There was more paint on Kennedy's clothes than on the canvas. She refused to wear the plastic smock because she didn't want to cover up the unicorn on her shirt. Now that a glob of yellow paint covered the unicorn, she was in tears.

"Don't cry, Dee," Carter said, trying to calm his sister down. It was cute, especially considering five minutes ago he was getting annoyed because she kept trying to paint on his canvas.

The tarp I put down during craft time crinkled as I kneeled in front of Kennedy. Using a damp cloth, I wiped at the paint. Thankfully, it was washable, so it wouldn't stain, but a wet towel could only do so much. And it wasn't enough for Kennedy. It only made her cry more, her little arms and braids flailing.

Carter gave up trying to console his sister and went back to painting his picture of The Ninja Turtles. If only I could ignore her tantrums that easily.

Before I could start bribing the four-year-old with blueberries, her favorite fruit, the front door open. Both Kennedy and Carter ran to their mom when she came in.

Carter told his mom about everything we did that day, and Kennedy pointed out the wet spot on her shirt. Mrs. Wright handled the two of them, tugging at her coat sleeves and talking over each other, a lot more gracefully than I could've.

I'd felt off since the night Andre took me home. My mom didn't like to yell, but she didn't have to for her point to come through, loud and clear. I got earful about the statistics of Black girls going missing that I've heard a million times over. Still, it made me feel extremely guilty for not letting her know about the change of plans.

Usually, Indy handled that. She always had a lie on hand to cover up whatever trouble she was dragging me into.

I pulled my phone out of my bag as I left the Wrights. I had a notification from Mrs. Wright sending my weekly babysitting fee and a voice-mail from my mom.

"Hey, Cookie, I got called into the birthing center, but I asked Indigo to pick you up. Take the steak out the freezer when you get home. Love you!"

Cookie? She hadn't used that name in a while. Maybe she was feeling a little guilty as well. According to Indy, my mom completely overreacted. I'd be lying if I said a small part of me didn't feel the same.

As I scrolled through my phone, waiting for Indy to pull up, Mrs. Wright came outside. "Daya, I'm glad I caught you," she said, coming down the porch steps to meet me at the end of the driveway. "My husband and I have a wedding tomorrow night and I was hoping you could babysit again?"

Guilty or not, my mom hadn't lifted my punishment. She me sentenced to my room for the weekend. Mrs. Wright took my silence for hesitation.

"I know it's last minute," she said. Then, more to herself, added, "Just like my brother's engagement, but I can pay extra. It'll be kind of late, past the kids' bedtime, so they'd be asleep most of the time. What do you think?"

As amazing as that'd extra money be. I knew my mom wouldn't go for it. I shook my head, ready to tell her I couldn't, until she said, "I'll double the pay."

Double? Even my mom would understand how important that money was for me. You know, after she got over the shock of me driving a car, let alone buying one.

"I'll have to ask my mom." Mrs. Wright's brow raised in question. "I'm on punishment."

The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? What'd you do?"

How did I tell my employer that my mom freaked out because I was in a car with a really cute guy?

"Oh, I know that look," Mrs. Wright said, nodding approvingly. "It's a boy isn't?"

My face burned at her words. How'd she know? Was there really a look on my face that said "BOY DRAMA" or was she simply guessing? Either way, I knew when Carter and Kennedy got older, they'd never be able to lie to her.

"Yeah," I said, picking at my nail polish.

She smiled, staring longingly at the sky. "I remember those days of sneaking around with boys." When she brought her gaze back to me, her expression was serious. "Your mama was right to ground you!"

"It wasn't like that," I protested, though I did like that she didn't see me as goody-goody like Indy.

Mrs. Wright was gorgeous. I just knew she caused trouble when she was my age. I think it was why she and Indy clicked when they first met. Whatever she was remembering from her teen years was definitely more exciting than simply sitting in a car with a boy.

She didn't look entirely convinced, but didn't push. "Let me know if you can babysit before tomorrow, please. You can have your mom call me, if that would help convince her."

I nodded, but Mrs. Wright was too distracted by something over my shoulder to notice. When I turned around, I saw the car responsible for my punishment. What was Andre Walker doing here?

"Do you know him?" Mrs. Wright asked as Andre stepped out of the car, his perfect smile aimed at me.

I think I replied to her, but it was hard to hear over the thumping of my heart. Seriously, why was Andre there?

My phone chimed in my hand. A text from Indy.

Sent you a cute chauffeur. Take advantage! 😘

She sent Andre? Why would she do that knowing how my mom was? I didn't have time to yell at my sister over text messages because Andre was in front of me. Smelling of clean laundry and something spicy.

"Indy didn't tell you I was coming, did she?" He asked, light eyes shining.

"Nope."

"Of course not," he chuckled, before turning to Mrs. Wright. I managed to calm myself down while he did the polite and introduced himself.

"This yours?" He asked, pointing to my rolling suitcase that I dubbed the Babysitting Survival Kit. It was filled with everything from coloring books to flash cards to bandages with cute cartoons on them. He picked it up and took it to his car when I nodded.

Mrs. Wright spoke low enough for only me to hear as she said, "I'd risk getting a whopping for him."

Yeah, she was definitely an Indy when she was younger. She reminded me to let her know if I was available to babysit once more before going into the house.

Andre held open the car door for me as I climbed into his car, which was a lot cleaner than it was the other day.

He slid into the driver's seat, his eyes slit in my direction. Was he annoyed that he had to take time out of his day to pick me up? Maybe if I offered to pay for gas--

"You never texted me."

The pressure lifted from my chest. He wasn't mad. "I haven't had time to work on my drawing," I told him truthfully. Between school work and trying not to piss my mom off even more, the butterfly was the furthest thing from my mind.

I was going to leave it at that and let us fall into a comfortable silence as he drove me home, but then I remembered Indy's text. Take advantage. My sister would've flirted her way into a spontaneous date, her punishment be damned. And who knew what type of emergency my mom was dealing with at the birthing center? She could be there for hours, leaving the house empty.

All I had to do was channel my inner Indy, just like last time.

I picked at what was left of the polish on my thumbnail as I said, "I have time now. If you wanted to help me brainstorm?"

He glanced at me, lips curved up and a smile that made my stomach flip out. "Yeah, okay."

Even though I knew my mom wasn't home, I was still a ball of nerves as I let Andre into the house. He pulled off his shoes before I had time to tell him to.

"My granny." He said with a shrug as an explanation. "She'd kick my ass if I tracked dirt on her carpet."

I laughed as I slipped off my own shoes. "Honestly, my mom would probably love if I dirtied up her carpet. It'll give her a reason to use her fancy shampooer."

Why the hell am I talking about a carpet cleaner? If Indy heard me, she'd be shaking her head at me like the lost cost I was.

After showing Andre to the living room and handing him the tv remote, I ran down the hall to grab my iPad. My phone rang in my pocket as I tried to untangle the iPad charger from the other plugs behind my desk.

"Yeah?" I said into the phone once I accepted the call and presses the phone between my shoulder and ear.

"I'm in front of the house," Indy voice came over the line and I froze. "Is that Andre's car in the driveway?"

"Yes," I hissed, going to close my bedroom door so Andre wouldn't hear. "What are you doing here?"

"Me?" she said, incredulous. "What are you doing, young lady? I thought you'd have him drop you off and leave." That's exactly what I would've done on any other day. "No. You know what, I'm not even going to question it. I'm just glad you're pushing back. Auntie Jailah isn't going to loosen up until you force her to."

A smile crept across my face. She sounded so proud. I'd be lying if the Indy seal of approval was the best thing.

"What are you wearing?"

I rolled my eyes. "I have to go before he wonders where I am."

"Send me a picture."

"Of Andre?"

"No, your outfit," she said with an impatient sigh. "Wait. Nevermind."

With a click, she was gone. I had finally managed to untangle the charger when my phone rang again. That time with a FaceTime request.

"Change," she demanded as soon as I accepted.

"What? No," I whisper-yelled. "It'd be weird if I went out there in new clothes."

"Just the shirt then," she insisted. "There's paint on it, anyway."

I looked down. There was a blob of orange paint from when I was helping Carter mix colors for his ninja turtle. When I turned back to Indy, she had a smug glint in her eyes.

"Show me your options," she said as I sat my phone on the dresser. I pulled open the top drawer and grabbed the first shirt I saw, shaking it at out for her to see. She blew a raspberry. "Nope. Next."

"Indy," I groaned. "I'm not giving you a fashion show."

Andre was probably sitting on the couch, confused. Then I heard voices from the livingroom--he was watching basketball.

"Where's that cute purple shirt you bought last month?"

Andre was distracted. I could put on something more flattering than--I glanced at the shirt I grabbed--a family reunion shirt from three years ago. I couldn't flirt with my great-grandparents literally on my back.

"Alright, I'll put it on," I told her as I went to grab the shirt from my closet. "Bye." I ended the call before she could give me anymore directions.

In the shirt Indy talked me into buying (because, according to her, it made my boobs look amazing), I went back into the living room. All my gadgets in my arms.

Andre clicked off the basketball highlights when I turned the corner. His honey-colored eyes lingered on my new shirt. Either he was wondering why I changed or admiring my "amazing boobs". I fought the urge to run back into my room to change and sat on the couch.

"There was paint on my shirt. I had to soak it before the stain set." That was a lie. The shirt was on the floor near my overflowing hamper. "Anyways, this is the last design I worked on."

I flipped open the protective case of my tablet, turning it on. The Procreate app was already up and running since I hadn't touched the device since the last time I used it. I practically shoved it into his hands to switch the focus from my shirt.

Andre used his fingers to zoom in on the butterfly. I had tried to make it look realistic, but I failed. I couldn't get the wings right. Butterflies had very detailed wings. So many lines and spots. And the wings had to be symmetrical. Why couldn't my mom's favorite insect be a worm?

"It's good," he said, still examining it. "What's so special about butterflies, anyway?"

I opened my mouth to remind him of my mom's birthday present when my stomach growled.

Andre's eyes snapped up to meet mine. "Was that you?" His mouth quivered like he was trying not to laugh.

Heat rushed to my face as I crossed my arms over my stomach. "Was it really that loud?"

"Unless you have a small bear in hiding under the couch, yeah--it was that loud."

My embarrassed groan mixed with his laughter.

"I think this can wait," he said, snapping my tablet case closed and standing from the couch. "You need food." He held his hand out to me, chunky silver rings on almost every finger. When I took his hand, the cool metal was the only thing that kept me from overheating.

Our house wasn't grand or anything. It was just enough space for my mom and I. So, in just a few of Andre's long strides and we were in the kitchen.

"Steak!"

He whipped around to face me. "That's what you want?"

"No, my mom told me to take it out of the freezer." I dropped his hand and headed to the door that lead to the garage, where the deep freezer was. "Our pantry is full of snacks, though."

My fingertips were numb by the time I found the steak to the point that they felt like they were burning the longer I held the frozen meat. When I dropped it on the counter with a clatter, Andre pulled his head out of the pantry.

"Did you know things in the deep freezer get really, really cold?"

He frowned, as if thinking about it. "That explains the name."

I chuckled. "I can't feel my fingers."

"Here." He clasped both my hands between his, rubbing them together. His hands were rough and warm. Those rings weren't enough to cool the heat that coursed through me at the contact.

My breath caught in my throat when he dragged his light eyes up to meet mine. I remembered that coat closet and those same rough hands on my face, his lips inches from mine before our seven minutes were up. I wondered if he was thinking about it, too.

"Thanks." I regretted it the moment I said it. His amazingly warm hands pulled away from mine.

"Yeah," he said. Then he cleared his throat, stepping back as he nodded at the pantry. "That's a lot of toaster pastries."

I glanced at the pantry, the door wide open. The entire middle row was stacked with knock off Pop-Tarts. Except, where Pop-Tart had reasonable flavors like hot fudge sundae, wild berry and brown sugar cinnamon--these toaster pastries had flavors that shouldn't exist.

There was a box of maple bacon donut on the counter. I felt my face scrunch up as I turned back to Andre, who picked up the box. "Don't look at me like that. They sounded interesting."

"They sound disgusting."

The only reason they were in our pantry was because my mom couldn't turn down free stuff. When the company asked if they could send her all their newest flavors, of course she said yes. Now we were stuck with knock-off Pop-Tarts in flavors like Blazin' Hot and Buttered Popcorn.

He waved the box in the air. "Aren't you curious? They could be heaven your mouth."

"Or a huge stomach ache."

"Can I open them?" I had a feeling he wasn't going to be satisfied until he tried them. He ripped the box open when I gave him the go ahead.

He pulled out a pack of the toaster pastries that looked deceptively like a Pop-Tart. When he opened the package and pulled one out, he broke it in half.

"Nope." I shook my head vehemently when he tried to hand me the other half. "This is your experiment."

"Come on, Daya." If I was a weaker person, that grin of his and the way he said my name, like a plea of desperation, might've gotten me, but I stood strong.

"I've gone my whole life without getting my stomach pumped and I'd like to keep it that way."

His laugh was big, coming from deep in chest. "Please, you gotta try it with me."

Maybe I wasn't as strong as I thought. I had to pretzel my arms to keep from reaching for the other half of the pastry.

He took a step closer, his bottom lip poked out in a exaggerated puppy-dog face. Yeah. No. I definitely wasn't that strong. I took the Pop-Tart wannabe from him.

The accomplishment that flourished on his face sent my stomach cartwheeling. He counted down from three and we took a bite of the maple bacon donut flavored snack at the same time.

I was too distracted watching the way his nose wrinkled as chewed. Not because it was gross, but like it was his deep-in-thought expression. It was adorably cute. When he asked me what I thought, I had to take another bite and actually focus. That was hard with him watching me.

"It's not...terrible."

"See," he said, pointing at me as he took another bite of the treat. "You can't say you don't like something before you even try it."

His words meant more to me than he realized. Like Indy said earlier, my mom wasn't going to loosen her grip unless I pushed back. Maybe Andre could be the first step in that process? I had to show my mom that she didn't have to worry so much. That she didn't have to hold on so tightly. That in two years I'd be heading off to college with zero street smarts, as Indy liked to put it.

I had to show her I could stand on my own.