Chapter 3 Chapter 3
Mila did not sleep well.
That was the first consequence of the flyer.
The second was that she woke up already irritated, which meant she burned her toast, snapped at a sock drawer that refused to open, and spent ten full minutes staring at the word Reed as if hatred alone might make the ink disappear.
It did not.
By the time she got to school, the morning air had turned sharp with autumn cold, and her mood had settled into something flat and stubborn. Naomi took one look at her in first period and slid into the desk beside her before class started.
“That expression means either murder or math,” Naomi said. “Please say math.”
Mila pulled the flyer from her binder and slapped it onto the desk.
Naomi scanned it. Her eyes widened. “No.”
“That was also my reaction.”
“This is for Jaxon Reed’s family?”
“Apparently.”
Naomi looked almost delighted in the horrified way only best friends could manage. “Oh, this is catastrophic.”
“Thank you for your support.”
“I support you deeply. I also support drama from a safe observational distance.”
Mila dropped her head into her hands. “Mrs. Delaney wants me to call after school.”
“And are you going to?”
“I’d rather lick a battery.”
“But?”
Mila looked up. “But the pay is stupidly good.”
Naomi winced in sympathy. She knew exactly what that meant. College applications, tutoring fees, gas money, the laptop Mila’s family kept promising to replace when they could.
“That’s evil,” Naomi said. “Not on your mother’s part. On the universe’s part.”
“Correct.”
Their teacher swept in before Naomi could say more, and the conversation died beneath attendance, notes, and a pop quiz Mila resented on principle. Still, no matter how hard she tried to focus, her mind kept circling back to the same awful facts.
The Reeds were rich.
The Reeds were desperate enough to ask the school for help.
And somehow, out of every student in Briar Ridge, the one they had selected was her.
At lunch, she regretted coming to the cafeteria immediately.
Kendra was there.
Of course she was there. Briar Ridge High was many things, but generous was not one of them.
Kendra sat at the center of her usual cheer table in a cloud of glossy hair and strategic cruelty. The moment she saw Mila, her smile changed. It didn’t widen. It sharpened.
Naomi muttered, “Ignore her.”
“That was the plan.”
Mila made it almost all the way to a table near the back before a voice cut through the room.
“So,” Kendra called lightly, “I heard charity work really suits you.”
Mila stopped.
Every instinct she had screamed at her to keep walking. But the tone in Kendra’s voice was too pointed, too knowing.
Slowly, Mila turned.
Kendra rested her chin on one hand and smiled. “I mean, first you collect broken calculators in the parking lot, and now I hear the Reed family’s shopping for help.”
Naomi went still beside her. “How do you know about that?”
Kendra laughed. “Please. My mother plays tennis with half this town. News travels.”
Mila’s stomach tightened. So it was true. Not another Reed family. Not some random clerical misunderstanding. The Reeds.
The actual Reeds.
Kendra’s gaze swept over her. “Although I have to say, live-in babysitter does feel on brand for you.”
Mila set her lunch tray down before she threw it.
“You really do wake up every morning and choose humiliation as a personality trait,” Mila said.
A few people nearby made startled sounds.
Kendra leaned back in her chair. “And you wake up every morning thinking sarcasm makes you desirable.”
“No,” Mila said evenly. “I wake up every morning thankful I’m not you.”
That one landed.
Kendra’s mouth flattened, but before she could respond, a chair scraped.
Mila did not have to look to know who had stood up.
The room changed first. Then came the silence.
Jaxon.
He crossed from the athletes’ table with that same infuriating ease he seemed to carry everywhere, but there was nothing easy in his face now. His attention went to Kendra first, then to Mila, then briefly to the flyer half-hidden under Mila’s hand on the table.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Kendra’s expression brightened with brittle expectation. “Jax.”
He ignored the warmth in her voice completely. “Leave it alone, Kendra.”
Her smile faltered. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The cafeteria went so quiet Mila could hear the hum of the vending machines.
Kendra laughed, but it shook at the edges. “You can’t be serious.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened. “I am.”
Something angry and hot moved through Mila—not gratitude, not relief, something rougher. Because again. Again he was stepping in now, suddenly, publicly, after years of being perfectly comfortable doing nothing.
She hated how much that mattered.
Kendra grabbed her drink and stood. “Unbelievable.”
Her eyes cut to Mila. “Enjoy playing house, babysitter.”
Then she turned and stalked off with her table of loyal satellites trailing behind.
Noise rushed back in.
Mila picked up her tray again. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
Jaxon looked at her. “I know.”
“Then stop doing this.”
His expression shifted. “Doing what?”
“Acting like one decent moment erases all the others.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. Naomi, bless her, suddenly found her phone fascinating and started inching away with supernatural discretion.
“Mila,” he said quietly, “can we talk?”
“No.”
“Just five minutes.”
“I’d rather donate the five minutes to science.”
That got the faintest flicker of something from him. Not quite a smile. Close enough to annoy her further.
He glanced at the paper beneath her hand. “You got the flyer.”
So he did know.
Of course he knew.
“It’s under your family name,” she said. “Subtle.”
His shoulders squared. “My dad asked the school for recommendations. Mrs. Delaney suggested you because my sister already knows you from the library.”
Mila blinked. “Your sister?”
“Lucy. She’s eight.”
The name hit with sudden recognition. Lucy with the glitter sneakers. Lucy who always asked the hardest questions in coding club and once proudly announced that binary felt ‘cozy.’
“Oh,” Mila said before she could stop herself.
Jaxon noticed. “You remember her.”
“She built a robot that only spins in circles and insults people.”
His mouth actually did curve then. “Yeah. That sounds like Lucy.”
For one wildly disorienting second, they were just two people talking about a child they both liked. No audience. No history. No Kendra-shaped poison in the air.
Then Mila remembered herself.
She crossed her arms. “That still doesn’t explain why you’d want me in your house.”
His gaze held hers. “Maybe because I trust my sister with you.”
That shouldn’t have affected her. But it did, small and sharp.
She looked away first. “That’s convenient.”
“It’s true.”
Silence stretched between them, taut and awkward. Finally Mila said, “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair, suddenly less polished than usual, more tired. “Look, my dad’s working double shifts at the plant for the next few weeks. Our regular sitter left because her husband got transferred. Lucy can’t stay alone, and I’ve got practice every day until six. Sometimes later.”
“So quit football.”
His brows lifted. “That’s your solution?”
“No. My solution is that this is not my problem.”
He accepted that with a short nod. “Fair.”
She hadn’t expected fair. She’d expected argument. Defensiveness. Entitlement, maybe.
Instead he said, “But I’m still asking.”
That caught her off guard.
Not because he asked. Because he sounded sincere.
The bell rang then, shrill and jarring. Students started pushing back chairs, scraping trays, flooding toward the exits. The moment broke apart with them.
Jaxon reached into his backpack and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Here.”
Mila stared at it. “What is that?”
“Lucy’s schedule. Allergy info. Emergency contacts. Stuff like that.” He hesitated, then added, “Just in case you want details before you decide.”
She took it automatically.
Their fingers brushed.
It lasted less than a second.
Still, something odd skipped through her chest before she crushed it flat.
“Don’t read into this,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“You’re reading into it already.”
“Probably,” he admitted.
That almost made her laugh, which was intolerable.
Naomi reappeared at Mila’s elbow as if summoned by emotional instability. “We’re late,” she said brightly, looking between them.
Mila tucked the paper into her binder. “Good.”
She started walking.
After two steps, she turned back. “If I do this, there will be rules.”
Jaxon’s eyes followed her with quiet focus. “Okay.”
“I’m there for your sister, not for you.”
“Understood.”
“I don’t clean up quarterback disasters.”
A faint line appeared between his brows. “I don’t have disasters.”
She gave him a look.
He exhaled. “Fine. Some disasters.”
“And if Kendra shows up at your house acting feral, I leave.”
His expression hardened instantly. “She won’t.”
It was the first certain thing he’d said.
Mila studied him for a beat, then nodded once and walked away.
Naomi waited until they were halfway down the hall before whispering, “You are absolutely taking that job.”
Mila clutched her binder to her chest. “I haven’t decided.”
“You made rules. That’s basically a prenup for employment.”
“It is not.”
“It is in spirit.”
Mila rolled her eyes, but her stomach was twisting again. Because Naomi was right. Making rules meant she was already imagining it. The house. The schedule. The reality of showing up every afternoon and stepping into the life of the last person she wanted to need.
By final period, she had nearly convinced herself to call Mrs. Delaney and decline.
Then she opened her email and saw another reminder about engineering program fees.
By the end of the day, pride was losing by a humiliating margin.
She stood outside the guidance office after last bell with the flyer in one hand and dread in every cell of her body. Through the open door she could see Mrs. Delaney sorting folders behind her desk.
The counselor looked up and smiled. “Mila. I hoped you’d come by.”
“That makes one of us.”
Mrs. Delaney’s smile widened. “Sit.”
Mila sat.
For a moment, she just stared at the edge of the desk. Then she blew out a breath.
“I have conditions,” she said.
Mrs. Delaney folded her hands, entirely too pleased. “Go on.”
Mila thought of Lucy. Of her mother’s face when she’d said drywall did not pay for engineering school. Of Jaxon in the cafeteria, asking instead of assuming.
Temporary, she reminded herself.
Strictly temporary.
“I’ll do it,” she said, the words tasting dramatic and doomed. “But only for the trial week.”
Mrs. Delaney beamed. “Wonderful.”
“No,” Mila corrected. “Financially necessary.”
The counselor laughed softly and reached for a folder. “Then let’s talk details.”
And as Mila sat in that too-bright office listening to the plan unfold—pickup times, house address, emergency contacts, a start date of tomorrow—one truth settled over her with terrifying clarity.
This wasn’t just a bad idea.
It was the kind of bad idea that changed everything.
