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tornado. With clothes rarely ever being put away, but rather in heaps on the floor, across my desk, desk chair, and bed, along with CDs and books and the occasional stray piece of silverware that my foot always seemed find in the middle of the night when I was heading to the bathroom.
    It took dorm life to learn simplicity and organization in my personal space, and it’s become even more prudent now that I’m living with Kenzie. My shoulders sag as a loud sigh leaves my lips. This house is a mess. Dead bodies could be concealed under these piles, and the carpets are covered in crumbs and dirt, bringing a personal rule to always wear shoes in the house.
    “I know. Let’s ride bikes! The shop isn’t finished yet, but we can ride around outside. There are tons of trails.” The rubber basketball falls to the ground without a sound because it hits one of the many miscellaneous piles of junk.
    “Not right now.”
    “I do. Not. Clean. I’m ten.”
    “Everyone cleans. It’s one of those universal rules: if you’re old enough to play, you’re old enough to clean. Besides, we have nowhere to do anything.” Mercedes’ eyes follow my arms waving around at the mountains of toys that are shoved against walls and piled on the couches along with more clothes, and several bikes and random metal parts that keep getting added to the space.
    I look back at her, thinking she finally understands as she shakes her head. “I’m not cleaning. It’s not my job.”
    “It’s everyone’s job.”
    “No one else has to do it.”
    “Wouldn’t you rather have space to play, and watch movies, and do things other than crawl over piles of stuff?”
    “It doesn’t bother me.”
    I fight to keep from rolling my eyes as her hand swings to her hip. She has more attitude than someone twice her age, and I don’t doubt for a second that she’s never been forced to clean up after herself. I can probably find a collection of toys from when she was three under one of these piles.
    “Mercedes, I’m not playing with you until you help clean up.”
    “I don’t need you to play with me. I can play by myself just fine. All of my other nannies just watched TV or played on their phones.”
    “How lonely.”
    Her back straightens and her eyes slit so I can’t see their ocean-green color. “I don’t need you.” Her answer is automatic, her tone filled with something that makes my heart hurt slightly because I don’t know why there’s so much vehemence.
    “You can’t play with me or by yourself until you help me clean.”
    “Then I’m going to get you fired.”
    My shoulders rise with indifference at the conviction behind her words. “That’s your choice.”
    She turns again and stomps to her room, her small feet echoing down the hall. I stretch my neck a few times, rubbing what’s become a constant nagging knot where my shoulders meet.
    It takes only a minute to fill the laundry basket we’d been using as a basketball hoop, so high I can hardly lift it without random articles of clothing tumbling down the sides. I head out to the hallway, trying to carefully hold it at an angle that allows me to see around it, and pass Mercedes on my way to the basement. She’s sprawled across her bed, diligently ignoring me as my foot slides on a towel. Her snickers follow me down the hall, and I realize how much I’m starting to loathe my job.
    I’ve never been down to the basement. Mercedes gave me a tour of the entire house my first day, but all she mentioned of the basement was that it was her uncle’s stuff and the laundry room. I’m in a small hall with only two doors, one of which is closed, and the other is open with clothes strewn about. When I turn on the light, I realize the entire room is packed full of clothes. There are so many I can hardly move. I’ve never seen anything like this. There must be thousands of dollars worth of clothes in this house. I drop the basket outside the door and carefully wade through the laundry, trying