Daphne Collins, a 21-year-old aspiring artist who is attempting to make her way in the world of the bustling New York City. Though when a new nannying job gets offered to her, she takes it, hopeful that it'll give her the extra money and nudge to ma...
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Chapter Song - Hey Lover! by Wabie
I'm not nervous, you're nervous. I'm kidding. How could you possibly be nervous? But I sure as hell am, and i'm not usually a nervous person.
I don't get anxious or nervous, I never really feel this way. Except that one time in elementary school when my younger brother knocked a bunch of paint buckets over and blamed it on me.
Yeah, I was a ball of nerves walking into the principals office then.
Flattening the wild hairs on my head, I stare at myself in the mirror. The tossing and turning all night has resulted in darker bags under my eyes, and my untamed shoulder length blonde hair that needs to be brushed through.
I'm so freaking nervous and I don't even know why, i've never been nervous for a nannying job. Kids love me, I'm great with kids - no matter how quirky, weird, loud or quiet they are. I always find something about them that we can bond over.
I guess it's the large pot hole in the middle of the road waiting for me to trip over. The one main difference that separates humans: wealth. It's a harsh subject for some and for others it doesn't even cause their eye to twitch.
The neighbourhood i'm about to live in floats around my mind.
Don't get me wrong, the other families I nannied for were richer than I was, but were middle class, suburban families. This one is upper class, gossip girl class, god damn Richie Rich class.
Whereas i'm the paint stained overall wearing girl with slightly uneven hair - because my brother cut it when we were younger and it never grew back properly - who's the complete elephant surrounded by one carat diamonds.
Its intimidating, what if they ask where i'm from and they judge me? Or worse, say nothing and look at me with their sharp judgmental eyes.
Most rich people think The Bronx is some dangerous place where fights happen every night - well in my neighbourhood that wasn't to far from the truth. But not all of The Bronx is like that, plus I still have family and friends there. It's my home and I will forever cherish it.
I guess i'm just nervous, well completely terrified they're going to judge me for the clothes I wear or the lack of stuff I own. Most of my clothes are second hand, which is great for the environment and all. But it's obvious they're quite worn out, from the frays and tears - plus they're all covered in paint. It's a daily struggle for me just to find a shirt or pair of pants that isn't covered in some sort of glue or paint.
Perks of being a painter I guess.
Zipping up my suitcase I lift it off the bed and grab my other two duffle bags, purse, phone and walk out of my hamburger smelling apartment. Yeah, i'm not going to miss it.
Walking down stairs, i'm greeted with the driver who's taking me to my new family. He helps me pack my bags in the trunk of his white Hyundai and soon enough we're on the busy roads of New York City. Loud honks and mutters of swear words resounding down the road as bikers ride through the skinny gaps, or people swerve over others. It's always a madhouse out here.
