Page 1 of Rubber Duckie Shifter Next Door

Chapter 1

Rachel

I march into the back yard and place my hands on my hips. “Okay, who’s going to shower first?”

“Not me!” Anna, who’s seven, shouts, her voice echoing across the back yard.

“Me neither.” Lisa—her twin sister—scowls at me.

Noah, their five-year-old brother, copies me by placing his hands on his hips. “I’m never going to shower.”

All three kids are absolutely adorable—dirt, grime, and all—and they remind me so much of my best friend that it hurts. They have her brown, sun-kissed hair, those familiar, piercing green eyes, and the same sprinkling of freckles on their noses. They’re also a handful and a half, and they make me want to tear my hair out.

At least the twins are fraternal, so they can’t pull off the old switcheroo. Lisa’s taller by a full inch, and Anna’s cheeks turn bright pink whenever she’s upset.

I stare down at the kids and try to look tough. “You can’t go to school like that. You’re covered in mud, and you don’t smell all that great.” A definite understatement. “What will your teachers say?”

“That it’s Sunday, Rachel,” Lisa says. Smart ass.

“Yeah, Rachel,” Noah parrots.

“There’s no school on Sunday, Rachel,” Anna adds, but there’s no fire behind her words. Unlike her siblings, she doesn’t emphasize my name in that weird way they’ve adopted in the last few days. Poor thing looks like she’s going to cry.

I sigh. “Tomorrow’s Monday. I can’t send you to school like this.”

Not when they haven’t bathed or showered in five days. I already got a cringe-worthy lecture on personal hygiene from the principal on Friday, and a veiled threat to call Child Protective Services.

Lisa looks triumphant. “We just won’t go to school until Nana’s back.”

She clearly thinks she’s won—and maybe she has.

I almost give in. Almost. But if Ada’s grandkids don’t go to school, she’ll never trust me with them again. Not when I can’t even survive watching them for one week. And what if the school follows through on that threat, and the kids get taken away?

I take a deep breath. “You like school, though, don’t you?”

The three of them shake their heads ‘no.’

“Okay, fair enough. I never liked school either.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

Except that it’s one hundred percent true. So how can I blame the kids for not wanting to go?

I nearly tell them exactly how much I think school sucks… until I remember that I’m the responsible adult. “There’s only one week of school left before summer break. I bet you won’t have any actual school work. You’ll probably just watch a bunch of movies and hang out with your friends. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

All three of them glare at me. Okay then.

I decide to switch tactics. “Don’t you want to shower? You must be so itchy.”

“We’re not itchy!” Noah shouts.

The girls just shake their heads, though Anna’s response is a lot less emphatic than Lisa’s.

I press on. “Doesn’t the smell bother you?”

Noah doesn’t hesitate. “Not one bit!”

The girls take a second, but then they echo his sentiment.

Shit!