“No, I’ll drive myself,” I say. “Thanks, though.”
“You’re really going on an interview to be a babysitter?” Elijah asks, and I give him a confused look. “I mean… you’ll be watching someone’s baby,” he says, as if that’ll explain my confusion. I cock my head to the side and cross my arms.
“What are you insinuating?” I say sharply. He begins to eat his chicken, feigning ignorance. “Elijah, what do you mean?” I hiss. He points to his full mouth.
Nice try.
“I think what your brother is trying to say is that we’re just… surprised,” my mother adds.
Elijah finishes chewing.
“Yeah. I mean, you’re a great sister. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like you should be babysitting for anyone else. You gave me ice cream for dinner the other night, and you told me that I could stay up as late as I wanted, as long as I didn’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Elijah!” I yell, glaring at him. “What is the point of a secret when you go and blab about it two days later?” I hiss scathingly. “From now on, it’s broccoli for dinner and a nine o’clock bedtime.” My mom and dad just sit there, smiling. “Do you agree with Elijah?” I say, slightly hurt that my own brother doesn’t think I’m a good babysitter.
They look at each other uncomfortably.
“Umm…” my mother says before putting a large piece of potato in her mouth.
“Well...” my father starts. He looks like he’s about to say something, but instead he shrugs his shoulders and continues to eat.
“I’ll have you all know that I happen to be an excellent babysitter. They wouldn’t have asked me in for an interview if they thought I wasn’t qualified,” I say huffily.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” my mother says half-convincingly.
I roll my eyes.
My own family has zero faith in me. That’s comforting.
I pick around my food for another minute or two. Truth is, I’m not that hungry. I’m surprisingly nervous about my interview. I also don’t want to get any food on my dress.
I hate dresses.
Violet lent me one of her dresses for my interview in an attempt to help me seem semi-professional. “To make up for your crazy emails,” she’d said. The only problem is, this dress is a tad too small. Violet is tall and thin—supermodel thin. I am thin too, but I’m built differently. I’m skinny fat. And I’m definitely not as tall as Violet. The black fabric clings way too tightly around my chest and hips; two places that I definitely do not want accentuated. It will have to do though, because my wardrobe consists mainly of college essentials: yoga pants, sweatshirts, jeans, and tank tops. None of which are appropriate to wear to an interview.
“Are you going to eat anything, Evianna?” my mother asks while looking at me. I hate how she uses my full name. I prefer Evi.
“I’m just nervous,” I mumble, and I attempt to fork in a couple mouthfuls of chicken.
“I would be too, if I were interviewing for a job that I was grossly under-qualified for,” Elijah mumbles, and I shove him playfully. He just snickers and keeps eating.
“You guys suck,” I say under my breath. Their behavior certainly does nothing to quell my nerves. If anything, they’re making it much, much worse.
“Evi, sweetie, we’re just teasing,” my dad says, chuckling to himself. “Mostly.”
“You look nice,” my mother adds, sounding hopeful.
I pick at my chicken, not looking up at any of them.
“Yes, very nice,” my dad agrees, smacking his mouth loudly as he chews on his chicken.
I stand up. I don’t want to listen to any more of their teasing.
“I should go,” I say, excusing myself. I pick my plate up. “Traffic,” I mutter before bringing my plate to the sink.
“Gonna eat that?” Elijah asks, pointing to my plate of uneaten food.
“No. It’s all yours,” I say, dumping the food onto his plate. I swear... preteen boys are never full.