Miss Impossible

by Caroline Cala

  “Can I get you anything? A snack? Something to drink?”

  “Uh . . . I guess some water would be good,” said Bree.

  “Would you like tap or sparkling? I have seltzer flavored with essences of cucumber, strawberry, or lemon-lime.”

  “Strawberry?” said Bree uncertainly, like maybe it was laced with poison.

  “How about we all start with the strawberry!” Zelda smiled. “It really is so refreshing.”

  Zelda handed everyone a can of sparkling water, decorated with a picture of a strawberry on a skateboard. “Let’s all take a seat at the table, shall we?” She pulled out a chair.

  This was bizarre.

  Malia gingerly held her chilled can and did as she was instructed.

  “How have your days been?” Zelda addressed the group.

  “Uh, you know, it’s been a day,” said Malia.

  “Yeah, mine, too,” said Zelda, nodding awkwardly. Something was definitely up. She was acting almost like a regular person—a person capable of having feelings. She seemed nervous, and maybe even a little shy.

  “Is everything okay?” Malia ventured.

  “Yeah! Yes. Everything is great,” Zelda said. “I actually, um, had fun with you guys the other day at mini golf.”

  “Me too!” said Bree.

  “It was relatively enjoyable,” Dot admitted.

  Finally, Zelda took a deep breath. “So. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I feel terrible for some of the things I’ve done.” Malia blinked, not sure where this little speech was headed. “Like that time I hid an old fish in your locker and it stunk for weeks and weeks. Or the time I started that rumor that you pooped in the art room supply closet.”

  “That was you?!” Malia had always suspected, but hadn’t known for sure.

  “The point is, I feel horrible for being mean to you. You’ve never been anything but kind to me. Remember how close we used to be at Playa del Playtime?” Of course Malia remembered, but she didn’t know that Zelda did. “I think we could still be friends, and I’d really, really like to. That is, if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “Uhh . . . I mean, sure,” said Malia. She wasn’t sure where Zelda’s words were coming from, or if she could believe them. But Malia had to admit she had enjoyed playing mini golf and spending more time with Zelda. Was it possible that some glimmer of her old childhood friend was still in there?

  “That’s really nice, Zelda,” said Bree.

  “Why the change of heart?” said Dot.

  “I realized that everything is easier when you’re nice,” Zelda said. “It’s fun to spend time with friends, and it feels good to make people happy. I guess I just have a new outlook on life.”

  Malia couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she was very happy to hear it.

  “You know, I had my doubts about you. But I have to admit, it’s been really nice spending time with you, too.” Malia thought back to the joy they had shared on the eighteenth hole, and the joy they had shared back in preschool. “I hope we can have more good times together.”

  “Me too,” said Zelda. “Speaking of which! I have an idea. Follow me.”

  She led the girls up the stairs and down a long hallway lined with bookshelves. At the end of the hall, they entered a bright bedroom, with all-white furniture and a skylight overhead. It felt very glamorous and very pristine. Zelda opened a white door and the group stepped into the most ridiculous arrangement Malia had ever seen. From the contents, she gathered it was a walk-in closet, but it was unlike any closet she had ever seen. This was Zelda’s mother’s fabled fashion headquarters, the place where all her amazing outfits lived, and where they had been strictly forbidden from playing dress-up as little kids. It was big enough to be considered a room. In fact, it was so large, and its contents were so amazing, that if Zelda decided to lock them in this closet, they could happily remain in it forever.

  One entire wall was lined with white built-in shelves, which were filled with shoes. The shoes seemed to be arranged by type (boots, heels, flats, sneakers) and then by the colors of the rainbow. Another wall was lined with similar shelves, this time filled with handbags. There were rows and rows of clothes on hangers, with every color, pattern, and material represented. In the center, there was an island, with multiple drawers filled with even more magical items. Malia couldn’t decide if it was more like a museum or the best store she had ever seen. She didn’t even care that much about fashion, but this was impressive, by any measure.

  “Whoa,” said Bree, breathing heavily.

  “What is this?” said Dot.

  “My mom’s closet,” said Zelda. “She lets me hang out in here whenever I want.”

  “How do you get anything done?” asked Bree, petting a pair of purple velvet boots that looked like they would never match anything. “I would spend all my time in here and never, ever leave.”

  “You’re welcome to try on whatever you want!” Zelda said. “My mom doesn’t mind!”

  “Reeeeeeeally?” said Bree, who was already in the process of removing a periwinkle faux-fur jacket from its hanger.

  “Also!” Zelda opened the top drawer. “This is the sunglasses drawer.” She opened another. “This is where the makeup lives.” She motioned to the remaining three drawers, near the bottom. “And these are the jewelry. You guys can wear or use whatever you want!”

  “Oh my goodness!” Bree, now dressed in the faux-fur jacket and a huge black hat, with an electric yellow structured purse dangling off her arm, made a beeline for the makeup drawer.

  “Are you sure your mom really won’t mind?” Dot asked, petting a leather bag with sequin lions dancing across it. “I mean, I recognize a few of these things as extremely limited edition.”

  “How on earth do you know that?” Malia asked. She knew for a fact that Dot was very anti–fashion magazine.

  “From the New York Times,” said Dot. “I have a digital subscription.”

  “My mom definitely doesn’t mind!” said Zelda. “Now that I’m older, I do this all the time. She would be so happy that we’re enjoying her stuff.”

  “Amazing!” said Bree, standing on her tiptoes to peer into a magnifying mirror perched on top of the center island. She smeared a bright pink lipstick all over her mouth, then pressed her lips together to set it.

  Malia removed a pair of silver glitter ankle boots from a shelf, excited to try them on. Where did Zelda’s mom wear half these things? Malia’s mom basically lived in her practical canvas slip-ons. Malia wondered if Zelda’s mom had a secret, glamorous life.

  “Oh, I left my drink downstairs. I’ll be right back!” Zelda made a beeline for the doorway, while the girls continued to ransack the shelves.

  “This is better than visiting the mall!” said Bree.

  “Seriously,” said Dot, spinning in a floor-length silk trench coat. “It’s more like visiting a museum.”

  A moment later, Zelda appeared in the closet doorway—but she was not alone. She was with her mother.

  How was Zelda’s mom back already?

  “Your closet is amazing!” said Bree, who was now wearing at least thirty percent of the items from the jewelry drawer.

  Zelda’s mom stood, silently taking in the scene—the many items no longer in their regular locations, the makeup smeared across the girls’ faces. Her expression—like the villain in a horror movie just before they snap—made it immediately clear that spending time in the enormous closet was not okay with her after all. All traces of the sweet woman were gone. Zelda, too, was wearing the evil smirk she had become known for. Now Zelda and her mom looked even more like twins.

  “What the—” Zelda’s mom breathed. She could barely choke the words out.

  Zelda—a very strange, unrecognizable version of Zelda—burst into tears.

  “This is why I called you and asked you to come home early!” Zelda cried. “I’m so sorry! I told them how valuable some of these things are, and how I’m not even allowed in
here. I told them this room was totally off-limits and how mad you would be once you got back. But they forced me!” Zelda sniveled, crying fat crocodile tears. Malia had no idea she was such a skilled actress. “I tried to stop them, but there are three of them and only one of me!”

  “What?” Bree was flabbergasted.

  “That’s not true!” Malia protested.

  “We can explain,” Dot said.

  But Zelda’s mom shook her head firmly. “That won’t be necessary. I’m surprised at you. Who goes into someone’s home and acts this way? Especially when you were hired to be there! What would your parents think?”

  Even though it hadn’t been their idea, Malia couldn’t help but feel ashamed.

  And then Zelda’s mom said the worst thing of all. “Obviously, I cannot pay you after what took place here today. It goes without saying that we won’t be needing your services anymore.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dot

  “Sometimes, our biggest challenges are actually our greatest blessings,” said Dot’s mom.

  Dot wanted to take her mother’s advice seriously, but it was very hard to do so when she was delivering it upside down.

  Dot sat on the living room sofa, nestled amid a sea of brightly patterned pillows, while her mother hung, feet up, from some inane contraption that looked like an inverted treadmill. According to her, it was meant to promote blood flow to the head and (apparently) increase one’s intuitive ability. According to Dot, it seemed like a great way to get a headache. It was just the latest thing her mother, a yogi–slash–tarot card reader–slash–Reiki master–slash–intuitive healer, was trying in the name of “self-care.”

  After what had gone down at Zelda’s, Dot needed a little motivational speech to get herself ready for the only babysitting job they had left: monster-sitting the Morris boys. Dot wasn’t used to failing, and it felt like that was all she was doing these days. No matter how much they tried (and how much torture they had withstood), both Dot and Best Babysitters were holding on by a thread.

  “I’m telling you, any way you look at it, these boys are like three little nightmares,” Dot said.

  “You know, Dot, you’ve been very fortunate that many things have come easy to you,” her mother said, her words aimed at Dot’s feet. “Perhaps the universe is presenting you with a challenge so you can work through some complicated feelings and get to know yourself a little better.”

  That didn’t make any sense.

  “I think I know myself just fine,” Dot countered. “What I don’t know is how someone who is only five years old can have so many issues.”

  Her mom may or may not have frowned at this. It was hard to tell because of gravity.

  “Dot, everyone just wants to feel seen. Everyone just wants to feel cared for. Perhaps your job is to help these little boys feel like they’re safe and that you accept them as they are.”

  Dot thought about this for a moment. “But what if I don’t accept them?”

  “Well, my love, maybe that’s part of the issue.”

  * * *

  Dot continued to mull over her mother’s words as she, Malia, and Bree walked to the Morrises’ House of Torture for the latest round of man-to-man combat with the five-year-olds. Was it possible that the problem was she didn’t accept the boys? Dot considered this for a moment and then laughed. Of course she didn’t accept them! These were kids who routinely did things like draw her coffin and threaten to light her on fire. How on earth was she supposed to feel? No amount of enlightenment could possibly stand up to the trio of terror. All she could do was hope that no one got injured, nothing got broken, and crying was kept to a minimum.

  “WHAT’S THE SCARIEST THING YOU’VE EVER SEEN?” asked Smith when they arrived at the house.

  Oh great, thought Dot. Apparently, it was time for this game again.

  “Have you ever seen a shark?” asked Chase.

  “HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A ZOMBIE?” yelled Smith.

  “Have you ever seen a snake?” asked Chase.

  “Have you ever seen a tarantula?” asked Clark, and put something down on the kitchen table. It took Dot a second to register that it was, in fact, a tarantula. A rather giant, hairy, eight-legged tarantula. And it was very much alive.

  As soon as she saw it, Bree screamed what was, quite possibly, the loudest scream that had ever been screamed.

  “NOW YOU’VE SEEN ONE!” Smith cackled like a very mean hyena, which, the more Dot got to know him, the more she realized he basically was.

  “That’s Evelyn,” said Chase, as the enormous furry arachnid slowly made its way across the kitchen table.

  Bree screamed again.

  “Does Evelyn have some sort of home she can go back inside of?” Malia asked, with a shudder.

  “Perhaps,” said Clark. “What do you want to give me for it?”

  “I’m sorry, maybe I should rephrase myself. Please put Evelyn back in her cage NOW.”

  “EVELYN LIVES IN A TERRARIUM!” yelled Smith.

  “I don’t care what it’s called, please put her back inside it!” said Dot.

  With a huff, Clark reluctantly gathered up Evelyn’s terrifying body and carried her back to his bedroom. The other boys followed close behind.

  “I don’t think I can do this today,” Dot said, as soon as the boys were out of earshot. “My nerves are totally fried. I don’t know what a nervous breakdown feels like, but I think I might be having one.”

  “Try to breathe. It’s just another hour,” said Malia. “We can put up with pretty much anything for an hour. Especially if we’re together.”

  There was a time when Dot would have believed this. But then she met these three little boys and saw firsthand just how much destruction could take place in one hour. Before she could even reply, a demonic child voice beckoned.

  “SITTERS! COME QUICK!” called Smith.

  There is nothing like the alarmed cry of a child whose welfare you’re responsible for to motivate a sitter to spring into action. All three girls jumped up and sprinted to the back door, where they were greeted by three panicked kindergarten faces. Luckily, they appeared to be unharmed.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Malia.

  “WE NEED YOUR HELP!” screamed Smith. Dot realized that because Smith screamed about everything, it made his dramatic requests seem less urgent.

  “There is a family of kittens trapped under the deck!” said Clark.

  “Kittens!” said Bree, snapping to attention. Her favorite word had been spoken.

  “Yeah! They’re, uh, stuck under there,” said Chase.

  “THEY LOOK SAD AND HUNGRY,” added Smith.

  “We should take a look!” said Bree. Malia nodded in agreement.

  “Have you ever seen these cats before?” asked Dot, who wasn’t in the habit of approaching strange animals. “Are they from the neighborhood? Do you know if they live under the deck? Do they seem feral?”

  “WHAT IS FERAL?” yelled Smith, unhelpfully.

  “No, I’ve never seen them around here before,” said Chase, with a shrug. “But they really do seem nice.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Clark. “They seem like very nice cats.”

  “Okay, I guess we can check it out,” Dot reluctantly agreed.

  The boys hung back, staying up on the deck, while the girls made their way down the steps to get a better look at the kittens.

  “They’re over by the fence!” said Clark.

  As it turned out, the only way to access the area underneath the deck was a narrow opening in between a couple of the boards. Bree, of course, was the first one to look inside.

  “Awww, they’re so cute!” cooed Bree.

  “What do you see?” asked Dot.

  “There’s a mama and two—no, three!—babies,” said Bree.

  “I want to see!” said Malia.

  “Hm. The mama is kind of stamping her foot,” said Bree. “Is that normal?”

  “I don’t think it’s normal for anything to stamp its foot
,” said Dot. “But if you let me take a look, I can tell you.”

  “Yeah, she seems kind of pissed,” Bree confirmed. “And do cats have tails like that?”

  “Tails like WHAT?” Malia reached the opening just before Dot did. Malia made a sound so shrill it was enough to send any animal into attack mode. She turned, horror written all over her face.

  Dot gasped. The sight that greeted her was much worse than she imagined. “Oh, no. That’s not a—” Before Dot could finish her sentence, the not-kitten sprayed a very terrible-smelling spray into the air.

  “It’s a skunk!” Malia yelled, staggering out of the way. But of course, it was too late. A cloud of horribleness surrounded them. The girls were already covered with skunk juice.

  Malia made a choking sound.

  Bree looked like she might pass out.

  It was awful. Pungent and sour and completely overpowering. Dot wondered if she would ever be able to inhale normally again.

  “Bree, how did you not recognize what a skunk looks like?” Dot said, gagging.

  “I’ve never seen one before! And it was dark under there! Oh my god. I think I’m going to throw up,” said Bree, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “It smells like rotten eggs!” wailed Malia.

  “THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME!” Bree wailed. “WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL DOES SUCH A THING?”

  Up on the deck, safely behind the screen door, someone laughed. It was an unnecessarily loud laugh, so it was probably Smith.

  “You little shrimps!” Malia turned on them.

  “We didn’t know!” Clark held up his hands, defensively.

  “We really thought it was a family of black-and-white kittens,” said Chase.

  “WE’RE FIVE! HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW THEY WEREN’T WEIRD CATS!” hollered you-know-who, followed by the sound of little feet scampering away and the click of the back door locking behind them.

  As Dot stood there, delirious, exhausted, and covered in skunk juice, that click sounded like the final nail in the coffin for Best Babysitters. She wanted to remain hopeful. But she feared this just might be the end. Of their business, yes, and also of her sanity.