Leo is a 13 year old kid who his classmate picks on because he still has a babysitter and calls him twitch because he flinches over every little thing.
The house was too quiet, Leo was home alone . He sat at the kitchen island, staring at his math homework, but the numbers were just blurry insects crawling across the page. His parents were out for an important business .Then the front door opened, and the quiet didn't just break; it evaporated.
"Hey, Leo-Lion! Did you miss me, or were you too busy becoming a genius?"
It was Sloane, his babysitter. She tossed her keys onto the counter—a heavy brass ring that made a sharp clack—and slid onto the stool next to him. She smelled like expensive vanilla and something cold, like the air right before a thunderstorm. She was wearing a vintage leather jacket and ripped jeans, looking more like a rock star than a babysitter.
Leo felt that familiar, hot blush creep up his neck. "I'm not a genius. Just stuck."
"Stuck is just another word for 'about to have a breakthrough,'" she said, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Her touch was warm, but as she moved, Leo noticed a small, dark smudge on the cuff of her white t-shirt. It was a deep, rusty crimson.
"You have... something on your shirt," Leo whispered, pointing.
Sloane didn't flinch. She looked down immediately. She smiled at him, her eyes bright and steady. "Oh, that? Just a little jam from my toast earlier. I'm a messy eater, Leo. Didn't your mom tell you?"
She laughed, and it sounded so sweet, so genuine, that Leo felt stupid for even asking. He went back to his math, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now. I like her he said to himself.
******
The school bell had rung ten minutes ago, but Leo was trapped. Miller, a boy two years older and twice as mean, had Leo pinned against the brick wall behind the gym.
"What's the matter, Twitch?" Miller sneered, hovering a muddy sneaker over Leo's fallen notebook. "Gonna cry for your mommy?"
Leo's throat was tight. He looked at the ground, waiting for the impact, waiting for the humiliation. But it didn't come. Instead, he heard the rhythmic click-clack of boots on the pavement.
"He doesn't need his mom," a smooth, melodic voice rang out.
Sloane leaned against the corner of the building, looking effortlessly cool in her leather jacket, a playful smirk on her face. To anyone watching, she looked like a doting older sister or a trendy guardian.
"Who are you? His girlfriend?" Miller laughed, but his voice lacked confidence.
Sloane walked over, her smile widening. It was a beautiful smile—bright, white, and warm. She stepped right into Miller's personal space, looking like she was about to tell him a secret. She reached out and patted Miller's cheek affectionately, then leaned in, her lips inches from his ear.
Leo couldn't hear her.
All he saw was Sloane's calm, sweet expression. But Miller's face went from arrogant to ghostly white in three seconds. His eyes bugged out, and his breath hitched.
In the silence of the alley, Sloane whispered just loud enough for only Miller to feel the heat of the words: "If I catch you touching him again, I won't just tell your parents. I will reach down, grab your balls, and burst them like overripe grapes. I'll make sure you never walk straight again. Do you believe me?"
She pulled back, beaming at Miller as if she'd just told him a joke. "Right, kiddo?"
Miller didn't say a word. He tripped over his own feet backing away, turned tail, and sprinted toward the parking lot as if a demon were chasing him.
Sloane turned to Leo, her eyes instantly softening back into that "sweet" babysitter look. She knelt down and picked up his notebook, dusting it off with her sleeve.
"There you go, Leo-Lion," she said softly, handing it back. "Some people just need a little... polite encouragement. Ready to go home and get some ice cream?"
Leo took the notebook, his hands shaking. He was terrified of what she might have said, but more than that, he was completely, hopelessly in love with her.