By the time the babysitter sprinted out of the house yelling that Jay was “crazy,” the takeout on the kitchen counter had gone cold and the last pink streaks of a California sunset were fading over the cul-de-sac.

She didn’t even look back.

The front door flew open, banged against the stucco, and the woman barreled down the little concrete path with her tote bag half-unzipped and one sneaker untied. A neighbor watering his lawn across the street in their quiet American suburb froze mid-spray as she shouted over her shoulder, “Tell you, I’m done! That kid—there is something wrong with him!”

Inside, Jay leaned against the hallway wall, trying not to laugh.

He heard his mom’s heels before he saw her. She appeared at the top of the stairs already in her black dress, phone in one hand, car keys in the other, eyes flashing.

“What happened?” she demanded, looking from the open door to her son. “Where’s Jane?”

“She, uh… left.” Jay tried on his most innocent face. “Guess she couldn’t handle California kids.”

“Don’t,” his mom said sharply. “I just watched her peel out of here like someone was chasing her. What did you do?”

He spared a glance down the hall toward the guest bathroom. “Plumbing,” he said vaguely. “She said something about the bathroom. You know how people are about clogged toilets.”

“Oh, man,” she muttered, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I was supposed to be at dinner thirty-five minutes ago.”

Here it came. The speech.

“Because of your little pranks,” she went on, voice climbing, “I am going to be late again. Do you have any idea what that does to my reputation in front of partners and clients?”

“I’m not telling you to stay,” Jay said, shrugging. “Go, Mom. I’m fourteen. I can take care of myself.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m going to let you stay home alone again after everything you’ve done.”

“Name one thing,” he shot back automatically.

She stared. He stared back. A montage of water balloons, shattered vases, terrified babysitters, and one small kitchen fire flickered silently between them.

“Fine,” he amended. “Maybe I haven’t had the best track record. But I still don’t get the point of a babysitter. They don’t care about me. They’re only here for the money. How does having some random adult around change anything?”

“It changes a lot,” she said. “Like what if, God forbid, someone tries to break in? This is the United States, Jay, not a video game. You can’t just respawn.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve played enough shooters and fighting games to know how to protect myself better than any babysitter could.”

“Just because you’ve done something with a controller in your hand does not mean you can do it in real life,” she said. “And there’s more. Someone has to make sure you eat something other than chips, that you go to sleep at a reasonable hour, and most importantly, that you don’t get into any more trouble.”

The doorbell rang.

“Finally,” his mom muttered. “Maybe she didn’t see the plunger.”

She opened the door and a small girl with two messy pigtails launched herself at her legs. “Ms. Reyes!” the girl’s mother said breathlessly. “Thank you so much for watching Haley. My sitter canceled and I know you’re late—”

“Actually,” Ms. Reyes said, forcing a tight smile, “my sitter just canceled too. Come in, come in.”

A young woman stepped into the light. She had a kind face, a high ponytail, and a canvas tote slung over one shoulder. Jay evaluated her in a single glance: mid-twenties, probably college, probably here to earn money for something expensive and boring adults liked—like rent.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Ms. Reyes said. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” the woman said. “I’m Grace.”

“That’s your name?” Jay blurted, unimpressed. “Seems like false advertising.”

“Jay,” his mom warned.

“Now,” she added, turning back to him, “if I hear any complaint at all this time, it is not going to be good. For you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said, spreading his hands. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Ms. Reyes narrowed her eyes. “You always say that right before the house turns into a war zone.”

She stooped to scoop up Haley. “I’m taking this little girl with me to dinner,” she told Grace. “My friend’s son Mikey is just as… creative as Jay. So I’ll be out late. You don’t worry about anything. Everything should be fine.”

“You’re amazing,” Grace said. “Have fun.”

“I’ll try,” Ms. Reyes said, looking more tired than excited. “Jay. I mean it.”

She left in a blur of perfume and car keys.

The door shut. The house fell quiet.

Grace turned to Jay. “So,” she said. “Want to watch a movie?”

On the other side of town, in a noisy restaurant off the freeway with a giant American flag painted on one wall and a line of SUVs parked outside, Ms. Reyes set a cocktail down with shaking hands.

“Cheers,” her best friend said, clinking glasses. “You look like you need this more than oxygen.”

“You have no idea,” Ms. Reyes muttered. “Jay is out of control. I can’t even put a drink down without a babysitter quitting. Oh, and thanks again for that last-minute referral. If you hadn’t texted me Grace’s name, I’d still be frantically scrolling through sitter apps.”

“Don’t trip, chocolate chip,” her friend said with a smirk. “I got you. Speaking of, I may need a referral myself. At this point, there isn’t a single sitter left in my zip code willing to watch Mikey.”

They both laughed, but there was a tired edge to it. Parenting in America: a full-time job on top of your full-time job.

“I just hope Jay isn’t giving her a hard time,” Ms. Reyes said, taking a sip. “She seemed nice.”

“Maybe the little rascal is finally turning over a new leaf,” her friend said. “Or at least taking a nap.”

“Sure,” Ms. Reyes said. “And maybe Congress will agree on everything tomorrow.”

Back at the house, Jay had slipped his favorite Christmas movie into the Blu-ray player. As the familiar music started, he felt a thrill of recognition. A kid left home alone, outsmarting clueless adults? That was his kind of cinema.

He stretched out on the couch. “You know, this is actually fun,” Grace said, curling up in the armchair. “I don’t know why your mom was so worried about you.”

“That’s just how she is,” Jay said. “She’s a worrier. I swear I get a bad rep for no reason.”

On screen, the main character glared at his older brother. “I’m gonna feed you to my tarantula,” he snarled.

“Classic,” Jay murmured.

“Kevin, you are such a pain,” the brother shot back.

Grace laughed. “Okay, pause it,” she said, standing. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Jay paused the movie. “You may want to bring a towel,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

Grace walked down the hallway, humming the movie’s theme song under her breath. As she reached for the bathroom doorknob, she paused.

Drip.

She frowned. “Is someone else here?” she called. The house seemed to exhale.

“Yeah,” came Jay’s voice from the living room. “The Grinch.”

She rolled her eyes and turned the handle. The door opened and—

Cold water cascaded down in a full-on waterfall, soaking her hair, her shirt, her jeans. Someone had balanced a bucket on the top of the door, attached to a string, triggered by the knob.

She gasped. “Oh my—”

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of muffled laughter.

“Very funny,” she said, sloshing back into the living room. “Okay, this is exactly what your mom warned me about.”

Jay sat on the couch, feigning innocence. “What?” he asked. “You look like you’ve been to Niagara Falls. Very American experience.”

“You’re not scaring me,” she said, wringing out her ponytail. “You think some movie pranks make you dangerous?”

“Hey,” Jay said, smirking. “I tell you what I’m going to give you. I’m going to give you to the count of ten to get your no-good—”

“If you even try to spray me again—” Grace began.

He hit play on his phone, and the famous fake gangster line blasted from the Bluetooth speaker: “I’m gonna give you to the count of ten to get your ugly, yellow, no-good keister off my property before I—”

“Okay, nope,” Grace said, grabbing her bag. “You have messed with the wrong babysitter.”

The movie gunshots cracked through the speakers. “One… two…”

“Jay, I’m serious,” Grace said, backing toward the door. “Don’t even—”

“And don’t forget your purse,” Jay yelled in his best mobster voice.

The front door slammed.

Silence.

On the couch, Jay snorted, then laughed so hard his stomach hurt. He turned back to the movie. On screen, the kid smiled into the camera, his family gone, his house his kingdom.

“I made my babysitter disappear,” Jay said to no one, grinning.

Ms. Reyes’s phone buzzed on the restaurant table. She glanced down.

Babysitter – Voicemail.

Her stomach sank. “I was wrong,” she said, dropping her napkin. “That boy.”

“What?” her friend asked.

“She lasted, what, an hour?” Ms. Reyes said, already standing. “I better get home. I can’t even imagine what kind of trouble he’s gotten into this time. I just hope Mikey wasn’t involved.”

“Go,” her friend said. “Bring back stories.”

The next afternoon, Ms. Reyes paced the kitchen, arms folded, while Jay sat on a stool thumbing a comic book.

“Why do you think you’re so determined to drive off every sitter I hire?” she asked finally.

He shrugged. “I’m not. They just don’t have what it takes.”

“You think you’re smarter than everyone,” she said. “According to you, whatever a babysitter can do, you can do better.”

“I mean… yeah,” he said.

“He sees no need for adult supervision,” her friend had said over coffee that morning. “Mikey’s the same way. Wish there was a way to show them that’s not true.”

“What if there was?” Ms. Reyes had said slowly.

Now, she looked at Jay with the faintest hint of a smile.

“You really think you don’t need a babysitter?” she asked.

“Right,” he said. “Always have. Always will.”

“And if anything comes up, you can take care of yourself better than any sitter can?”

He scoffed. “Is that even a question? I’m a man. I’m going through puberty. Do you hear my voice? I don’t need a babysitter. Straight like that.”

“Okay,” she said. “We’re going to test that confidence.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You’re going to compete against babysitters,” she said, “in elimination challenges across four categories: safety, cleaning, cooking, and homework. You get to choose two challenges. I’ll choose two. They just have to fit those categories.”

“This sounds like a reality show,” he said slowly. “I like it.”

“If you get eliminated before all the babysitters do,” she continued, “you have to accept the winner as your permanent sitter. No more pranks. No more fake break-ins. No more Home Alone remakes.”

“And if I win?” he asked.

“Then I have to accept that you don’t need someone to watch you anymore,” she said. “You’ll be allowed to stay home alone. No sitters. No arguments.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re really going to let me stay home with no adults around just because I beat some babysitters in some little competition?”

“If you beat them,” she said. “And remember, half the challenges are mine to choose.”

He leaned forward and, in an oddly serious moment, pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “No fever,” he said. “I mean, if you’re really serious, you got yourself a deal. How hard can it be to beat, what, two or three sitters? I’ve been doing that for years.”

The next morning, when he stepped onto the back patio, his jaw dropped.

There weren’t three babysitters.

There were what looked like thirty.

A sea of teenagers, college students, and a few older adults stood scattered across the lawn. Some wore athletic clothes, others held tote bags full of snacks and coloring books. They looked like a cross between a daycare staff and a community college.

“How many is this?” Jay muttered. “Ten? Fifteen? Fifty?”

“Everyone in the area who would still answer my calls,” Ms. Reyes said, coming up beside him with a clipboard. “Maybe you shouldn’t have scared off the first wave.”

He swallowed.

“Now,” she said. “Get some rest. You’ve got a long day.”

The first challenge was safety.

They drove out to a paintball course on the edge of the city, a dusty patch of dirt and plywood structures ringed by chain link. An American flag flapped over the registration shack. Jay pulled on the stiff rental vest and helmet, feeling that familiar buzz of adrenaline.

“My mom seems to think a babysitter would be better at protecting me than I can protect myself,” he told the camera one of the older sitters had brought, pretending this was his own YouTube show. “No offense, Granny, but today I’m going to prove her wrong.”

Grace, in her thick glasses and gray ponytail, snapped her mask into place like she’d been doing this for years. “No offense taken, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll see.”

“The rules are simple,” Ms. Reyes announced, raising her voice. “If you get hit, you’re out. Last team remaining wins the round.”

They split into two groups: half the babysitters and Jay on one side, the rest on the other. Ms. Reyes stood behind the fence, arms folded, looking like a referee.

“Ten seconds!” the ref shouted. “Ten… nine… eight…”

“I hope this was a good idea,” Ms. Reyes murmured.

Jay crouched behind a plywood barrier as the timer hit zero.

Paintballs exploded around him, splattering neon green and pink on the dirt. Sitters squealed and ducked behind barrels. One slipped and went down immediately, raising her hands in surrender. Another charged forward and took three hits to the chest.

The chaos was glorious.

Jay felt strangely at home.

He spotted a lanky sitter creeping along the side and took a shot, tagging his arm. “You’re out!” he yelled.

A paintball whizzed past his ear. He ducked.

“On your left,” Grace called calmly from the next barrier. She popped up, fired two shots, and took out a sitter half her age.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Jay demanded.

“Syracuse winters,” she said, grinning. “Nothing to do but play games and make trouble.”

By the end, Jay’s team won by a single player.

Grace and Jay both remained standing, splattered but unbroken.

“One round to you,” Ms. Reyes said, trying not to look impressed. “But this next competition? That’s mine.”

They returned home for the second challenge: cleaning.

“If there’s anything Jay hates more than waking up early,” Ms. Reyes announced in the living room, “it’s folding clothes. So this round is all about laundry.”

Laundry baskets overflowing with socks filled the floor. Dozens and dozens of little white, black, and patterned socks, jumbled together like a textile avalanche.

“The first four people to find and fold five matching pairs move on,” she said. “Everyone else is eliminated. Ready?”

The sitters stared. Jay crossed his arms.

“What are you waiting for?” Ms. Reyes shouted. “Go!”

They lunged.

Babysitters dropped to their knees, grabbing, fumbling, sorting. A girl in a band T-shirt called, “Pair!” and held up two tiny Spider-Man socks.

“That’s one,” Ms. Reyes said.

Grace moved methodically, scanning patterns like a machine, plucking matches from the chaos. “Two,” she murmured. “Three.”

Another sitter squealed triumphantly. “Got it!”

Jay stared at his own pile, overwhelmed. Matching socks was a trap; they’d always multiplied at the bottom of his closet until his mom threatened to throw them all out.

He glanced up.

Ms. Reyes hadn’t said they had to stay in the baskets.

He kicked at the nearest one, sending socks flying in all directions, including onto the hands of sitters who’d just found matches.

“Hey!” one of them yelled as their pairs scattered.

“You never said that was against the rules,” Jay said, already scooping up two identical Star Wars socks that had landed by his sneakers.

Grace snorted. “What matters most isn’t being the fastest,” she said under her breath. “It’s being the calmest.”

In the end, she, Jay, and two others advanced.

The rest trudged away, looking suspiciously relieved to be done with socks.

Since they were down to so few, Ms. Reyes called a break.

“Why don’t you each tell us a little about yourselves,” she suggested, “and why you actually want to babysit Jay.”

A young man with a tattoo peeking under his sleeve shrugged. “I’m Alex,” he said. “Twenty-six, from Syracuse, New York. I want to babysit him because, honestly, I need the paycheck.”

A blonde girl popped her gum. “Kennedy,” she said. “Twenty-two, from Bisbee, Arizona. Same. I love kids, but I’d also love to stop living off instant noodles.”

Grace straightened her cardigan. “I’m Grace,” she said. “Seventy-five years… young. From Santa Monica, California. And if I can think of one reason I want to babysit Jay…” She paused, eyes softening. “It’s because he reminds me of my grandson,” she said.

Jay looked away, uncomfortable and not sure why.

“Okay,” he said, clapping once. “Story time’s over. Can we get back to beating you at your own job now?”

“We’ll see,” Ms. Reyes said. “Next challenge is cooking.”

Jay groaned. “You know I can’t cook.”

“That’s exactly why I chose this category,” she said sweetly. “Twenty minutes. Make anything you want with whatever’s in the kitchen. Then I’ll do a blind taste test. Worst two dishes are out.”

“I get the next challenge if I make it that far,” Jay reminded her.

“If,” she said.

The kitchen looked like a supermarket exploded in it. Ms. Reyes had hit the grocery store hard: bread, cheese, pasta, vegetables, spices, canned soup. The counters were lined with ingredients just waiting for someone who knew what they were doing.

Jay did not.

“What the heck do I know how to cook?” he muttered as the timer started.

He grabbed bread and cheese. Grilled cheese. Easy. People on the internet made it look like a sandwich and a pan were all you needed.

Ten minutes later, the smoke alarm shrieked.

He waved a dish towel under it, coughing.

By the time he plated his sandwich, it was black on one side and charcoal on the other.

“This is… rustic,” he told himself.

The others fared better. Garlic sizzled in a pan. Someone chopped vegetables with confident, quick motions. The kitchen smelled like an actual restaurant instead of a crime scene.

When time was up, Ms. Reyes tied on a blindfold. “To keep things fair,” she said. “Jay thinks I’ll sabotage him if I know which dish is his.”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered. “Knowing me, you’d pick mine as worst even if it tasted like heaven.”

“Unless they give me charcoal, I doubt anyone will be as bad as yours,” she said.

He winced.

“Hand me plate number one,” she called.

Alex’s pasta fared well. Kennedy’s soup got a polite nod. When she bit into Jay’s grilled cheese, her face went through several distinct stages: confusion, disgust, betrayal.

“This,” she managed, “is absolutely terrible.”

Jay groaned. “Why did you burn it so bad?” she demanded, ripping off the blindfold. “Jay, how did you even do this?”

“It’s… innovative,” he said weakly.

She shook her head. “It’s going to take a miracle for you not to be eliminated.”

“Wait,” he said quickly. “If you know which one is mine, how do I know you won’t just say mine is the worst to get rid of me? That’s not fair.”

She folded her arms. “Fine. To prove I’m being honest, I’ll eat the entire plate of the two winners I choose. I don’t want to eat all of something I hate, so I promise you I will be truthful. That work?”

He considered. “Okay,” he said. “Deal.”

Grace’s dish—a simple chicken and rice with herbs—made Ms. Reyes close her eyes in bliss. “Whoever made this has to teach me this recipe,” she said, reaching for another bite.

By the end, Alex and Grace advanced. Kennedy and Jay’s grilled cheese crime scene should have sent him home.

But when she looked at her son, clutching his burnt sandwich and stubborn pride, she sighed.

“Against my better judgment,” she said, “I’m giving you one more chance. You’re on the edge, Jay. One more disaster and you’re done.”

He nodded, heart hammering. He’d skated by. Barely.

The final category was homework.

“Math?” Grace guessed as they gathered in the living room. “English? Science?”

“PE,” Jay said.

Ms. Reyes stared. “What?”

“You said homework,” he said. “You didn’t say which subject. So I chose my favorite. We’re doing a dance battle.”

He held up a game case. A popular dance game, American charts and cheesy pop stars plastered across the cover.

“Absolutely not,” Ms. Reyes began. “Grace doesn’t know how to play video games.”

“I didn’t know how to cook,” Jay replied. “You still threw me into Hell’s Kitchen. This is my challenge. My rules.”

She hesitated.

“Fine,” she said. “But if you lose to someone’s grandma at a video game, we’re telling everyone.”

“I’m starting,” Jay said, firing up the console.

He picked his best song, one he’d scored five stars on a dozen times. His on-screen avatar danced under virtual lights as he swayed, spun, and flailed with the kind of chaotic energy only teenage boys possessed. He nailed the moves. The scoreboard flashed a high number.

“I see that score?” he announced. “Try me.”

Alex went next. He did all right, missing a few steps.

Then it was Grace’s turn.

“I don’t know about this,” she said, picking up the controller like it might bite. “I would’ve broken my back if I tried half your moves in my living room.”

“Just do your best,” Ms. Reyes said. “We can stop if you get tired.”

The song started: something upbeat and silly. Grace hesitated… and then something in her shifted.

She moved.

Not with the perfect precision of a professional dancer, but with surprising rhythm. Her hips swayed, her feet shuffled, her arms mimicked the motions on screen. It wasn’t pretty, but it was joyful.

“Okay, Grace!” Ms. Reyes shouted, cheering. “Get it!”

Jay’s jaw dropped. “She looks like she’s been practicing,” he muttered.

When the score flashed, everyone held their breath.

Two points behind his.

“Two points,” Jay said softly. “That’s it?”

Grace laughed, a little breathless. “Not bad for an old lady, huh?”

“It was amazing,” Ms. Reyes said. “I would’ve snapped something trying that.”

“And yet,” Jay said, forcing a grin he didn’t quite feel. “Not enough to get the job.”

Grace’s smile faded just a little. “Oh well,” she said, patting his arm. “It was nice getting to know you, Jay.”

As the other sitters drifted out, Ms. Reyes turned to her son. “Congratulations,” she said quietly. “You beat them. You don’t need a babysitter anymore.”

He waited for the rush of triumph.

It didn’t come.

On the front porch, Grace pulled on her sweater. Ms. Reyes walked her to the door.

“Thank you,” Ms. Reyes said. “For everything. For putting up with all of this.”

“You’re welcome,” Grace said. “I had fun. It… gave me something to do.”

“You said Jay reminds you of your grandson?” Ms. Reyes asked gently.

Grace’s smile wobbled.

“He does,” she said. “I used to play games like that with Teddy. He was in the hospital a lot. Leukemia. We’d sit with the machines beeping and play Mario Kart or dance games, because it made it feel less like… that.”

Ms. Reyes’s heart clenched. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“He passed last year,” Grace continued quietly. “My husband says I need to get out of the house. When I saw your ad in the paper, I thought, ‘That’s perfect.’ And then I met Jay, and… he’s so much like Teddy. Full of energy. Stubborn as anything. Makes you want to pull your hair out and hug him at the same time.”

She dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry. I always do this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Ms. Reyes said. “Thank you for telling me.”

Grace smiled. “You take care of that boy,” she said. “He’s something special.”

She left, the screen door squeaking shut behind her.

In the hallway, Jay stood half-hidden, having heard more than he was supposed to.

That night, Ms. Reyes stood in the doorway with her purse, keys dangling from her fingers.

“Okay, Jay,” she said, her voice light but her eyes worried. “I’m heading out. First time leaving you truly alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I know,” she said. “But just because I don’t have to doesn’t mean I won’t.”

He smiled a little. “Love you.”

“Love you,” she said, kissing his head. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll keep my phone on.”

She left.

The house fell quiet.

A minute later, the doorbell rang.

Ms. Reyes, halfway to her car, turned in surprise. She watched from the driveway as Jay opened the door.

“Hello again,” Grace said, holding a casserole dish that smelled suspiciously like the chicken Ms. Reyes loved.

“Grace?” Ms. Reyes called, walking back up the path. “What are you doing here?”

Jay grinned. “I thought I told you,” he said. “I called and asked if she’d be my permanent babysitter. And she said yes.”

Grace held up the dish. “And I brought dinner,” she said. “In case you were planning to skip it again.”

Ms. Reyes stared at her son. “I’m… shocked,” she said. “I thought you wanted nothing more than to be alone.”

“I did,” he admitted. “But that was before I met someone who actually cared about me for me. Not just for the money. Besides, having Grace around? Things are going to be way more fun.”

He glanced at Grace.

She winked.

From somewhere behind him, a foam dart gun appeared.

“Oh no,” Ms. Reyes said, backing away. “What is that?”

Jay cocked it dramatically. “Any last words?” he asked.

“Jay, don’t you dare,” she said, laughing despite herself.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Say hello to my little friend.”

He fired. The dart bounced off her shoulder.

Grace whooped and pulled out her own foam blaster from her tote bag. “I came prepared,” she crowed.

The living room erupted into a foam-dart war, laughter bouncing off the walls.

Standing on the porch, Ms. Reyes watched her son dive behind the couch, watched Grace duck and weave, watched Haley squeal as a dart bounced off her socked foot. The house didn’t feel like a battleground anymore.

It felt like what she’d always wanted for him: not an empty fortress where he could play king, but a home where someone else would plant herself in front of him if the world came crashing through the door.

She locked the front door behind her and finally headed to her car, the damp evening air cool against her face, the city lights winking in the distance.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t leaving her son with a stranger who just needed cash.

She was leaving him with someone who’d been through storms of her own.

Someone who knew exactly how dangerous the world could be—and how to squeeze joy out of it anyway.

Someone who, somewhere between burnt grilled cheese, paintball bruises, and video-game dance battles, had become family.