“Whoa!” Clark called.
“Sick,” said Chase.
“IT’S A DEAD BODY!” yelled Smith.
Dot’s heart froze. She got closer to the commotion to see the boys circled around a dead salamander. The sight of it made her feel sad and even more concerned for the plight of the lizards. And it definitely wasn’t something the kids should be handling.
“Boys! Stand back. Do not touch it,” Dot cautioned. “It could give you, like, leptospirosis!”
“YOU’RE A LEPTOSPIROACH!” yelled Smith, as he scooped up the salamander with both hands and took off running. Clark and Chase laughed and followed right behind him.
“YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS LIZARD FROM ME!”
Dot watched the three of them sprint away, running past the choreographed picnic. She deeply regretted the decision to come to the park, or to ever take up babysitting, for that matter.
“WE MUST SACRIFICE THIS TO THE LORD OF THE DARKNESS!” called Smith, climbing up on a park bench. Which technically didn’t make sense, because just earlier, he had referred to himself as the Lord of the Darkness. Unless he was referring to himself in the third person. Either way, this was bad.
“I’m serious! Dead animals carry all sorts of diseases. Put that down!” said Dot.
“Awesome!” said Clark.
“Yeah,” Chase agreed. “We should eat it!”
Dot had no choice—it was time to resort to lying. “Do you want your fingers to fall off?” Dot asked. “Tonight?”
The boys stopped in their tracks.
“That happens?” Chase looked frightened.
“Yes,” said Dot. “All the time. That’s what happens when you handle dead things.”
“That’s not true, my cousin Craig collects dead bugs,” said Clark. “And he touches them all the time.”
“Your cousin Craig probably didn’t want to scare you with the truth. But lizards are a special case. The ghost of the salamander will come to your house tonight and make your fingers fall off!” Dot said. “Unless you put it down RIGHT NOW.”
Smith dropped the salamander.
“IT’S FINE I DIDN’T REALLY WANT TO PLAY WITH THE LIZARD THING ANYWAY!”
“Yeah, because it’s time to play guitars!” Clark started scream-singing the electric guitar sound again. All three boys started jamming on imaginary guitars, thrashing their heads and screaming at a volume that was likely disturbing people in the next town over. Smith did a complicated split-jump off the park bench and landed—unharmed, save for a few broken branches—in a nearby bush.
Dot just stood there, horrified.
How was this her reality? She was capable of memorizing entire pages of verse, of solving complex equations, of reciting the periodic table of elements in under a minute flat. She was even capable of calming a screaming baby! But figuring out how to handle these three little boys required a sorcery beyond her current pay grade.
Sophie and the Larssons had packed up their picnic and now strolled—it really was a stroll, Dot thought, so calm and collected—in the direction of where the madness was unfolding.
“Bonjour, Dot!” she said, in this impossibly melodic way, like she was Maria from The Sound of Music.
“Bonjour, Dot!” parroted all three Larsson kids.
Dot tried very hard not to hurl.
“How are things over here?” asked Sophie.
“I’m well!” said Dot, hoping that if she put up a convincing enough front, she might distract everyone from noticing the monsters nearby. “Things are good!”
Sophie seemed skeptical. She leaned in conspiratorially, placing one hand on Dot’s shoulder. “If you need any, um, advice, you can always ask me,” she said, in her annoyingly adorable accent. “It seems like you may be in a little over your head.”
Then Sophie looked at Dot the way one would regard an injured stuffed animal that had been left in the backyard. Overnight. In the rain. It was a look Dot was unaccustomed to receiving, and she didn’t like it one bit. Dot wasn’t a failure. Historically, she was an excellent babysitter. And she didn’t like that anyone would think otherwise.
“Thanks, but I think I’ve got this under control,” she said, just as Smith jumped off the top of the spider jungle gym and landed directly on top of Chase. They collapsed into a tangled pile of boy. Chase wailed and immediately burst into tears.
Sophie smirked.
“Okay, then. Good luck, Dot!” she said, with a little wave. Then she and the Larsson triplets walked off into the distance, Sophie swinging the picnic basket and all of them singing a French nursery rhyme that Dot wasn’t cultured enough to recognize.
“WHAT IS THAT AWFUL SOUND?” yelled Smith, who was apparently enjoying the French song about as much as Dot. “GO AWAY!” he screamed into the distance. “AND DON’T COME BACK.”
For once, Smith had the right idea.
Chapter Six
Bree
It was a beautiful day in Playa del Mar. The sun was shining. A light breeze was blowing. The smell of wildflowers drifted through the air. It was the perfect day for an outdoor gathering at the gazebo at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Bree was hosting the first community meeting of Save the Salamanders, and she had to say, she was both thrilled and impressed with the turnout. It wasn’t a very large gazebo, by any means, but it was filled to the brim with concerned citizens. Malia and Dot sat in the front row, offering their support. Next to them sat Veronica, in his cat case, looking remarkably unimpressed.
“Welcome!” Bree said. “And thank you for joining me to fight this most important of fights.”
There was a tiny smattering of applause, though it seemed to come mostly from Malia.
“Today we gather to ensure the safety of our neighbors, the salamanders.” Bree spoke with authority, the way she had seen people do on TV. “They are a humble but noble species. It is our duty to be their voice. Or their eyes. Or their feet, or something. It is our duty to keep them safe.” She was especially proud of that last line.
A hand shot up in the crowd.
“Yes! Do you have a question?”
“Are there going to be snacks?” asked a boy. “The sign said there would be snacks.”
“Yes. But patience!” said Bree. “The snacks will come. First, we must discuss the task at hand: saving the salamanders.”
“Okay but, like, how long before we get to the snacks?” the boy asked.
Bree sighed. “Do you prefer sweet or savory?”
“What have you got?”
“Cheese puffs, chocolate chip cookies, and pretzels,” Bree said. “You know what, why don’t you guys just pass these around now?” She handed off a grocery bag to Dot and the snacks started making the rounds. Sometimes dealing with people her own age could be more challenging than wrangling children.
With everyone contentedly chewing, Bree returned to the official agenda.
“Okay, people. As I was saying. There are lizards in peril!” She wasn’t afraid of a dramatic spin. This was serious business, and she needed everyone to understand just how much was at stake. She explained the basics, like lizard anatomy and fun facts, and the specifics, like how sweet lizards were being squashed right here in their own hometown.
“Are there any questions?” she asked.
A hand shot up. It was the snack boy again.
“Do you have any lemonade or anything?” he asked.
Bree kind of wanted him to get squished in the middle of Waveland Avenue, but she resisted the urge to share that.
“You know, I’m not a convenience store,” Bree said. “Lemonade is kind of heavy, and I couldn’t carry it here.”
Bree was well aware of the pretzel thirst factor. This was why she had planned to wait to share the snacks at the end, when everyone could go find a beverage elsewhere.
“I have drinks!” said a voice. Bree looked around to see where the sound was coming from. A few rows back, there sat Chelsea Twiggs, also known as Malia’s older sister. Also known as the actu
al devil, if the devil were a seventeen-year-old girl with perfect hair and perfect grades and perfect posture. She stood and floated over to Bree, toting two giant grocery bags as though they weighed nothing at all. “I have pastries, too!” she said, beaming in that Chelsea way of hers. The crowd actually cheered.
Bree looked over to her friends, where Malia was very dramatically rolling her eyes.
With the ease of a seasoned Girl Scout troop leader, which she probably was, Chelsea passed around paper cups, sparkling fruit beverages, and a box full of chocolate-filled pastries. Everyone enthusiastically accepted a snack except Malia, who crossed her arms defiantly.
“What IS this?” Dot asked through a mouthful of pastry.
“Pain au chocolat,” said Chelsea, matter-of-factly.
“WHERE did it come from?” Dot crammed another enormous piece in her mouth.
“This new bakery in town,” she said. “All their stuff is really amazing.”
“IT’S SO FLAKY!” Dot exclaimed. “I want to live inside of one forever!”
Bree wished that Dot would feel half this much excitement for salamander welfare, but was glad that at the very least, she seemed enthusiastic about something.
“Okay, now back to the salamanders,” Bree said, trying to steer everyone back on track.
“WHERE is the bakery where this came from?” asked a girl with pigtails.
“It’s called Jolie Pâtisserie!” said Chelsea, pronouncing the words in what Bree thought was a very unnecessary French accent. “It’s in the town center, with a huge red-and-white awning. You should check it out!” She offered Bree a smile. “Now back to the salamanders, shall we?”
“Thank you, Chelsea. As I was saying, it is our job to keep the salamanders safe. Gandhi once said, ‘You can judge a nation by how it treats its animals,’ and the same is true for a town. What kind of town is Playa del Mar? Are we the kind of town that squashes its salamanders? Or are we the kind of town that stands up and does what is right?”
There was another smattering of applause, and this time it was more than just Malia.
“We are faced with a very important choice: the choice to squish the lizards or to raise them up. Let us make the right decision!”
Presenting her proposal to the group made Bree feel different than she had ever felt before. When Bree was speaking, she wasn’t worried about what anyone might think of her. She wasn’t worried about whether she was saying the right thing. She wasn’t even worried about the stuff she normally worried about, like her homework and Veronica and whether she could wear a jean jacket with beading or if that would be too similar to glitter and make Veronica go bonkers. When she was speaking, Bree lost track of time and space. She felt like the best version of herself. She felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
After the speech, everyone filed out of the gazebo, buzzing with energy. While Dot and Malia went to talk to their school friends Shoko and Mo, Bree stayed behind for a moment to gather up her posters. She hoped she had done enough to inspire the masses to do their part.
“Bree, that was spectacular!”
Bree looked up to see Chelsea standing before her. Chelsea was seventeen, and talking to her felt like talking to a grown-up. That, combined with all the terrible things Malia had told her about Chelsea and all the horrible things Bree had seen for herself over the years, made her feel a little bit nervous.
“So, Bree, I was thinking.” Chelsea leaned in conspiratorially. “We should absolutely combine forces.”
“Forces?” said Bree.
“To save the salamanders!” Chelsea shifted the weight of her brown leather backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Just picture it. You could bring your tremendous enthusiasm to the project, and keep inspiring everyone to get involved. And I could use my incredible business acumen and talent for networking to spearhead some top-notch grassroots efforts!”
Bree was skeptical. For starters, she didn’t understand a bunch of the words Chelsea had just used. If Bree decided to partner with Chelsea, Malia would probably be mad and accuse Bree of siding with the enemy. And, maybe most important, could Chelsea really be trusted?
Still, Bree had to admit that Chelsea would make a very effective partner. She was older and smarter and good at pretty much everything. She knew about stuff like networking and business plans. Plus, she could drive.
“Mayyyyybe,” Bree said, very slowly.
“Bree.” Chelsea inhaled. “I do not understand your hesitation. Here you are, standing in the gazebo to drum up support from the community, and I am offering my services to you. This is an incredibly worthy cause, and I am very dedicated to it. As you are no doubt aware, I have a very diverse skill set, and I plan on using it to save those salamanders one way or another. We might as well do it together.”
Bree tried to come up with some argument, but she couldn’t think of a thing. Chelsea was making some good points. And her help would be valuable.
“So?” Chelsea batted her eyelashes. “What do you say?”
Bree glanced around, wishing one of her friends (or really, like, anyone) would rush up and tell her what to do. But no one was around. Bree would have to figure this one out for herself.
Chelsea held out her hand, and Bree shook it. As of that moment, they were in business.
Chapter Seven
Malia
The only thing sadder than walking to another weird babysitting job at Zelda’s house was walking to another weird babysitting job at Zelda’s house WHILE discussing how there were no other jobs except the Morris boys because the au pairs had stolen them all. Malia realized she was having another one of those moments that made her appreciate how good she’d had it before.
She’d taken every measure she could to make Best Babysitters seem more relevant. They were now billing themselves as both babysitters and homework helpers, and Malia had sent out an email blast advertising this new service. They had even made kids’ culture-kits, featuring coloring pages with famous works of art and flash cards with vocabulary words in four different languages. But at the end of the day, Malia, Bree, and Dot weren’t interesting and well-traveled and multilingual. They were still just three local girls who were self-taught in the ways of caring for children. So, despite their best marketing efforts, no one had really cared.
Too soon, Malia found herself standing on that doormat telling them to Shut the front door! She wished she could shut Zelda’s front door, forever and ever, and never open it again.
This time Zelda was the one to greet them at the entrance.
“Well, look who it is,” she said, as though she’d been excitedly awaiting their arrival.
Malia had expected more of the same, but today, Zelda was talkative from the start. “We should hang out in my room!” she suggested, which was new. They hadn’t been allowed in Zelda’s room before, and they had no idea what it even looked like.
Malia was surprised to discover that Zelda’s room resembled any other thirteen-year-old’s room. It had a black-and-white-striped rug and a white lacquered desk and a bookshelf full of books and knickknacks. Striped curtains hung in the two windows. Malia supposed the black bedspread was a little dark. But beyond that, there were no outward signs that Zelda was actually a miserable force of evil.
“Please, have a seat.” Zelda gestured grandly to the carpet. “How was everyone’s day?” she asked, like they were old friends. In a way, Malia supposed they were.
Malia flashed back to their younger days at Playa del Playtime, the local preschool next to the Chicken Resort, a fried chicken restaurant whose name made no sense because it was definitely not a resort of any kind, especially for the chickens. Three-year-old Zelda had sported a bowl haircut with thick bangs, and always wore floral dresses and frilly socks. Ten years later, it wasn’t just the physical stuff that was unrecognizable. Back then, she had also been nice.
The sweet Zelda of yore had shared her snacks and her secrets, and always held hands with Malia as they walked back and
forth from the crafts studio to the playground. She had even given Malia a friendship necklace—a silken cord with a plastic charm in the shape of a yellow dog. Malia still had the necklace in her jewelry box, though of course she hadn’t worn it in years.
Their friendship had continued until kindergarten, where they had been excited to discover they were in the same class. Then one spring day, without warning, Zelda marched up to Malia in the middle of the playground and said she didn’t want to be friends anymore. Malia could still picture it clearly: standing there, clouds of dust from the sand pit under the jungle gym swirling in the air, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t done anything wrong. As far as she knew, nothing had changed. Why didn’t Zelda like her anymore?
From that point forward, Zelda morphed into an entirely different person. Gone were the sweet dresses and the frilly socks, replaced with trendy clothes and a perpetually annoyed expression. Zelda didn’t roll with a pack, or have a posse, the way the soccer players or the surfers or the drama club did. She was a lone wolf. She preferred to operate alone—Zelda against the world. It was quite the transformation. Sometimes, Malia would think back to that kind little kid and wonder what happened.
“No one wants to tell me how their day was?” Zelda said, reacting to the silence that greeted her.
“My day was fine,” said Bree, but offered nothing more. This was an obvious lie, as normally everything with Bree was either wonderful or terrible, but never in between.
“Can I get you anything?” Zelda asked, still playing the perfect hostess. “Water? A snack?”
Everyone shook their heads no.
“Can you believe what happened to Aidan Morrison?” Zelda continued, in a gossipy tone, like a friendly woman at a nail salon. “You heard about it, right?”
Everyone nodded their heads.
Earlier that day, Aidan Morrison’s pants had ripped up the back during gym class. Malia—who opted to walk around the perimeter of the soccer field instead of playing basketball—hadn’t actually been in the gym when it happened, but it was all anyone could talk about. It was the only time she had ever regretted not participating in a sport.
Miss Impossible Page 4