Babysitting the Bad Boy

Chapter 1

BEEP BEEP BEEP

I groan and roll over in my bed, pulling my pillow over my head in an attempt to block out the noise from my alarm clock, in the hopes that I'm only dreaming, and I don't actually have to get up for school, that I'll actually open my eyes and be back in my bedroom in Ireland.

That didn't happen.

Instead, my mother walked into my room, "Ariel, come on get up. You don't want to be late to your first day back, do you?" She asked as she walked over to my bedside table to turn off my alarm.

"I would rather not show up at all if that's an option." I grumbled, pulling the pillow off of my head.

"Look Ariel. I know you don't want to go. I know you're scared. But you haven't seen these people in two years. And that was at the end of the eighth grade. Now, I'm not excusing the things they did to you, but you can't tell me that you know for a fact none of them have changed at all. Go to school. Go, and show them no fear and no shame. Be yourself, and don't let anyone tell you different." She said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

I sat quietly for a second before sighing, knowing that she was right. She was always right, "Alright. I'm up." I said.

She smiled and rubbed my knee, "Good. Get dressed, breakfast is downstairs when you're ready." She said before standing up and walking out of my bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I sighed and threw off my covers, getting out of bed. I immediately decided not to shower (who wants to deal with wet and tangled hair anyways). I then walked to my closet and opened it, looking for an outfit to wear on my first day back at the Baker Hill school district.

The last time I had seen any of my classmates was the last day of eighth grade at our "graduation" ceremony when Rebecca Wyatt and Dylan Crowley dumped a bucket of fish guts over my head in the parking lot.

Two days later was when I moved to Ireland with my aunt. Now it was two years later, the start of junior year. And I was back in Baker Hill, and not ready to face the people who had made my life a living hell from fourth grade on.

I snapped out of my thoughts and went back to picking my outfit. I wanted to look really good, but I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard, because then it would just be obvious, ya feel?

I settled on black shorts, a maroon top, and white converse. It was school appropriate, but still would be cool enought to withstand the end of summer heatwave of New England. I added a simple silver locket with no picture inside to the look, and did my hair. I left it down, allowing my long, two-toned brown hair to flow freely on my shoulders, stopping at my waist. I pulled strands back to tie them into a bun at the top of my head.

I then did my makeup at my vanity. I may have gone a little over the top, adding highlight and a pink lipstick to my usual foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara (I want to look good, okay?). I looked at myself in my mirror, sighing before grabbing my backpack, car keys, and phone and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

I dropped my things on the couch before walking into the kitchen and grabbing a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice and bringing it to the table. It was a first day of school tradition at my house that my father would make pancakes for breakfast every year on the first day of school.

As I finished up my plate, my parents came downstairs, dressed for work, my father a Mythology and Ancient History professor at a college in the city, and my mother the owner of a small chain of bookstores throughout New England which was actually very successful.

"So, Little Mermaid are you nervous?" My dad asked as he sat down at the seat across from me.

I rolled my eyes at my father's nickname for me, (before you ask, yes I was named after the Little Mermaid, no I do not know why), before answering, "Yes I'm nervous. I haven't seen these people in two years. But I can't run away." I said as I finished my last bite and stood up, walking over to the sink and placing my plate at the bottom.