The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy

by Caroline Cala

  “Yeah, I remember, because that was a total disaster,” said Dot.

  “That’s because Chelsea is evil. But the idea was good. I’d take over her job, and we would divide the earnings. That’s what would happen here. We find three new sitters to take our places whenever we’re too busy. Then we split the earnings fifty-fifty. We can still make money, but without the stress.”

  “Hm. If we bring on employees, we’ll have to establish payroll,” said Dot.

  “That sounds like a pastry. But not as much fun,” said Bree.

  “It’s just a list of employees and how much they get paid,” said Dot.

  “Yeah. Not as much fun,” Bree confirmed.

  “And being a manager presents its own set of challenges,” Dot added.

  “Nah, being a boss is easy. You just act bossy,” said Malia.

  “How do you know?” asked Dot.

  “Because I have a boss now, so I’ve seen firsthand how easy it is. Ramona just yells stuff out and I have to do it.”

  “Management is more complicated than that,” Dot said. “There is a tremendous amount of psychology behind it.”

  “Eh, if we’re paying people, I’m sure they’ll be happy to do a good job. You just keep the kids relatively happy and you get money. Who wouldn’t like that?” Malia was on a roll.

  “But that’s the point! We actually like babysitting now!” said Bree. “If we give our jobs away, won’t that be sad?”

  All three looked pensive for a moment.

  “That’s why this plan seems like the best of both worlds,” said Malia, campaigning hard. “We’re not giving up babysitting entirely. We can still take on the gigs we want, when we have the time for them. But by giving some jobs away to the new sitters, we can keep our clients, earn money, AND have time for everything else we have going on right now.”

  “Sounds like a win-win situation,” said Dot.

  Malia’s phone pinged. It was a text from Ramona.

  WHERE IS THE PROPOSAL FROM HAROLD DUCKMAN?

  Malia was never sure if Ramona typed in all caps because she was purposefully shouting or if she just didn’t know how to turn her caps lock off. Either way, it made all her communications feel that much more stressful.

  To make matters worse, Malia had no idea who Harold Duckman was, never mind what the deal was with this proposal.

  “So let’s say I have a gig scheduled, but when I get home from school, I discover Veronica pooped on my bed and shredded my favorite pants,” Bree said. “I could have one of these satellite sitters cover the job for me. And then they would still give me half of their fees?”

  “Precisely,” said Malia.

  “LET’S DO IT!” shouted Bree.

  Veronica meowed.

  Malia’s phone pinged again.

  MEETING WITH DUCKMAN IN FIVE. ANSWER ME.

  “We can hold interviews this weekend! As soon as tomorrow afternoon!” Malia said, stress creeping into her voice.

  “Oh, that sounds fun!” said Bree. “How do we do it?”

  “Have you ever seen those job recruitment events they have near the supermarket sometimes?” Malia asked. “It would be like that. We can put up signs and hold interviews in the gazebo. Anyone interested can come talk to us, and we pick our favorites.”

  “A sign! I love making signs,” said Bree, coming back to life. It had been a while since Bree had made one of her signature glittery signs, Malia realized. It was nice to see a little of the old Bree spirit.

  “All right. Let’s meet at the gazebo tomorrow at noon,” Malia said.

  EARTH TO MALIA. IS YOUR PHONE BROKEN? ARE MY MESSAGES NOT GOING THROUGH?

  Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Dot

  Dot loved a good professional endeavor. It was good practice for adulthood. Any chance she had to show up, look nice, and practice grown-up skills was always welcome. Secretly, she was looking forward to the interview process even more than she had ever looked forward to babysitting (unless, of course, it was for Aloysius). She’d prepared a list of interview questions, including what each candidate found interesting about babysitting, their relevant experiences, and how they might respond in an assortment of baby­sitting-related crises. If her experience as a sitter had taught her anything, it was that it was best to be prepared.

  It felt only fitting to hold the interviews at the place where the club first came into being: the gazebo at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  Dot arrived to find the gazebo decked out and ready. A banner (made by Bree) sparkled in the breeze.

  WANT TO BABYSIT? INTERVIEWS TODAY! it read, in alternating rainbow glitter letters.

  “I’m so excited!” said Bree.

  “I just put up a bunch of flyers at the park for good measure,” said Malia. “And of course, I already posted all over social.”

  “Does that cat have to be here?” Dot asked, gesturing toward Veronica, who sat scowling in his cat carrier. She was mostly concerned that the presence of a sneering animal made the operation seem less professional.

  “Yes,” said Bree. “It’s safer than leaving him at home. But he’s going to stay in his carrier the whole time. Just think of it like a purse.”

  “Your purse seems very upset,” Malia said.

  Sure enough, the carrier had started inching its way along the gazebo floor. Its contents appeared to be engaged in a very vicious fight with itself.

  “Whoa. Are you sure he isn’t going to self-destruct?” Dot looked concerned.

  “It’s okay,” Bree sighed. “The therapist’s website said I have to let him exercise his wild tendencies in order to uncover the kitten within.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re paying for that,” said Malia.

  “I have to,” Bree whined. “It’s my only hope.”

  The girls sat down along one side of a folding card table they had dragged over from Bree’s garage. Then they waited. Nothing happened. It reminded Dot a little of when they’d first launched their babysitting website and had waited for their first calls.

  “What if nobody comes?” Bree asked.

  “If you build it, they will come or whatever,” said Dot.

  “We didn’t build the gazebo,” Bree said, very serious.

  “But we built this organization. It’s a good opportunity. People will come.”

  Finally, their first candidate arrived. It was none other than Pigeon de Palma. Dot noticed she was wearing the amazing boots again, but this time she had paired them with a plain black dress. She was more dressed up than Dot had ever seen her. Dot deemed the look as being appropriately—and annoyingly—professional.

  “Hi, everyone! I’m very excited to be here,” said Pigeon. She was so chipper and confident. “These are my references,” she said, placing an enormous binder on the card table. It was even bigger than their history textbook.

  “As you’ll see, I have a wealth of experience babysitting. I started with my little cousins, and then sat for our neighbors back in New York. Last summer, I served as a junior au pair. I’ve also assisted my aunt, who is a child development psychologist. Near the back of the binder, you’ll find some of the case studies I worked on with her.”

  Dot had to control the urge to gag.

  “That’s so impressive,” said Malia.

  Dot shot her a look. She could tell Malia was being sincere, and she did not appreciate it.

  Pigeon beamed. “Back in New York, childcare was kind of my thing.”

  “I thought science was your thing?” Dot said. After all, wasn’t that what Pigeon had just told her?

  “Science is another one of my things,” Pigeon said. “Also ballet. Creative writing. Singing. Classical piano . . .” She trailed off, glancing skyward as if mentally tallying the incredibly long list of her own talents. “I guess I have a lot of things,” she concluded.

  Veronica hissed loudly. For once, Dot thought, it seemed like he had the right idea.

  “So, hypothetically, if
a child you were sitting for came down with a nasty case of food poisoning under your watch, and the parents were somewhere with no reception, what would you do?” Dot asked.

  “Excellent question!” said Pigeon, without skipping a beat. “The first priority is hydration. Food poisoning can come on very suddenly and be quite severe. I would make sure the child was given lots of fluids, particularly with electrolytes. The second course of action is rest. I would make the child comfortable and encourage him or her to rest. Throughout all of this, I would do my best to reassure the child that the situation was under control and continue to check that he or she didn’t feel frightened or panicked.”

  “Hm,” said Dot. This was the correct response, even if it did sound like a robot reading out of a textbook. “And, also hypothetically, if a child you were sitting for were to break a priceless object in their home, how would you manage THAT?” asked Dot, briefly flashing back to the time when one of their babysitting charges had broken a priceless golden narwhal sculpture.

  “Honesty is always the best policy, in every situation, in every part of life,” said Pigeon, flashing a giant smile.

  UGH, thought Dot, what an insufferable know-it-all. Of course Pigeon was right. Her answer was exactly what Dot would say when faced with the same question. But her delivery was so smug and her hair was so shiny and her smile was like something out of a beauty pageant rather than a job interview.

  Dot looked to her friends for backup. Surely, Pigeon’s annoyingness was universal. But to her surprise, Malia and Bree seemed to be eating it right up.

  “I would be up front with the parents as soon as they returned,” Pigeon continued. “And depending on the item and the circumstances around its demise, I would take full responsibility and offer to make it up to them in any way I could, whether that meant volunteering my time and services, or providing any other kind of assistance they deemed appropriate.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better!” said Malia. She looked as if she was ready to applaud.

  Bree nodded. “That’s so true.”

  “Well, I think we’ve seen enough,” said Dot. She didn’t know about the other club members, but she was through here. It was time for Pigeon to go. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Thank you so much for this opportunity!” said Pigeon. “I hope to have the chance to work with you.” She turned and gracefully descended the gazebo steps, her long, wavy hair glinting in the sunlight.

  Next, a set of twins arrived. They looked much too young to babysit—maybe six or seven years old. Both girls wore matching black leotards, pink tights, and black tap shoes that click-clacked on the gazebo’s wooden floor. Two giant black bows perched on top of their heads, polishing off the look.

  “Hi!” they said in unison. It was creepy. Before Dot had a chance to ask a question or even offer them a greeting, they both said, “We’re ready!”

  One of them pressed a button on her phone and very loud rap music blared out of it. The twins immediately launched into a very strange though impressively complicated tap dance routine.

  It went on for far too long.

  As did the pause that followed.

  “Wow!” said Bree. “That was, uh, dynamite!”

  Malia just nodded, making the kind of face one makes when they’ve been given a very odd birthday present and they’re not sure what it is but they have to act excited and also grateful.

  “So what interests you about babysitting?” asked Dot, breaking the silence.

  “Babysitting?” asked one of the twins.

  “Yes, because this is an interview to become a babysitter.”

  “I thought this was an audition,” said one twin.

  “For the talent show,” said the other twin.

  “What talent show?” said Bree, visibly excited.

  “I’m sorry for the confusion,” said Malia. “But the sign clearly states that we are interviewing babysitters today.” She pointed to the banner, flapping in the breeze above them.

  “WE CAN’T READ YET!” yelled one of the twins, with a fury that was well beyond her years.

  “Ugh. Let’s GO!!” yelled the other.

  And with that, they click-clacked away.

  Next, a particularly rambunctious neighborhood boy arrived to threaten them with a large stick he kept calling “the sword of redemption.”

  “This gazebo is reserved for interviews,” Dot explained.

  “I’m here to take back the gazebo for my people!” he insisted, brandishing the stick until Malia finally chased him away.

  The next interviewee was a girl Dot recognized from their grade, Sage Andrews. Dot didn’t know much about her except that Sage had a reputation for being kind of boy crazy. She was wearing the exact same striped T-shirt as Malia but with red stripes instead of navy blue. Her hair was the same color and length as Malia’s.

  “Hi, there,” she said, waving.

  “Nice shirt,” said Malia. It took Sage a second to get the joke, and then both girls laughed.

  “So, um, I don’t actually have any official babysitting experience. But I’m a pretty quick learner, and I think I’d be good at it,” Sage offered. “To be completely honest, I didn’t really like little kids very much, but then my mom’s cousin came to visit from Seattle, and she has two kids who are three and five, and they were kind of fun! We read books together and stuff.”

  “I completely understand,” said Malia.

  “Do you have any younger siblings?” asked Bree.

  “No,” said Sage. “I have an older sister. Who is, like, an absolute nightmare.”

  “Oh my god, me too!” said Malia.

  “Isn’t it the worst?” said Sage.

  “The worst,” Malia agreed.

  “Although sometimes my sister throws parties on the weekends if my parents are out of town, and a bunch of her friends come over and sometimes there are cute boys,” said Sage.

  “My sister wants to be a senator,” said Malia matter-of-factly. “So she never does stuff like that.”

  Everyone nodded somberly at Malia’s terrible familial luck.

  “So, do you always babysit for the same families?” Sage asked.

  “We have a lot of regular clients,” Dot said. “And we sit for them a lot. But we’re always looking to expand our business.”

  “Well, I would love to help out in any way I can,” said Sage. “So please do keep me in mind!” She exited the gazebo with a little wave.

  The boy with the stick returned for another round of terrorizing everyone. Veronica reacted particularly angrily, hissing from inside the carrier.

  “There is nothing to vanquish here!” Dot grumbled, ushering the boy away. “Go take back another land.”

  “This is the kingdom of my people!” he insisted.

  “Well, then your people can have their kingdom back in about an hour,” Dot called as he trudged away.

  “Boys!” said Bree, rolling her eyes.

  As if on cue, a spacey boy wandered into the gazebo. He seemed like he might be lost. He wore an oversize T-shirt and baggy jeans, and moved at a snail’s pace, as though he was taking a slow, leisurely stroll on a tropical beach rather than encountering a panel of highly judgmental girls.

  “Hi there, can we help you with something?” Bree asked.

  “Heyyyyyyy,” he said. He had an alarmingly chill vibe, as evidenced by the way he dragged his syllables out for much longer than was necessary.

  “Are you guys selling Girl Scout cookies or something?”

  “No. We’re holding an open call for our babysitting organization,” said Dot. “Did nobody read the signage?”

  “Aww, too bad. I love cookies,” he said.

  “They’re great!” Bree agreed.

  “So you guys, like, need someone to babysit you?”

  “No, we are babysitters,” Dot corrected. “And we are looking to hire more sitters, to come work for our company.”

  “That’s so coooooool,” he said, in his slow, sleepy drawl. “I w
ould, like, do that.”

  “Well, we’re only looking for candidates with experience—” Dot began.

  “Hey, kitty, kitty,” the boy said, noticing Veronica. “Who’s this?”

  “That’s Veronica,” said Malia.

  “Don’t talk to him—he’s bats!” warned Dot.

  “Sweeeeet name. Hi there, Veronica. My name is Brody,” he said, bending down to open the cat carrier.

  “Don’t do that!” screeched all three girls at once, but it was too late. The carrier was already open. They braced themselves for the bedlam that was about to unfold. But to everyone’s surprise, Brody scooped Veronica out of the case, and he immediately curled up oh-so-sweetly in Brody’s arms. “Hey, fella, you’re such a nice cat.”

  The girls sat there, utterly dumbfounded, while Brody petted a very chill animal that in no way resembled Veronica. Was he a cat whisperer? What on earth was going on?

  “When can you start?” asked Bree.

  “She means hypothetically, if you were hired, when would you be available to start?” corrected Dot.

  “Like, totally. Yeah,” said Brody. “I can start now.”

  For the first time maybe ever, Veronica purred.

  Chapter Ten

  Bree

  “Well, we have to hire Brody, because he’s a wizard,” said Bree as she folded up the glittery sign.

  Bree had never been more certain about anything in her entire life, except of course her decision to adopt Veronica. Though, in hindsight, adopting Veronica turned out to be far more drama than she’d ever anticipated. But whatever! Brody was magic. There was no reason to doubt it.

  “I agree with that,” said Malia.

  “But he didn’t even know this was an interview. And he’s never babysat before,” said Dot.

  Dot was so practical. Bree had no idea what it must be like to think like Dot.

  “Yeah, but neither had you until pretty recently,” argued Malia. “And now you’re pretty good at it.”

  “And also? Wizard,” added Bree. “You saw the way he hypnotized the cat. Imagine what he could do with a child.”

  Dot backed down. “Fine. As long as he passes the training.”