You Got Me A What? (A Camren Fanfic)

You Got Me A What?

Babysitters are useful when your parents go out of town and you're so little that you can't cook to save your life, they're also good for reading you bed time stories, for checking up on you when you're afraid of the dark and playing along with your childish games and fantasies. Maybe when you're a little older they're good company when you don't like being left alone for weeks on end; but there is one time when babysitters aren't so useful.

That is when you're 19 years old. Yeah. I hope you see where I'm going with this. My name is Camila Cabello. I'm 19 years old. And as of today I have a babysitter.

Apparently I can't be trusted to stay at home all alone, as if I would get up to anything truly terrible. I know what's flammable and what's not, I know not to throw any parties as if I had any friends to do that with in the first place, I know how to cook – to some degree, and I am perfectly content with my own company. But according to my dad having a babysitter would be good for me and not the least bit patronizing or condescending. It's not as if this person will remember the month in March when she took care of some Lawyers kid, and then talk about it with her friends as the most hilarious job position she's ever been given. No, that'll never happen.

If any of my other relatives find out I'll be the laughing stock of the Cabello family name. I'll forever be known as the girl who was deemed unfit to take care of herself or her house; maybe I should torch it just to prove them right. Nah, it's not worth moving all the way to our summer home in Cuba just for the repairs. Whatever, if this girl thinks she's getting a warm reception she's dead wrong.

'Camila, the sitters here, come downstairs and say hello!' My father Alejandro Cabello called up the stairs. I was stood just far enough from the bannister that you couldn't see me but close enough that I could see a head of black hair walk through the foyer and into the kitchen.

'Camila died, call back later' I yelled back down the stairs and walked back into my room, slamming the door for emphasis and rolling up in my duvet.

'Karla Camila Cabello Estrabao! Get down here this instant!' he hollered back thinking that saying my whole name meant I would just suddenly be fine with having a babysitter and ignore the hatred that has been brewing in my stomach ever since he told me he was going on this stupid trip.

'I'm sorry the number you have called has been disconnected' I mumbled to myself and rolled over only to keep rolling when my bedroom door was flung open and my father's swiftly moving body came storming in, smoke trail and all. I landed on the floor with a thud and stayed there staring up at him with the same stern look he was giving me.

'Camila, promise me you will be nice to Lauren. She's doing this as a favour to me, and she won't just be babysitting you she's also doing some very important work so you probably won't even see each other very often anyway' he explained and paced back and forth with his hands clasped behind him. I'm sure he was expecting me to say something comforting that would ease his mind and make his trip away from me a little more bearable, but all I had was snide remarks and sarcastic comments so I decide to go with all of the above.

'Sounds like another stuck up suit to me. I'm sure we'll have tons of fun actively ignoring each other. Hey, maybe when she's busy I'll test out the flammable quality of your deodorant; you always hated those curtains in your room right?' I smirked but he was none too pleased.

'Camila, I'm being serious'

'When aren't you being serious?' I snapped back.

'Karla...'

Don't call me that.

'Aren't you supposed to be going somewhere?' I sneered and stood up from my spot. He paused, studied me for a moment and nodded his head before walking over to my bedroom door and pulling it to.