(This is going to be a short one, but I need something to start with!)

She was a college graduate.

She had a 4.2 GPA and was on the dean's list every semester.

She wrote books in her free time about galaxies and physics.

So why, oh why, can't she a handle these kids?

Nara stood fuming in the middle of the hall way, looking back and forth between the two doors directly to her left and right. This wasn't happening. She had done everything right. She fed them her famous pasta. She made sure that they had at least three hours outside to play. She helped them with their homework. For crying out loud, she even help a freaking 7 year old girl do her hair-and Nara hated doing anything with anyone's hair.

What she couldn't figure out was why these two brats didn't want to go to bed when they clearly had a full day.

"Guys, I'm not kidding. Go to bed." She said again, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She heard Amy giggle in her room to her left and Johnny 'humph' to her right. They had both locked themselves in their room after Nara had asked them multiple times to go to bed. It was almost ten in the evening. Their mother was going to kill her.

"Brats." She whispered as she headed downstairs after giving up on the two children. That was the last straw. This had been going on for the past three weeks and nothing was looking up for the 21 year old.

Mrs. Peterson will have to deal with them herself. It's not my fault she raised two Neanderthals.

With that final thought on the subject, she sat down in front of the television and turned it on to the news. Now, Nara isn't usually the type to watch TV, but when she worked with the spawns of Satan every night, she learned to like it. Especially when she was giving the kids a time out in the corner for throwing food in the kitchen.

Flipping from the news to the Discovery Channel, she relaxed in the Peterson's comfortable couch and watched the ocean on the screen before her.

An hour later, Nara heard the garage door open and a car pull in.

Thank you Jesus. Mrs. Peterson walked into the house a few minutes later holding her designer bag and a few letters in one hand and her expensive shoes in the other.

"Nara, how were my babies today?" Her voice echoed down the hall as she walked into the over sized kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. It was almost midnight. She needed to stay away for the work she planned on doing outside of work. Oh yeah. Mrs. Peterson was a workaholic.

"Actually, Mrs. Peterson, I wanted to talk to you about that. They were trouble today, and it's been this way for weeks, Ma'am. I thought you said that you would talk to them about respecting their elders." Nara didn't want to sound rude, but the slapping and name calling, not to mention the hair pulling, was more than she could handle. The young brunette had asked her employer to tell the children to stop on multiple occasions, but nothing seemed to work. Ever.

"Oh, hun, I did tell them. They promised they would be nice!" She said, not looking up from the letter she had opened in her hands and was now reading. It must have been very important, because Nara felt that Mrs. Peterson hardly knew what she was saying.

"Yes, but they aren't. Mrs. Peterson, if nothing is going to change, I'm going to have to quit." That caught her attention.

Mrs. Peterson looked up from her letter and looked at Nara from over her glasses, an eyebrow raised. "What do you mean, quit?"

Nara gulped slightly. "I mean not work for you anymore. I'm sorry, but I can't handle-"

"You can't handle a 9 and a 7 year old, Miss. Milds?" She gulped again. When put that way, she sounded stupid and incapable for not being able to do the job.

Get a backbone, Nara. Those kids are insane. "No ma'am. I guess I can't." Mrs. Peterson looked like she was going to throw something. But she didn't. She kept her cool like the collected woman she was known at work for and put the letter down on the table and looked Nara straight in the eyes.

"Then your services will no longer be needed." Oh yeah. That hurt. But only a little.

"Yes, ma'am." And Nara stood there awkwardly as Mrs. Peterson scribbled a check for the portion of the week that she had already worked and handed it to her. Folding the check and saying good-bye to her former employer, she made her way out of the house after grabbing her bag from the living room.

So she was free of brats. Great!

But now she had no job.