I winced.Talk about a cliché.
The boy, a stocky kid with longish brown hair, chimed in, "Yeah! Up yours, loser!"
Next to me, Willow said, "They're yelling at the nanny."
"How do you know?"
Her voice grew solemn. "Because theyalwaysyell at the nanny."
I frowned. "Aren't they a little old to have a nanny?"
"Well, yeah," Willow said. "But I'm a little old, too. So I guess it's okay."
At this, I had to smile. "Well, youareeight now."
"Oh, I know," she said. "That's why I asked for you. I didn't want to be treated like a baby anymore."
I was just about to reply when a third person erupted from the same mansion. It was a young woman around my own age. She was very pretty with ice blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was wearing a black dress that looked almost like a maid's uniform. Her face was flushed, and the front of her dress was covered in what looked like…? I frowned. "Is that breakfast cereal?"
Willow said, "Yup."
I shook my head. "But, it's not even breakfast time."
"I know," Willow said. "That's what makes it so interesting."
That wasoneway to put it. "Oh?"
Willow nodded. "But sometimes, they hit her with oatmeal."
"Seriously?" I was so stunned, I didn't know what to say. "And she puts up with it?"
"It's not alwaysher," Willow said.
I frowned in confusion. "You mean, like, they have more than one nanny?"
"No. I mean the nannies keep changing."
"Oh. I can see why." I bit my lip. "You know what? I think we should go inside."
"But why?" Willow said. "If it's because of them, don't worry. They'll go back in a minute."
Again, I asked, "How do you know?"
"Because it's just a trick to lock her out."
"You mean the nanny?"
"Oh yeah," Willow said. "You just watch."
Sure enough, the two teenagers dodged around the nanny, raced back into the house, and slammed the patio door shut behind them. When the nanny marched to the same door and yanked at the doorknob, nothing happened.
She pounded on the door and called out, "Hey! You didn't lock me out, did you?" She gave another frantic tug at the knob. "Open up! I mean it!"
I looked to Willow. "Do you think we should call someone?"
Yes, I realized I was asking an eight-year-old for advice, but the truth was, she seemed far better informed than I'd ever be.
With a little shrug, she replied, "Nah. She'll just go through the window."
