Miss Impossible

by Caroline Cala

  “Bree.” Chelsea sighed. “I understand you have very limited experience with broadcast journalism, so it’s perfectly understandable that you don’t get this, but when you’re addressing an audience, it’s important that you keep the story simple and don’t convolute it with unnecessary details.”

  “I AM A PERSON,” Bree wailed. “I AM NOT A DETAIL.”

  Bailey, who was still in the room watching this whole thing go down, looked at her with very wide eyes.

  “You’re obviously very upset right now, but I’m sure with some amount of distance, you’ll see that I was only doing what was best for the cause.” Chelsea spoke in the same exhausted tone Bree’s mom used when everyone in the family was acting up at once.

  Furious, Bree hung up the phone. She supposed she was glad that she’d stood up for herself, but the conversation had left her feeling even more frustrated.

  Bree knew the important thing was the salamanders. And now that the cause had gotten some attention, maybe it would inspire more people to get involved. The best use of her time and energy was planning the big salamander fund-raiser. It was going to be a huge success, and the credit would be hers and hers alone.

  But that didn’t help the fact that it felt so bad.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Malia

  Malia trudged down the street even slower than a salamander on a hot summer’s day. Bree and Dot weren’t much better, plodding along beside her. They were all headed to the Morrises’ house, and the dread was so palpable, it was as if their bodies wanted to delay their arrival as long as humanly possible.

  “I’m sad,” said Bree. “How will I ever trust anyone again? Chelsea took all the credit for my ideas. It’s like, why bother putting so much effort in when we live in a world that doesn’t have any values?”

  “I won’t say I told you so,” said Malia.

  “You kind of just did,” said Dot.

  “Well, we already knew Chelsea was the worst ever,” said Malia. “And I’m sad, too. What if we never get any of our old business back? Is this all there is? Is life destined to be nothing but school and the three monsters for the rest of forever?”

  If Malia was being perfectly honest, there was something else making her sad: the part where Connor still hadn’t texted her yet. She had taken to looking at her phone a few times a day—okay, a few times an hour. Okay, whenever it occurred to her, which may have been even more often than that. But his name never popped up. She was losing hope.

  “Honestly, just walking to Smith’s house would be reason enough for sadness,” said Dot. “But I’m sad about both of the things you guys mentioned, and also that I let Zelda prank me again at the patisserie. And that the au pairs aren’t very nice. Why do good things happen to people who don’t deserve them? Is karma not real?”

  The three of them let out a collective sigh.

  “And here we are,” said Malia, as they arrived at the Morrises’ driveway.

  “The saddest place on earth,” said Bree.

  “And it’s going to be even worse without Zelda here to be a monster-whisperer,” said Dot.

  “I can’t believe she double-crossed us,” said Bree.

  “That’s just what she does,” Malia huffed. “She’s been doing it to me ever since we were toddlers. Why would she stop now?”

  The front door opened. Malia expected the usual greeting—one of the boys, dressed as a gremlin, holding a lit match. But instead, it was their dad. And he looked peaceful.

  “Oh, hi, girls!” he said. “I had no idea the whole team was planning to show up. Didn’t you get the message?”

  What message?

  “No,” said Malia. “Do the boys not need sitting today?”

  “They do, but we won’t need all four of you! They requested that only Zelda watch them.” And as if on cue, Zelda appeared in the front hallway, grinning back at them.

  WHAT? thought Malia. It didn’t make any sense. After what had happened at the patisserie, the girls had decided that they had to call off their arrangement with Zelda. They hadn’t told her about this job, yet here she was.

  “Wait, what are you doing here?” asked Malia.

  “I’m watching the boys on my own. I’m their new exclusive babysitter.” She shrugged, like taking over the only remaining business in town was her final prank. “They specifically requested that ‘only the witch’ watches them from now on.” She gave a little chuckle.

  Mr. Morris smiled.

  “They’ve really taken a liking to this one!” he said, then disappeared from sight.

  Malia wanted to hurl.

  “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to the task at hand,” Zelda said. “I guess I’ll be seeing you later!” And with that, she closed the door in their faces.

  To Malia, it felt like a symbolic door had just closed as well.

  “ ‘Only the witch’?” Dot repeated, screwing her face up into a scowl.

  “At least we don’t have to spend the day with demon spawn,” said Bree. “And we can spend this time planning the fund-raiser!” Though even she seemed barely comforted by that thought.

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” said Dot.

  But Malia couldn’t see a bright side. They had arrived at a point where there was no bright side. Their only job—a job they hadn’t even particularly wanted—had disappeared right before their eyes. What did they have left? The business was officially over.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dot

  “I cannot believe we’re here. Doesn’t it feel a little like supporting the enemy?” Dot said, while taking a hearty bite of a pain au chocolat. She looked back and forth across the patisserie, searching for any glimpse of the enemy.

  “Are they still the enemy if they’ve won?” asked Malia. “At that point, it’s more like they’re just the winner. And we are the sad people. Who have given up.”

  “What now?” asked Bree, unrolling a pastry that looked like a very complicated bow.

  “So! I was thinking. Since there are no children left, maybe we can still babysit for other things,” Malia offered.

  “Things . . . besides babies?” asked Dot.

  “Yes, like plants! We could water them when people go out of town. And they don’t talk, so offering additional language skills will never be an issue,” said Malia. “Dot, remember that one time you plant-sat? That was pretty easy, right?”

  “Um, yes, I do remember, and no, that’s absurd,” said Dot. “Plant-sitting is not a marketable skill. Plus, how much could we charge for that? Watering someone’s cactus for three seconds is very different than spending an entire afternoon with someone’s children.”

  “Okay, well, we could get into pet-sitting.” Malia was really trying here. “We could charge different prices for pet-sitting and dog-walking and, uh, whatever other services animals require. Maybe we could learn to groom them.”

  Even Bree, the world’s preeminent lover of pets, wrinkled her nose at this idea. “I already have my hands full with pets,” she said. “Between Veronica and the salamanders, I couldn’t possibly give my full attention to any more animals right now. Plus, that’s not our specialty! That’s not why we got into this.”

  “Pet grooming is an entirely separate career,” Dot argued. “One that I, personally, have zero interest in pursuing. Plus, pet hair is even worse than lint, you know. And I wear an awful lot of black.” She smoothed her hands over her black T-shirt to make her point.

  Bree nodded solemnly. “Dog grooming is a very serious thing, not to be taken lightly.” She paused before adding, “Especially in Japan. Artistic dog grooming is huge in Japan.”

  “All right, then. No grooming. But it might be smart to still consider pet-sitting. Occasionally.” Malia sighed.

  “Where is this coming from?” asked Bree. “Do you really think we’re done with babysitting forever? You’ve never been one to back down when the going gets tough. So why now?”

  “Because I don’t
see any way out,” said Malia. “First we had to contend with the Seaside Sitters, and then our own employees started to take all our business, and now this? How many more times is this going to happen?”

  “Probably infinitely more times, because competition is an unavoidable part of business, especially in an open market,” said Dot.

  Malia shot her a pointed look.

  Bree looked at her like she was speaking Swahili.

  “Right, that,” Malia said. “Plus, even if I were trying to remain positive, the fact stands that there are no jobs left,” she concluded. “NO JOBS. NO MONEY. The jig is up. I’m tired. I feel like I’ve already given an entire lifetime’s worth of work. And we haven’t even started high school yet!”

  “I know the feeling,” said Dot. “I feel remarkably burnt-out.”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the shop’s front door opened and in walked the enemy—all three of them.

  She had no idea what they were saying, but she could make out the sound of their names.

  “Oh, regardez, c’est Dot. Cette babysitter américaine inefficace. Et Malia et Bree, qui sont tout aussi mauvaises!” Then they burst into a cloud of hearty laughter.

  Dot didn’t have the tools to provide a well-timed zinger, but she didn’t care. She had no desire to insert herself into this conversation. She had given up. Let the au pairs have their gossipy conversation. Let them have their growing business and their delicious pastries and their outfits that looked effortlessly chic. Let them have it all. Letting go was easier than caring.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Bree

  “Does this A look wonky?” Dot asked, frowning.

  Bree squinted. It wasn’t the most beautiful A she had ever seen, but it was good enough.

  “It looks great!” she said, because Veronica’s cat therapist had taught her that positive reinforcement was very important.

  The girls were gathered at Bree’s house, where they were hard at work on signage for the Save the Salamanders fund-raiser. There were signs for each booth, signs for the food stations, a map of the festivities, and a giant banner (with the questionable letter A).

  “How is Chelsea these days?” asked Malia, painting a D that Bree had to admit looked quite artful.

  “You’re the one who lives with her!” said Bree.

  “But I avoid her as much as possible,” Malia said. “Also, I don’t mean how is she doing in life, I mean, how has she been after the whole news fiasco?”

  “Honestly, I haven’t heard from her,” said Bree. “I imagine she’s running around taking credit for everything, including the D you are currently painting.”

  Malia laughed.

  “For what it’s worth, it will be wonderful event,” said Dot. “And everyone who counts knows you are the heart of this operation.”

  “Aw, thanks,” said Bree.

  Bree was still upset about what had happened with Chelsea, but she was doing her best to “soldier on,” as her mom would say. The day of the fund-raiser was almost here, and all her energy needed to go toward making sure it was the best event ever.

  If Bree was being honest, the thing that was bothering her the most at this point wasn’t Chelsea. It was that Bree still hadn’t heard from human Veronica.

  She knew that it might be silly to hope for a miracle. After all, Veronica was a super super super super famous star with a mega-packed schedule and a gazillion important events to attend. But Bree still had hope she would come through. She would just keep hoping until she felt like she might burst.

  “I hope everyone comes to the event,” said Bree.

  “They will!” Malia said.

  Bree hoped Malia was right. After everything everyone had done, she just hoped they would raise enough money to build the bridge. Then all of it would be worth it.

  * * *

  Later that morning, the Robinson family was gathered in their living room for what Bree’s mom liked to call “family time.” This typically meant everyone just sat in a room together and individually stared at their phones. Today, Emma was coloring. Olivia was taking turns putting each of the crayons in her mouth when no one was looking. Bailey was engrossed in an iPad. Bree’s mom and Marc were watching the local news, while absently scrolling on their devices.

  Bree was focused on her homework, not paying much attention to everything else going on around her. She enjoyed family time, because it was just so nice to be around people while doing icky things like geometry.

  “Isn’t that the bakery Sophie’s parents own?” asked Bree’s mom.

  Bree looked up, where Jolie Pâtisserie was, in fact, on the news.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, her eyes now glued to the screen.

  HEALTH CRISIS AT POPULAR EATERY, read the headline at the bottom of the screen. The camera was stationed outside the patisserie, with its red-and-white-striped awning flapping in the wind in the background. But that wasn’t the most surprising thing. No, the real surprise was Zelda’s face, which was now prominently displayed on the screen. She stood in front of the bakery, where she appeared to be having some sort of meltdown.

  “I’m here at Jolie Pâtisserie, where it appears that salamanders—the very same salamanders that have been receiving so much attention of late—have apparently been making appearances in the kitchen,” said the reporter. The woman turned to Zelda and held her large microphone up to Zelda’s very dismayed-looking face. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “I was just sitting here eating a pain au chocolat, and I looked down to see that there was a very obvious lizard footprint in the chocolat,” Zelda said, with a convincing amount of terror. She held her pastry aloft in one shaking hand. The camera zoomed in to where, indeed, a tiny lizard foot had clearly run through the croissant’s chocolaty center.

  “I love all creatures, and amphibians are no exception,” Zelda said, a lone tear trickling down her face. “I am very dedicated to helping save them. But I don’t like them cavorting in my food.”

  “Understandably so,” said the reporter, shaking her head.

  “I feel so traumatized!” Zelda added for emphasis.

  Once again, Bree couldn’t help but stare at the television in disbelief.

  Since when did Zelda love salamanders? Since when did Zelda love anything? And how had the salamanders gotten into the patisserie, anyway? It’s not like they were velociraptors with opposable-thumb-claws that could open doors. They were tiny little amphibians who could barely make it across the street.

  Also, since when did Zelda cry? The only time Bree had ever seen her exhibit any emotion was that day in her mom’s closet, and even then she had just been acting to get everyone in trouble.

  And that’s when it occurred to her: What if Zelda was acting again? What if this was all some sort of performance, and she was manipulating the situation to get whatever it was she wanted? But why would she do that? Was this just another one of her pranks, where this time the joke was on the local news and the entire town? It didn’t make sense.

  “After all the work Bree Robinson has done to save the salamanders,” said Zelda, looking directly into the camera, “it breaks my heart that this shop would put the salamander population in danger by letting them run rampant in their kitchen. Salamanders shouldn’t be trusted near open flames! They belong in the wild. And now the Board of Health will want to get involved and—”

  “Hold on a moment,” the reported interrupted. “I thought it was that hyper-responsible Twiggs girl who’s saving the salamanders.”

  “No!” Zelda cried, emphatically. “Everyone got that wrong. The movement was started by a girl named Bree Robinson and then Chelsea stepped in and took all the credit. But Bree did it all, including planning this huge fund-raiser, taking place this Saturday at Playa del Mar Middle School. Everyone should go!”

  What on earth was going on here?

  Zelda looked straight into the camera like a salesperson in an infomercial as she repeated, “Again, it’s being held on th
e field at Playa del Mar Middle School, and the festivities start at noon. There will be games and food and crafts and things available for purchase. All are welcome!”

  Bree’s heart soared. She had no idea why any of this was happening, but her current biggest dream had just come true. The fund-raiser had just been advertised on the local news, and the segment would likely get replayed over and over throughout the day. Zelda, the most unlikely champion, had just set the record straight and made a PR plug for the big Save the Salamanders fund-raiser.

  Was it possible that Zelda had just happened to be at the patisserie when a salamander stepped on her pain au chocolat? But salamanders didn’t even like chocolate! They much preferred insects.

  Something just didn’t add up.

  And then, right on cue, Bree’s phone lit up. It was a group text message. And it was from Zelda.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Malia

  Malia looked at her phone, where she saw something disturbing: a message from Zelda.

  The text was addressed to all three babysitters.

  I think we need to meet. I have a lot to tell you.

  A moment later, Malia also received a message from her Venmo account, saying Zelda had sent her money. What? Zelda didn’t owe her anything—she hadn’t done any babysitting for them. Yet there it was, with a message: Fee from babysitting Chase/Clark/Smith, minus my cut, of course.

  A moment later, her brow still furrowed in a look of utter confusion, Malia received a frantic phone call from Bree, saying Zelda had just appeared on the news.

  “There was a lizard footprint in the chocolate center!” she yelled. “On the news! I mean, a salamander footprint! In the chocolat! But salamanders don’t like chocolate! And they can’t open cabinets! And Zelda cried!” After a few minutes of yelling, it still didn’t make a lot of sense. But whatever it was sounded urgent enough to warrant an emergency board meeting.