Chapter Text
Timothy Jackson Drake is almost four years old, and he knows a lot of things.
He knows how to read and write, and how to do simple math, and how to say “pleased to meet you” and “goodbye” and “thank you” and “may I use the bathroom” in French. He also knows how to introduce himself politely, and how to hold his knife and fork properly, and when it is okay to bother other people and when it isn’t.
He knows all that because the people who come and go from his house all the time have been teaching him things. There are a lot of people. If he tried to count them all, he’s not sure he could keep track. He definitely wouldn’t know them if he saw them outside his house. There are so many that he doesn’t really look at their faces at all anymore, and knows them more by their smell or their voice than by their name or the way they look.
English Tutor smells like printer paper, and he says everything kind of quietly and stuttery, like he has to burp but is trying really hard to hold it in.
French Tutor smells like soil and sharp things, and is always telling Timothy that if he doesn’t get his pronunciation down he’s going to take a trip over his knee. He’s never actually done that, but he keeps saying it a lot.
Math Tutor smells like vanilla hand cream and plastic, and her voice is always just a little bit too loud. It echoes off the white walls in Timothy’s Study Room while she teaches him about Addition and Subtraction. Addition is very easy, but Timothy has been having trouble with Subtraction.
Nanny 1 smells like fake chocolate and doesn’t talk to Timothy much. When she does, it’s to tell him to go play by himself because she’s busy. She’s a very busy person, always talking on the phone to somebody. One time he tried to spy on her conversation by hiding nearby, but he couldn’t get close enough to hear the other person before she caught him and he got in trouble. So he doesn’t actually know who the other person is and what’s so interesting about them that Nanny 1 would rather talk to them than play hide-and-seek with Timothy.
Nanny 2 smells like apples and has a soft voice, which is very nice, but she also spanks him when he’s bad, which is not very nice. The others don’t do that. They put him in his room by himself, or take away something he likes and put it up somewhere high where he can’t reach it. That’s how he lost his favorite dinosaur book—one of the nannies put it on top of the refrigerator, and then she got fired before she could take it down, and now it’s stuck up there waiting for Timothy to grow really tall and get it back.
Sometimes if he’s really out of control, they call his parents and make Timothy talk to them. That one is a big punishment because Mom and Dad don’t like to hear about Timothy being bad, and they really don’t like to hear about it on an unscheduled phone call.
He definitely doesn’t like any of those punishments, but spanking is still the worst one. It doesn’t usually hurt for that long afterwards, but it stings a lot while it’s happening and it’s embarrassing and Timothy always has a hard time not crying, which he knows he’s not supposed to do. Luckily, Nanny 2 only comes for five days every other week, and Timothy is very careful to not get in trouble while she’s there, so spankings don’t actually happen that often. But still, that’s why he doesn't actually like Nanny 2, even though her voice is very nice and she smells good.
Those aren’t the only people who come to take care of him, but the rest are more… less. There are people who come every few days, and people who come every other week, and people who come just every once in a while. Sometimes people stay for a couple weeks and then leave forever. One time the schedule got messed up and no one came at all, and Timothy got to spend the whole day doing whatever he wanted. He liked that day the most, but that was just a one-time thing.
Anyway, the point is that there are many people, always, all the time, so he doesn’t have to learn anyone’s faces or names. He calls them all Sir and Ma’am, and everyone thinks that’s because Timothy is a very polite and respectful boy. But secretly it’s because that’s much easier than remembering brand new names all the time.
So when one of the nannies that is not Nanny 1 or Nanny 2 hands Timothy the house phone and says it’s time for his call with his parents, he doesn’t have to say Thank you, Jessica or Thank you, Celine or Thank you, Eva. All he has to say is, “Thank you, ma’am.”
Timothy has a phone call with Mom and Dad biweekly—which is a very confusing and not very useful word because it means ‘every two weeks,’ but it can also mean ‘twice a week’ and so if you use that word you should make sure everyone knows what you mean. For example, one of the nannies got fired because she thought ‘biweekly progress reports’ meant ‘you should call us twice a week to chat about Timothy,’ and she went and called Timothy’s parents for no good reason even though they’re very busy people and should only be bothered on scheduled days or if Timothy is out of control with his behavior.
He tried to warn the nanny, obviously, but sometimes adults don’t listen to children even when children are very smart and know what they’re talking about.
So anyway, when Timothy's parents are away on a trip, he talks to them on the phone every two weeks to let them know how things are going with his education. This time, he has good news for them—yesterday he had a breakthrough with Subtraction, and now he’s having a much easier time with his Math lessons. He tells them all about it, and Mom and Dad seem very pleased.
“Well it’s about time, sport,” Dad says cheerfully. “We were starting to worry you weren’t going to get it!”
Even though Dad’s voice sounded very nice just now, his actual words give Timothy a strange feeling in his stomach, like he swallowed two marbles and they’re rattling around in there, clacking against each other all upset. This kind of Two Marbles Feeling happens a lot when he talks to his parents on the phone, so it’s not actually anything to be worried about. But it still doesn’t feel very good.
“I always knew I was going to understand Subtraction very soon,” he makes sure to tell them, just in case they think he’s too stupid to learn Math.
“Don’t listen to your father, Timothy,” Mom says. “We had complete faith that you would succeed. You’re a Drake, after all.”
Timothy smiles down at his feet, feeling warm and a little embarrassed and grateful that the nanny is not still in the same room with him.
“In relation to that,” Mom continues, “We do have some good news for you.”
Timothy straightens up as much as he can, holding the phone tighter to his face. Maybe Mom and Dad are coming home ahead of schedule? That doesn’t happen a lot, but just the idea makes him jump in place a little. If Mom and Dad come home early, they can all three eat breakfast together, and maybe Dad can take Timothy out golfing like he talks about sometimes, and maybe Mom will–
“Your father and I had a discussion, and we've decided that you’re ready to start school now,” Mom says.
Timothy tilts his head, only because he knows they can’t see him. “But I thought only five-year-olds go to school?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Mom asks in a way that says she already knows the answer but she wants Timothy to say it anyway. It’s a way of talking that says, You did something wrong.
Timothy twists his free hand in his shirt, which is another thing he’s not supposed to do. “Um, asking.”
“Then phrase it as a question,” she says. “Don’t just raise your pitch at the end of a statement and expect me to understand what you mean. And work on those filler words, Timothy, there’s no reason for an educated person to say the word um.”
Even though she said that in her regular talking voice, somehow Timothy still feels like he’s in trouble.
“Yes, Mom,” he says obediently. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be better. Now, with regards to schooling, you obviously won’t be going to a regular school.”
“I won’t?”
“Of course not,” she says dismissively. “You’re far too advanced, it would be a terrible waste of your intelligence. We’ll start you on a home-schooling curriculum—first grade should be appropriate considering your current level—and we’ll adjust as needed.”
“Will my tutors still be teaching me?” Timothy asks. He knows that Tutoring and Homeschooling are different from each other, but he’s not sure how.
“No, they won’t,” Mom says shortly. “I’d like to build up your independence a little more, work on taking initiative rather than simply following orders. The program we selected has online lectures specifically tailored to young children. Mr. Doyle will show you how to log on by yourself, and then you’ll be able to learn from the videos.”
Is that English Tutor or French Tutor? Timothy hopes it’s English Tutor, because even though he talks weirdly, he’s still a lot more nice than French Tutor.
“You don’t need all those stuffy people around, anyway, sport,” Dad says cheerfully. “You’re already a big kid.”
“I’ll still have–” Timothy stops and corrects himself. “Will I still have my nannies?”
“We’ve let them all know that after this month, their services are no longer required,” Mom says, which is a long way of saying fired.
Timothy swallows. He doesn’t like the nannies, but he’s never been alone for longer than a day. There’s another feeling in his stomach, like the one you get in the middle of the night when it’s too dark and your hat on the coat hook is starting to look like a person peeking out of your closet.
“But,” he says shakily, “who will take care of me?”
“Timothy,” Mom says, her voice low and soothing. “We know this is going to be a big change for you—it’s completely normal to have some difficulty adjusting. But we also know that you’re capable of taking on this challenge with all the grace and dignity of the mature young man you are.”
Timothy doesn’t know what to say, so he just says, “Yes, Mom.”
“Besides, you won’t be left alone right away,” Dad says. “You'll have one more nanny.”
“One more?”
Mom and Dad explain it to him—how the new nanny will come in the morning and go home after dinner. How there's no night time nanny but that's actually a good thing, because getting used to being alone at night is the hardest part and once he's good at that, spending the day alone won't even be a big deal. How the nanny leaving at the end of Summer will be like a graduation.
“Isn’t that exciting, Champ?” Dad asks. “Your very first graduation! None of your friends will be able to say they graduated this early!”
Timothy doesn’t have any friends, and he thinks it’s going to be a long time before he gets any.
The new nanny comes to his house on May 30th, just like Mom told him. The very last one of the old nannies leaves early in the morning. She tried to leave while Timothy was still sleeping, but he always wakes up very early, so he caught her walking out the door.
She’s one of the ones who isn’t here very often, so she only shuffles her feet and says, “Well, bye then,” before shutting the door behind her and leaving him alone.
That’s not really anything new—sometimes the schedule doesn’t line up perfectly and Timothy has a half hour to himself before someone else comes, and that’s just fine.
This time it’s more than half an hour, but that’s fine too. While he waits for the new nanny, he spends his time eating breakfast and coloring and reading one of his books and looking at the clock.
This is just like normal, he keeps reminding himself.
When the doorbell rings, Timothy has been waiting for four hours, and he almost runs to the door. He hopes the new nanny smells okay.
He waits for her to come in, but after a minute she just rings the doorbell again, so Timothy drags a step-stool over to the door to unlock it for her.
When he opens it, he can see right away that this nanny is much younger than all the other ones. She doesn’t have any wrinkles at all, and she’s not wearing the kind of clothes the nannies usually wear, and she’s smiling very brightly right down at Timothy.
Blinking, he holds the door open so she can come in, and when she passes by, he cautiously takes a breath through his nose. This nanny smells like outside. Not in the gross, smokey kind of way that nannies sometimes smell—like big buildings and cars and cigarettes—but like you left a t-shirt sitting outside on the driveway for hours and then brought it inside, all warm with sun.
Timothy didn’t know that anyone could smell like a warm t-shirt, but he thinks it’s not a bad smell.
Anyway, he’s more curious about why the nanny couldn’t just come inside by herself without his help. Does she not know the passcode? Maybe because she’s so young and new, she just doesn’t know how everything works at Timothy’s house.
“You’re not supposed to ring the doorbell,” Timothy tells her helpfully. “You’re supposed to use the key and the code and come in by yourself.”
“I will from now on if you want,” the nanny says cheerfully, her voice high and bright, “but since this is our first meeting, I figured it would be really rude of me to just walk into your house like I own the place.”
Then the nanny does something very weird—she crouches down, her brown eyes looking Timothy directly in his face, and holds out her hand. “Hi, Tim, my name’s Claire Agnew! You can call me Claire.”
“My name is Timothy, not Tim,” Timothy informs her, shaking her hand properly the way his dad taught him.
Miss Claire blinks. “Oh, sorry, I know some people aren’t big on nicknames. Would you rather be called Timothy?”
“Um,” Timothy says, and then realizes that he just said um even though he’s supposed to be working on that. “I don’t know.”
“How about this,” Miss Claire says, grinning at him, “I’ll call you Tim for today, and you can tell me at the end of the day if you like it or not. Sound good?”
“Okay,” Timothy says.
“Okay!” She stands up and claps her hands together once. “What should we do first? We’ve got the whole day ahead of us! Should we go to the park? It’s a nice day out, not too humid.”
“I’m going to work on my schoolwork,” Timothy tells her. Mr. Doyle—who did end up being English Tutor, after all—taught him how to log on to his homeschooling account last week, and he’s been watching his lessons and working on his assignments just like Mom and Dad wanted him to. He’s going to count all the assignments he’s done so he can tell them how hard he’s working the next time they talk.
Miss Claire blinks. “But it’s Summer.”
Timothy crinkles his brow at her, confused. “I know that.”
“You know what, never mind,” Miss Claire brightens again, “I’m here to help! Where’s your stuff?”
“I don’t need help,” he says, just a tiny bit too loudly. “I’m not stupid.”
“Alright, alright,” she says, grinning down at him. “I believe you. What if I just sit in the same room and do my summer reading? And then I’ll be right there if—by some very small chance—you do end up needing help.”
“I won’t,” Timothy informs her. “But yes, that’s fine.”
Timothy grabs his school laptop and they settle in one of the lounges downstairs, Timothy on one sofa and Miss Claire on the other. Timothy logs onto his student account and Miss Claire sets down the backpack she brought and pulls out a book. Then she kicks her shoes off and brings her feet up onto the sofa. Feet are not actually allowed on the sofa, but Timothy likes to break that rule too whenever no one’s here to stop him, so he decides not to tell her.
Timothy works hard for a while, watching his lessons and doing his homework. After he finishes his third assignment, he looks up at the nanny and sees her focusing really hard on her book. He wonders what it’s about. He won’t ask because that would be annoying, but he still wonders.
Now that she’s distracted, he decides to look at her more closely than he did earlier. He sneaks small peeks instead of staring, because staring is weird and if she catches him she’ll call him a little creep and Timothy is not a little creep.
Anyway, because he’s only doing small peeks, he sees her in a bunch of small pieces, like a puzzle.
Peek. There’s a shiny pink hair clip in her shiny blonde hair. Look away.
Peek. Her blue jeans have red and pink flowers all down the legs. Look away.
Peek. Her ears have a bunch of tiny little earrings in them, like sparkly little stars going all the way around the edge. Look away.
Peek. Her socks are red with little gold hearts on them.
He decides that if Miss Claire was a puzzle, then she would be a very shiny, very colorful puzzle. He’s so busy trying to picture what the puzzle would look like that he forgets to look away from Miss Claire again, and she looks up from her book and catches him. But instead of getting mad, she just smiles at him.
“Done with your schoolwork?” she asks, stretching out her legs and putting away her book.
“Yes,” Timothy decides.
“Great!” she says. “What should we play?”
The rest of the day goes like that. Miss Claire is always asking what they should do and offering to play games and go outside and things like that. At lunch time, she even asks if he wants to go out to eat, even though Timothy’s house has plenty of food in it.
Timothy keeps on having to get things back on track, but that’s okay because even though Miss Claire wants to do other things, she doesn’t ever get mad at Timothy or tell him that he has to do something. When he works on a puzzle, she sits next to him on the floor and works on one too. When he reads a book, she asks what it’s about and if he likes it. (Timothy explains that it’s his second favorite book about dinosaurs. She asks about his first favorite, and when he explains where that one went, she climbs up onto the kitchen counter and gets the other one down from the refrigerator for him).
When Timothy decides to watch TV, she sits next to him on the sofa and watches two shark documentaries and doesn’t even look at her phone one time even though Timothy knows grown ups get bored of documentaries easily. They even talk about what their favorite kind of shark is (Nurse Shark for Miss Claire because its whiskers look like a fancy mustache, and Lemon Shark for Timothy because it’s friendly and he likes its yellowy color) and which one they think is the most creepy (Basking Shark for Miss Claire because the mouth looks like it could swallow a whole person, and Goblin Shark for Timothy because it looks like a monster from a very bad dream).
Miss Claire is a lot more fun than a regular nanny, and by the time Timothy is finishing his dinner, he’s already decided that she’s his favorite nanny he’s ever had.
He’s so happy with his decision that he completely forgets the next part—when Miss Claire starts to gather up her things, Timothy accidentally asks her, “Where are you going?”
“I gotta get home, kiddo,” she tells him, ruffling his hair. “The night sitter will be here in half an hour, so just watch some TV until then, okay? Sorry I can’t stay until she gets here, but my dad and my sister need my help for dinner and bedtime.”
Timothy stops in the middle of fixing his hair, blinking up at her. “You have a dad and a sister?”
He doesn’t tell her that there is no night time babysitter, partly because Mom and Dad said not to, but also because it feels much more big that Timothy spent the whole day with Miss Claire and never even knew that she has a dad and a sister. Did all the other nannies have families too? Did the tutors? He imagines French Tutor’s dad yelling at French Tutor for his pronunciation, and that cheers him up a little bit.
“Sure do,” Miss Claire answers him. “Now, important question: what do we think about the nickname ‘Tim?’ Still feel weird about it, or do I have the green flag?”
“It’s okay,” Timothy says. “You’re going to come back, right?”
“Yep, I’ll be back at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” she says. “Just like today.”
“You’re really sure you’ll come back at nine o’clock?” Timothy can’t help but ask, even though he knows he’s being annoying.
“Yes, nine o’clock,” she tells him firmly, crouching down and pointing at the clock on the wall. “Tomorrow morning, when the long hand is on twelve, and the short hand is on nine, that’s when I’ll come back, okay?”
“Okay,” Timothy says. He doesn’t tell her that he already knows how to read a clock, and that he doesn’t really believe her.