that?” I scoff, shaking my head. “I can’t believe I empathized with you after hearing the things your Dad said yesterday. Turns out he was right after all.”

As soon as those words leave my mouth, I feel instant regret.

Color drains from Tyler’s face like I’ve struck him, and I see hurt, clear as day, in his eyes.

“Tyler, I…”

He shakes his head and grabs his helmet. “You’re not the only one trying to survive,” he says, then walks past me.

The door slams shut in tow, leaving me feeling like the most horrible person alive.