Miss Impossible

by Caroline Cala

Bree also hadn’t thought about that. “Well, Best Babysitters has offered to put a portion of our proceeds toward the cause.” Bree didn’t add that they only had two clients right now.

  The sound of a vehicle rumbled in the distance.

  The girls stood up, clutching the sign in their hands, and took their spot by the side of the road.

  “SLOW DOWN!” Bree called. “WATCH THE SALAMANDERS!”

  The car slowed to a stop. The man behind the wheel looked more than a little confused by the two girls holding up a homemade salamander sign.

  Bree looked around. Once she confirmed that there was no wildlife underfoot, they stepped aside, allowing the car to pass. It was a little anticlimactic, but it still felt heroic.

  As soon as the car was out of sight, Chelsea turned to Bree, all businesslike. “We need to think bigger.”

  Bree willed her brain to think. “We could have a bake sale or a craft fair.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “Bree. A bake sale cannot possibly earn the amount of money that we will need to hire someone to be a crossing guard.”

  “What if it’s a really big bake sale? With a prize raffle, too?” Bree’s mom’s garden club held an annual raffle every summer. Her mom would let Bree choose which canisters to put the tickets in, and they never, ever won. Still, the garden club members always seemed happy with however much money they raised.

  Chelsea breathed out through her nose. “Bree, you are so lucky to have me. All your little ideas are just so . . . small. In terms of the real strategic planning for the cause, clearly it makes the most amount of sense for me to take the lead here. You know, to spearhead the initiative.”

  Bree hated Chelsea’s “business speak.” It was even worse than Malia’s. She felt like people only used those kinds of words when they wanted to intimidate people.

  Chelsea prattled on. “For example, I bet I could ask Ramona Abernathy to host a special fund-raiser at her home, for prominent citizens of the town. We could call it something like ‘A Night for Amphibians.’ I can also speak to What’sUp, Playa del Mar, you know, the magazine I’ve been featured in multiple times? I bet they’d agree to run a feature on Save the Salamanders, which should help drum up awareness and support. And those are just a few of my initial ideas. I think we need to take this thing as far and wide as we possibly can.”

  “Uh-huh,” Bree said. She was having trouble keeping up. Chelsea was approaching this cause with the intensity of a speeding car heading straight for a salamander. But Bree tried to remind herself that it was a good thing. She was grateful to have Chelsea’s support; she just wasn’t exactly sure where she fit into all this.

  “I’m a seasoned public speaker,” Chelsea continued, “so I can be the official spokesperson. Plus, because I’m older, I come off as more impressive when appealing to important figures.” Chelsea crossed her arms and gave Bree a satisfied smile.

  Bree suddenly felt left out of her own campaign. She was the one who had cared about the salamanders in the first place. Chelsea seemed more interested in throwing a fancy event and flaunting her giant résumé than she did about helping the little creatures who were counting on them.

  Before Bree had a chance to respond, they heard an engine. It sounded incredibly close.

  Bree looked to the road, where a teenage boy on an electric scooter was closing in on the crosswalk. Where had he come from? Bree didn’t know what to do.

  She waved the sign, but the boy didn’t stop.

  “LOOK OUT FOR THE SALAMANDERS!” Bree yelled.

  Still, the boy showed no sign of stopping. He breezed right through the crosswalk, with no regard for the parade of tiny amphibians making their way across.

  Bree shut her eyes, afraid of what she might see when she opened them.

  She opened her left eye to discover that there had indeed been a salamander casualty.

  A lone tear trickled down Bree’s cheek.

  “This isn’t working,” Chelsea said, simply.

  Bree wasn’t sure if Chelsea was referring to their brainstorming session or their salamander-saving efforts, but either way, she was right. Just hiring a crossing guard wasn’t going to be enough. There were currently two of them standing right there, and look what had happened.

  “I have another idea,” Chelsea continued, and in that moment, Bree was glad. “I can reach out to Bianca Salamanca. She’s a wildlife specialist at Playa del Point University, and she’s incredibly well-respected. I know her through my work with Ramona Abernathy, and I bet she’d be willing to help us. She could act as a consultant and give us some advice.”

  That sounded good to Bree. From where she currently stood, it seemed like both she and the salamanders needed all the help in the world.

  Chapter Ten

  Malia

  Only a truly hopeless situation could make them return to Zelda’s, but that was the predicament they were in. Their options were to either give up babysitting altogether—or to spend time with the world’s biggest bully (or else three little bullies named Smith, Clark, and Chase). And so, once again, they found themselves making the walk down Zelda’s street.

  “Remember the new plan,” said Malia, like a drill sergeant. “We stick together. We do not speak. We do not engage with Zelda. We do not do anything she says, we don’t try anything she suggests, and we stay alert, no matter what.”

  Dot nodded.

  Bree gave a little salute.

  “And no matter what,” Malia commanded, “our job is to stay calm. If we get nervous or afraid, we run the risk of getting distracted and opening the door for her to do something tricky. The goal is to be cool and collected.”

  And then it was time.

  Bree rang the doorbell and a few moments later, Zelda’s mom answered. Today, her red hair was secured on top of her head in a messy topknot. She wore a lime green jumpsuit paired with purple metallic sneakers. It was the kind of outfit that sounded weird in theory, but somehow, on Zelda’s mom, it looked good.

  “Hello, girls! I’m so glad you’re here,” she greeted them. “I have a surprise: I’m dropping you girls at Marvelous Ray’s!”

  Zelda’s mom looked at them expectantly and Malia forced herself to give an enthusiastic smile.

  “Hooray,” cheered Bree. Even the likes of Zelda Hooper was not enough to dampen Bree’s love for all things Marvelous Ray’s.

  “Can we order mozzarella sticks?” Dot asked hopefully.

  “No, I don’t eat dairy,” Zelda said, breezing past them on her way out to the car.

  Malia heaved a sigh as she buckled herself in. For as long as she’d been alive, she’d known one thing to be true. If there was any place on this planet that could make a “meh” situation better, it was Marvelous Ray’s Arcade. Yet today, Malia felt nothing. Under ordinary circumstances, the thought of a day at Marvelous Ray’s would have made Malia ecstatic. But the mere thought of Zelda Hooper trespassing in Malia’s sacred space was enough to quash her joy.

  Just when Malia thought she couldn’t get any lower, Zelda’s mom’s blue Toyota pulled into a random parking lot and Malia realized they weren’t headed to Marvelous Ray’s Arcade after all. They were going miniature golfing at Marvelous Ray’s new mini-golf center. Golfing with Zelda was, perhaps, the least marvelous thing she could ever imagine.

  Malia had never understood miniature golf. Putting was definitely not fun. It was a lesser version of a sport that was known for its overly civilized clap. On what planet could that ever be appealing? Still, at least Zelda’s mom was thinking outside the box.

  “This place is supposed to be state-of-the-art!” Zelda’s mom trilled. “I was just reading about it in the Playa del Mar Sunday Star. Apparently every hole has a unique theme, and some of them are really something!”

  Zelda, in typical fashion whenever her mom was present, said nothing.

  “I’ve been wanting to go here since it opened!” said Bree, all hopefulness and sunshine.

  “Did you know the origins of golf date all the way
back to 1497?” said Dot.

  “No, because I’ve never wanted to know anything about golf,” said Malia.

  “We’re here!” Zelda’s mom said, guiding the car into a parking spot. “Have a wonderful time! I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour and a half.”

  As promised, the course was huge. There were windmills and giant sculptures of animals and towering fountains with mer-people. Weirdness stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “Whooooooa,” breathed Bree, awestruck.

  “Does this change our plan of attack?” Dot asked, selecting a purple putter from a rack of multicolored clubs.

  “Not really,” said Malia, grabbing a blue putter. “Just keep our engagement to a minimum and avoid being videotaped.”

  The first hole was badger themed. The object was to get the golf ball into the badger’s cave. Upon successfully doing so, an animatronic badger would pop up and sing a creepy song.

  Right off the bat, Zelda got a hole in one.

  “Lucky shot,” Malia muttered. But it took her six incredibly clumsy strokes to finally make the badger sing.

  “Jeez. Have you ever played golf before?” asked Zelda.

  “Not really,” said Malia.

  “It was a hypothetical question, because that much was obvious,” said Zelda.

  Malia must have looked genuinely hurt, because something in Zelda seemed to shift.

  “I’m just kidding,” Zelda said. “You aren’t that bad.”

  They were gathering their balls up in preparation for the next hole when Bree stopped in her tracks.

  “CLOWN!” shrieked Bree. It was a long-known fact that there was nothing in the universe Bree enjoyed less than encountering a clown. And this clown—at least twelve feet tall, with clouds of red foam hair that extended in all directions as far as the eye could see—was more than she (or, really, anyone) could handle. From hidden speakers, the clown laughed a sinister laugh, over and over and over again.

  The objective was to get the ball to roll into either of the clown’s two giant nostrils.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” Bree whispered.

  “Sometimes, the only way out is through,” said Zelda.

  “My mom says that,” said Dot, her voice dripping with judgment.

  “Just don’t look him directly in the eyes,” said Malia. This was practical advice as well, since the clown’s eyes were two pinwheels, and they were very distracting.

  Bree squeezed her eyes shut and swung her club haphazardly in the general direction of the clown. The golf ball flew up into the air, bounced across a neighboring green, splashed through a decorative fountain, and ultimately landed in a sand trap, all the way at the very first hole.

  Bree gingerly opened her eyes. “Did I win?” she asked.

  “No. I actually think you might be disqualified,” said Dot.

  Bree frowned.

  Then, from somewhere behind the menacing clown face, Malia heard a laugh. It was not the automated menacing clown laugh, though that was still happening. It was THE laugh. The laugh that haunted her dreams.

  Malia tiptoed over to a nearby walrus statue and peered around its tusk.

  Sure enough, at the third hole—indeed, the hole right in front of them—three boys were trying to putt into some sort of igloo. And one of the boys was HIM.

  Malia immediately took back every negative thing she had ever thought about golf or Zelda’s mom or Marvelous Ray’s marvelous business plan. This was, without a doubt, the most wonderful day.

  “Maybe Bree’s right. This clown is kind of creepy. Let’s speed up so we can move on to the next hole,” Malia urged the rest of the group. The faster they moved, the sooner Bree would no longer have to look at the clown, and the faster Malia would get to look at Connor. It was a win-win.

  “What’s the matter, are you trying to speed things up to distract from what a horrible golfer you are?” teased Zelda.

  “Quite the opposite,” Malia shot back. “I’m trying to lessen the time you spend suffering.”

  “Well, then. How about we let the score card settle that?” Zelda said, as she made the perfect putt. The ball sailed beautifully down the AstroTurf green, landing right inside the clown’s left nostril. It was a big win for Zelda, but no matter. Malia would settle for whatever would move them on to the next hole as soon as humanly possible.

  The girls rounded the walrus and arrived at the third hole, which was Antarctica themed. There was a glacier, and a seal, and a penguin . . . and Connor Kelly, who was just teeing up.

  Maybe Malia was imagining it, but she was pretty sure that when he saw them, he smiled.

  “Hey, Malia!” said Aidan Morrison, catching sight of the girls.

  “Move it along, boys!” said Zelda. “There are real players entering the green.”

  “Are you, like, any good?” said Aidan. “Because Josh has already lost his ball twice.”

  “Shut up!” said Josh. “I was trying to swing the putter like an actual golf club. Because it seemed more fun.”

  Malia wondered, as she often did, what was wrong with boys.

  “Hey! We should play boys versus girls!” said Zelda, shooting a sly look at Malia.

  Wait, what? This wasn’t part of the plan. Malia wanted to throw up. She wanted to watch Connor play mini golf, but she didn’t necessarily want him to see her playing. Especially if she kept playing the way she had been.

  “Okay!” said Connor.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got!” said Aidan.

  Anxiety, Malia thought, her palms sweating. I’ve got anxiety.

  Everyone teed up next to a towering statue of a friendly manatee. Malia wasn’t sure what a manatee (a warm-water animal) was doing hanging out on the Antarctica-themed section of the course, but she was willing to forgive it.

  Connor was up first. Malia watched as he situated himself just so before hitting the ball—his feet shoulder width apart, his floppy hair flapping ever so slightly in the breeze. The thrill of beholding him quickly gave way to terror when Malia wondered what she looked like while doing the exact same things. He hit the ball—so regal! It rolled gorgeously forward. Malia liked him so much she almost—almost—wished that he would win. But not quite. And lucky for her team, Connor’s ball got caught in a “glacier” that was actually just a sand trap with a concrete penguin inside.

  Zelda was next up. “All right, male identifiers. Watch how it’s done.”

  She teed up and sent the ball careening down the green. Once again, she got a hole in one.

  “YES!” Malia screamed, with genuine excitement. Before she even realized what she was doing, she ran up to Zelda and gave her a hug. Shockingly, she did not self-destruct. Even more shockingly, the two girls jumped up and down and Zelda hugged her back.

  Then it was Malia’s turn.

  Malia wanted to keep the bar low. She didn’t need to get a hole in one. She didn’t even need to get a hole in five. For now, she had very simple goals: to actually hit the ball, and not to throw up. Anything beyond that would be a bonus.

  She held her breath and hit the ball. It veered to the left and bounced off the guard rail, which was meant to resemble blocks of ice. “That was so close!” said Bree encouragingly, even though it really wasn’t. Not the best shot, but certainly not the worst. Malia would take it.

  On the next hole, with a dragon-in-a-castle theme, she even got a hole in two (while Connor’s ball rolled sadly into the moat).

  At last, they arrived at the final destination: the eighteenth hole. Here, the objective was to get the balls to roll onto a ramp, which would deposit them into a giant purple toilet. After landing in the toilet, they would be swept away forever (unless you paid for another round).

  “Weird,” said Aidan.

  “Yeah,” Connor agreed.

  “I’ve never seen a toilet that color before!” said Bree. She seemed excited about this.

  Staring at the giant toilet, Malia couldn’t help but wonder if this course had been designed by
some of the more challenging children they’d babysat for.

  One by one, everyone made their putts. Aidan’s ball headed straight for the ramp, while Connor’s missed completely. Malia realized just how much she really, really liked him, because he was a truly terrible golfer and yet she found all his putts to be masterful.

  The two teams were neck and neck. Malia was the last to go, and it all came down to her putt. She needed to get the ball in the hole in three strokes or less if her team was to win.

  “Are you ready?” whispered Zelda.

  Malia wasn’t sure she would ever be ready, but she nodded her head yes.

  This was the moment of truth.

  Malia stepped up to the ball. She readied her stance and took a deep breath. She said a little prayer, to the effect of Please oh please oh please oh please let this ball go into the toilet. And then she let go of control, so to speak, and made her putt.

  The ball sailed down the green, headed straight for the purple toilet. As if guided by divine force, it rolled down the ramp and plopped into the toilet water with a satisfying kerplunk. It was a hole in one.

  Bree screamed and started jumping up and down. Dot also seemed excited, though in a more reserved way. Zelda grabbed Malia’s hands and started swinging her round and round in a dizzy victory dance.

  Malia couldn’t believe it. She had never excelled at anything relatively sporty in her entire life. How was it possible that Connor had been there to witness the only moment in which she had ever seemed remotely capable of guiding a ball? She looked toward Connor, who, though he looked decidedly casual about it, had definitely been watching. They locked eyes for a moment, until Connor looked away, running his fingers through his swoopy bangs.

  “THIS IS SO EXCITING!” yelled Zelda, still dancing away. “We won! We won!”

  This day was turning out to be most unexpected. The first major surprise was that Malia had actually enjoyed some version of golfing. The second was that she could, apparently, be okay at it. But the biggest surprise of all was the discovery that she could kind of sort of enjoy being in the presence of Zelda.

  Chapter Eleven