I didn't start out wanting to exploit my customers for financial gain, and yet that's what I'm doing now. Maybe mom was right; I am relentless. If I could go back, would I? Tear my pink book apart with all the secrets and the lies. The one page I had from my pink book was in my hand. The date printed in my neat handwriting at the top, February 2019. That was a month ago.

 "Let it go! Let it go! Can't hold it back anymore-" Holly sang out loud with a Frozen microphone. The windows shook from the fierce, cold spring air. The March weather was chillier than last year. Georgia weather was so bipolar. 

 No. I wouldn't have done anything differently because we're all vying for a position at the top. The only question is, who will you knockdown to get there? Me, anyone.

. . . . . . . . . . Two Months Earlier

 "Thanks, Mi'a. Maddie always has a blast with you. Hopefully, we'll see you soon, and thanks for coming on such short notice." Mrs.Kitchens said happily, and yes, her last name was Kitchens.

 "Yes, thanks again, Mi'a. Do you want to bring Maddie upstairs, dear?" Mr.Kitchen asked his wife. 

 "Sure," Mrs.Kitchen answered. She walked toward their cream-colored couch that had a heat control function on the arm of the sofa, which I used graciously during the winter months. The Oprah Magazine for this year 2019 that I was just reading was now facedown. 

 Once Mrs.Kitchen went upstairs with Maddie, it was all business with Mr.Kitchen. He reached into his navy pants pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. He handed it to me, and I took it immediately, putting it in my pant pocket. 

 "Nice doing business," he said with a devilish smile. 

 Mr.Kitchen was one of my more willing clients when it came down to business. He enjoyed cheating on his wife and didn't mind paying me one hundred dollars every time I came to keep quiet. 

 "Likewise," I mumbled, opening the door to leave. It was five, and the January weather was nipping but not biting. I put my hands in my pant pocket. The crisp one hundred dollar bill rubbed against my hand.

 How'd I found out about Mr.Kitchen’s wrongdoing? He was the first, and I don’t have to tell you, you never forget your first time. It happened almost five months ago. August of 2018. I had only been babysitting for like two months. I was making good money but not good enough, not fast enough. 

 Knock. Knock. I wiped my face making sure there was nothing there. I turned around and looked out at the clear sky, not a cloud in sight. The August weather was still warm and fresh to the skin. It was my third babysitting gig after the incident. A few days had gone by since then, and I still hadn't been feeling like myself. Work was a pleasant distraction, and even more so, I needed the money.

 "Hi, you must be Mi'a. I'm Rhonda. Come on in." Rhonda was tall with brown hair that went halfway down her back and had attractive features you find on most caucasian women. Small lips, high cheekbones, sleek eyebrows, a little nose. 

 "This is Maddie. She is two and full of giggles. She's just eating lunch." Rhonda continued. The Kitchen’s house was as gorgeous as every other house I babysit for- a plasma television in the living room with a cream-colored couch set, pictures of family all over the place, a coffee table with magazines, and that was just the living room. Oprah's magazine on top of the magazine pile.

 "Hi, Maddie. Are you enjoying your lunch?" I asked sweetly. Terrible twos. Not to me. Maddie didn't say anything, but she did smile happily at me, and as long as she wasn't crying, I didn't care if she said two words to me. 

 "Here is a list of her schedule. It's pretty loose. Playtime, lunch, playtime, then bedtime at seven. You can help yourself to anything-" 

 My favorite words. . .

 "We have juice, chips, and other snacks. The pizza will be here around six. You can eat it too, of course. Maddie loves Frozen if she becomes fussy. Let me give you a tour. Maddie, do you want to help me show Mi'a around?"

,

 Maddie was all too happy to follow her mum around. "This is the kitchen." 

 The kitchen was right beside the living room with a refrigerator that no doubt was a freezer on one side or at the bottom that you could pull open. A familiar design for my babysitting families. Did they all get together at the end of the week and just decide on what luxurious item to buy? I didn’t know. That's what I think. The Kitchens had a microwave above the oven, a coffee pot(a necessity for most families I watch), and a short kitchen table. 

 "Down here is Maddie's playroom." 

 Of course, she needs her own playroom. It's only logical. I didn't even have my room until I was fourteen. 

 Rhonda, Maddie, and I all walk through a door and down some steps that lead into a basement. The floor is all carpet, safety first and letters on a wall, pictures of animals, and different places. She has an art set, a small table, a kitchen set, a changing table to the side, and a television. There's a door that leads outside to the right. 

 "And play with anything in here, and if it gets too hot, you can turn the heater off." There on the floor was a rotating heater that spelled u-n-s-a-f-e, but I held my tongue. 

 "And upstairs is Maddie's room. You won't have to bathe her, and she's already in her pajamas. Do you have any questions?" Rhonda asks at the end of the tour. 

 "No. You covered everything." I said, smiling. Watch kid, eat, watch tv, bed, and eat again. 

 "Okay. Perfect. What are you in school for, by the way?" Rhonda asks, taking a seat on the couch in the living room with Maddie.

 I sit on the opposite side and answer her question, "Nursing, and what do you and Mr.Kitchens do?" 

 "We're both lawyers," Mrs.Kitchens replied with a tickle of a smile at her mouth. 

 "Wow! I bet all your conversations are debates."

 "You have no idea. Every piece of furniture in this house was a debate."

 Mrs.Kitchens kept checking her watch repeatedly. She would be leaving soon. I pulled out my secret weapon. Small but mighty, sticky but not too sticky and convenient to bring. 

 "Hey, Maddie. Do you like the Lion King by any chance?" I asked her before handing her a sheet of stickers. She accepted with a big, toothy grin before even looking at them. 

 Mrs.Kitchens smiled at me and mouthed the words 'thank you.' She snuck out of the room while Maddie was distracted by showing me the stickers. 

 Mom sees stickers; the kid likes stickers. Mission accomplished. 

Mrs.Kitchens gives Maddie one last kiss before leaving to meet some coworkers. It was almost five-thirty. Maddie and I had half an hour to play before the pizza arrived. 

 Maddie looked at me sadly, and my heart tugged at her frown. Maddie was of average height for a two-year-old with short, brown hair. She had baby fat as most toddlers still do, and deep dimples that showed when she smiled. They weren’t showing right now. 

 “Do you want to color Maddie in your playroom? We can add your stickers to your pictures.” 

Maddie smiled and shook her head. I opened the door to her playroom, and we walked down the stairs. I pulled out her bucket of crayons and markers along with two pieces of paper. I loved babysitting. It was like being a kid all over again. The downside? I shifted my thick, black legs in Maddie’s tiny, yellow chairs. I wasn’t an actual kid. 

 Maddie was brilliant. I could see her being a lawyer in the future. She knew her numbers, ABCs and talked like she was already in preschool. I was impressed. 

 ‘Do you like my dog?” Maddie asked, pointing to a cutely drawn brown dog on top of some green grass. 

 “I love it,” I answered with a smile—my own deep, brown dimples matching her white dimples. 

 “I need to be changed. I peed in my diaper.” 

 I laughed at Maddie and picked her up so that I could change her. She had a changing station in the corner of her playroom. Even genius two years olds need diaper changes. I plopped Maddie back down on the floor, and she ran to her little purple trampoline. 

 I took out my phone and read over a text message her mother sent. The pizza had arrived. “The pizza is here, Maddie. Let’s go eat, and I’ll put on Frozen.” 

 “Yay!” 

 I allowed Maddie to walk in front of me up the stairs so that I would be able to catch her if she fell. I opened the blinds slightly, and there on the floor was the large pizza. I picked it up. The mouthwatering smell of garlic crust and cheese pizza made my stomach rumble. I set the pizza down on the brown, wooden table before buckling Maddie in her high chair. I gave Maddie her cup of milk before getting myself an apple juice pouch. 

 I placed a slice of pizza on the plate her mother set aside in the refrigerator and cut it up into tiny eatable pieces. There were green beans and strawberries on the plate as well for Maddie to eat. We ate together in silence, watching Frozen on Disney+. It was almost seven by the time Maddie was done eating. The thing about little kids eating is that it took them about half an hour just to do so. I didn’t mind. I got paid by the hour. 

 I cleaned Maddie’s cute, chubby face and placed our dishes in the sink. I would wash them after I placed her down for her bedtime. I sent Maddie’s mom a quick text that she had eaten, and she replied almost instantly. 

 “What do you want to do now, Maddie?” I asked. 

 “Can we watch Peppa Pig?” 

 “Sure.” 

Maddie and I watched television for the next half an hour. When it was seven-thirty, I looked at the schedule her mom wrote down to confirm this was the time to put her to sleep. I read Maddie some books before turning on her sleep sound machine. She didn’t fuss too much and just needed reassurance that her parents would be back once she woke up. 

 I did the dishes when I went back downstairs and cleaned up the kitchen. I went back into the playroom to clean up the toys and crayons we had used, placing Maddie’s picture in the middle of the table. 

 I was walking up the stairs when I heard it—the jingling of the doorknob. My pulse began to quicken, and I could hear my blood circulating throughout my eardrums. Maddie! She was sleeping in her room, my momentary fright making me almost forget that I had placed her down earlier. I reached for my phone to call 911, but my phone wasn’t in my pocket. An image of the coffee table popping into my mind. I had left my phone there. My mouth was starting to water, and I licked my lips. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. 

 I was confident this house had an alarm system, so whoever was trying to get in could only get in if they had a-. I heard the click of the door opening and jumped slightly when it closed. A key. It couldn’t be past nine, and her mom said her dad would not be home until eleven. Mrs.Kitchens wouldn’t be home till after that. Mr.Kitchens was probably just home early. I exhaled a shaky breath and relaxed. 

I walked down the rest of the stairs facing a woman with her face in the leftover pizza that was still on the table. She had long, caramel legs with dark, curly brown hair.

 “Can I help you?” I asked, instantly starting her. She jumped, and by human instincts made me jump. 

 “Agh!” She shrieked, looking me up and down. “Who are you?”

I lifted a naturally sleek eyebrow, “I asked you first.”

 The woman looked at me and then chuckled, “I own this house.” She bragged, taking a bite out of a slice of pizza.

 “That’s funny. You don’t look like Mrs.Kitchens.” I said, unimpressed with her no matter how gorgeous she looked. The door once again jiggled, and in walked a man. I recognized him instantly from the pictures around the house. 

 “Camila. I told you not to come here.” The man said. He did a double-take when he saw me standing only a few inches away from the scene. 

 “My phone died. I let myself in.” Camila answered.

 Mr.Kitchens rubbed his temple with both hands, “This is why you don’t give your house keys to your-”

 “Mistress,” I answered for him.

 Mr.Kitchens looked startled that I could talk. “You must be the babysitter. I'm Mr.Kitchens. How did Maddie do?”

 “Wonderful. She ate all her food.”

 “I'm glad to hear it. Camila, go home. I'll call you.” Mr.Kitchens whispered, looking at me. Camila left but not before Mr.Kitchens took the keys from her palm. 

The door opened and closed with a snap. “I hope she doesn't know where your wife works,” I said with a cheeky smile. Mr.Kitchens smiled back. 

 “Sorry you had to see that, and thankfully I'm not that clueless,” Mr.Kitchens answered back.

 I shrugged my shoulders, “Well, you gave her a set of your house keys, so I wasn't sure.” 

 Mr.Kitchens let out a loud belch of a laugh. “I like you, and I love my wife and daughter,” Mr.Kitchens pulled a wallet out of his pocket and took out some twenties. “Will a hundred make you forget about this?” 

 Omg, he was trying to bribe me. I looked at him and then the money. Who did he think I was, some broke, black kid that was strapped for cash? He’d be about right but still. I had morals. Morals didn't pay the bills, my brain thought. I needed the money. I thought about Mrs.Kitchens. I didn't need it that bad. I looked at the money. I needed the money. I thought about Maddie and her cute dimples. I didn't need it that bad. I thought about-I needed the money.

 I'm better than this. I don't need his money, but then again, I am his babysitter, so accepting this money wouldn't be wrong. It be a good tip! It's wrong if I don't take it. I started to lean my hand forward to accept the payment, but then an image of Mrs.Kitchens popped into my head. Then I thought about my student loans. I had student loans, and I was only a freshman. Peachtree University wasn’t an ivy league school, but you would think it was with the prices they charged students. I'm not the smartest kid in class. I don’t have a four-point GPA. I had student loans; I had bills to pay for. I wanted success and to get the kind of life this man was idly taking for granted, and a measly one hundred wasn't going to get him off the hook with me. 

 “I'll do you one better. You're a lawyer, so let's negotiate. I take the money and keep my mouth shut, but you'll also tell Mrs.Kitchens what a wonderful babysitter I am because I am. The dishes are cleaned. Maddie had fun and ate. You'll also have to pay me a hundred for every time I come to babysit.” 

 Mr.Kitchens chuckled and took a seat in the living room. He waved a hand for me to sit. “And why would I do that?” 

 “Which part?” I said.

 “I was going to say all of it, but since we're negotiating, the recurring payments. Why would I continue to pay you?” 

 I placed a hand dramatically on my forehead and shook my head, “Because I'm only eighteen and I forget a lot of things. Keeping my mouth shut isn't something you would want me to forget. The amount of money Mrs.Kitchens would want from you in child support would be a lot more than a measly hundred bucks.” 

 “I thought you were going to school to be a nurse. You should consider changing it to be a lawyer,” Mr.Kitchens replied, sliding the money over to me on the couch. “You can let yourself out. The door locks automatically."

Of course, it does.