Miss Impossible

by Caroline Cala

  “It made the craziest noise!” Zelda said. “I’ve never seen anyone’s face turn that color before! He was, like, hot pink.” She laughed at Aidan’s expense. “So anyway, can I get your opinions on something?”

  Zelda was asking for their opinions? Dot and Malia exchanged a confused glance.

  “I have to go to my cousin’s sweet sixteen next weekend, and I can’t figure out what to wear. I was hoping you guys might be able to help me.”

  Bree visibly perked up at the mention of outfits. “Ooh! Styling clothes is my favorite thing!”

  “I know, that’s why I wanted to ask you,” said Zelda. “And, Dot, you’re so chic.” Dot seemed to brighten at this, though it was so subtle that Malia couldn’t be sure. “And, Malia, your sense of style is so . . .” Zelda paused, trying to find the right word. “Whimsical,” she concluded.

  Malia was pretty sure that was meant to be a dig, but what more could one expect from Zelda?

  “Anyway, take a look at what I have to work with,” she continued, opening two big white doors that swung outward to reveal a rather impressive closet. It wasn’t quite a walk-in closet, but either side was lined with shelves, and the hanging rack was set back just enough that you could step into the space. It even had an overhead light.

  “This is great!” said Bree, dashing into the closet.

  “Does this sweet sixteen have a dress code?” asked Dot, slowly slinking across the room.

  “Ummm, semi-formal,” said Zelda.

  “Where is she having it?” asked Malia, stepping into the closet along with Dot. Her classmates had all tried to outshine one another with their extravagant thirteenth birthday parties. The thought of having to go through it all over again when everyone turned sixteen was almost too much for her to handle.

  “It’s nowhere,” said Zelda with an evil grin, “because it doesn’t exist.”

  Then she swiftly closed the doors behind them.

  “Wait, what?” Malia turned and tried to push open the doors. They wouldn’t budge.

  Malia was furious. She couldn’t believe they had let this happen. Of course Zelda had had something up her sleeve. They had let their guards down for one minute and now they were trapped in a closet.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Bree. “Let us out!”

  But Zelda didn’t answer. For all they knew, she had left the room.

  “Zelda, what the—?” Dot put all her weight behind the doors. But they remained locked.

  “This is like one of those escape room shows!” Bree said. “I hate those. They always make me nervous.”

  “Okay, this isn’t as bad as it could be. At least we’re not in an elevator. There is no chance of anything crashing.” Malia was trying to see the bright side, although it wasn’t that bright.

  “I’m itchy! Everything itches!” Bree started scratching her arms.

  “Just stay calm,” Dot instructed.

  “WHAT IF THERE ISN’T ENOUGH AIR?” Bree shrieked.

  “There is a pretty large gap between the doors and the floor—I think we’ll be fine,” said Malia.

  “Once, when I was four, I got locked in the linen closet,” Bree said, nearly hyperventilating. “Nobody found me for days.”

  “Days?” Malia was skeptical. Bree’s family could be a little scattered, but days felt like a bit much.

  “Okay, not days, but it felt like days. It was definitely, like, a whole day. I got stuck in there after breakfast and nobody found me until just before dinner and I was so hungry and afraid and I still can’t be in a room with a towel unless the door is open, at least a little bit.”

  “Well, luckily there are no towels in here,” Dot said. “Just a lot of trendy clothing.”

  “WHAT IF WE NEVER MAKE IT OUT? WHO WILL TAKE CARE OF MY CAT?” Bree wailed.

  “We won’t be trapped forever, because Zelda’s mom will come home eventually,” Malia said.

  “Yes,” Dot added, “and Zelda will likely let us out before that happens, so she can pretend everything is fine.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than the doors opened.

  “Hi, freaks.” Zelda was smiling. “Wasn’t that fun?”

  “Sure, if your definition of ‘fun’ is torture,” said Malia.

  “Zelda’s definition of ‘fun’ is torture,” said Dot.

  “Oh! Sweet air!” Bree threw herself onto the ground and began very dramatically kissing the shaggy purple carpet.

  Malia’s phone vibrated. It was a text from Aidan Morrison. That was weird. She almost never heard from Aidan. He only had her phone number because they had once gotten partnered up on a history project.

  Hey Malia. Thanks for getting locked in a closet. Now my pants are only the second most embarrassing thing that happened today.

  Malia’s heart stopped beating.

  “Aidan Morrison knows we got stuck in the closet,” said Malia.

  “How does he know about that?” Bree looked genuinely confused.

  Zelda cackled. “Because I had a camera rigged on the top shelf, and I posted a video clip of you guys stuck in there.”

  “What?” Dot was furious. “Posted it where?”

  “On every single social channel there is.”

  “Oh my god!” Malia’s face went slack. “What if Connor sees it?” Zelda looked intrigued. Malia realized she was admitting her crush and immediately started to backtrack. “I mean, because he’s friends with Aidan and Aidan just texted me, so there’s a good chance that Connor saw it, too. Along with Bobby and Josh and Henry and all the boys on the soccer team.”

  “At least you didn’t have a total breakdown?” Dot offered.

  “Or scratch yourself. Or yell about suffocation,” added Bree.

  “Look how many views this is getting,” said Zelda, delightedly scrolling on her phone.

  Suddenly, Malia missed the sound of screaming babies. She missed baby vomit. She missed boogers. She missed the babysitting of actual children, where it was always clear who was in charge.

  Malia knew babysitting Zelda would be an annoyance, but before, it was just an annoying secret. Now it had become humiliating as well. With the push of a button (and the slamming of a couple of closet doors) Zelda had taken things to a whole new level.

  Already, Malia wasn’t looking forward to going to school the next day, where she and her friends would surely be laughed at. This was more than they’d bargained for. Reputations were on the line. Zelda was playing with fire, and Malia hoped she could figure out a way to put a stop to it before everyone got burned.

  Chapter Eight

  Dot

  Study hall, for most people, was actually a chance to catch up on the homework they still needed to do for the rest of the day. For Dot, it was a chance to catch up on her reading. Since Dot actually enjoyed homework (and, in most cases, found it relatively easy) study hall was the perfect time to read up on what was going on in the world, using her very favorite birthday gift her mom had ever given her: a digital subscription to the New York Times.

  But today, no matter how much she tried, she found herself reading the same sentence over and over again. Everything she saw reminded her of what was wrong with her life.

  Take the current article, for example. It was a story about a woman entrepreneur who was a self-made billionaire. Dot expected it to be inspiring and informative, but instead, the article focused on how much online trolling the poor billionaire was forced to endure. This reminded Dot of Zelda’s “locked in the closet” video, which was still making the rounds all throughout the school. Was no one safe? Dot wondered.

  Dot’s phone pinged with an incoming text message. She was excited to see that it was from Aloysius, boy genius and her all-time favorite babysitting charge. Perhaps he had convinced his mom to fire the French au pairs and was reaching out to share the news.

  Are you okay? the text read. I saw that video about the closet.

  Never mind.

  Dot couldn’t believe it. The video had a
pparently made it all the way to the kindergarteners.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Dot answered. “Just one regrettable afternoon.”

  Dot missed Aloysius. His intelligence, his maturity, his empathy. He was such a joy to spend time with. He was the polar opposite of Zelda and those Morris hooligans.

  She sighed.

  “Heh heh heh,” chuckled Aidan Morrison, whose laugh sounded a little like a cross between a goat and a machine gun.

  That was the other reason she was having trouble concentrating on her work. The soccer boys were acting up even more than usual—talking and laughing and occasionally hooting. Though they were sitting all the way across the cafeteria, the sound had a way of intensifying as it traveled through the room.

  Dot had no idea what they were laughing at, but she wished they would stop.

  “What is going on over there?” she stage whispered to Malia, who was rushing to finish up her environmental science homework.

  “Ugh, I don’t know, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate on these questions about lichen,” she said.

  “At least you’ve gotten to the part about the lichen!” Mo grumbled. “I’m still on the part about the owl pellets.”

  “Yeah, and I’m about ready to give up,” said Shoko, as the boys erupted in a volcano of laughter.

  “I mean, WHAT can possibly be so funny?” Mo rolled her eyes.

  A moment later, they had their answer.

  “WHAT IF WE RUN OUT OF AIR?” Aidan shrieked in a squeaky voice.

  “How do closets work?” Ben acted confused.

  Josh held up his hand like a door and repeatedly ran his face into it.

  They were watching Zelda’s video and reenacting the entire thing.

  “Oh my god,” Malia breathed.

  Connor Kelly also sat at the soccer boys’ table. Malia stared across the room, her eyes wide. At least he wasn’t participating.

  Across the cafeteria, Zelda sat alone at a table, taking the whole scene in. She and Dot made eye contact and Zelda winked, snickering to herself.

  “By tomorrow, this will be old news,” Dot said. She was less than amused by this display, but she had never cared much about what the soccer boys thought of her.

  “I am totally humiliated,” Malia whined.

  Shoko looked up from her homework to offer a look of sympathy. “If it makes you feel better, Zelda has pulled pranks on pretty much everyone before. The only reason people are paying attention to this is because it makes them feel better about whatever has happened to them.”

  Dot thought those were wise words.

  Still, Malia put her head down on the table and sighed into her homework.

  Bree, who had been curiously absent from study hall so far, came rushing through the cafeteria doors. As usual, she was carrying a bunch of bags—a backpack, a tote bag, and a large woven rainbow straw bag that looked like it was perhaps meant for the beach. She shuffled up to the table and pulled a bunch of flyers out of the bag in question. The flyers were printed on neon paper the color of a tennis ball and featured a photo of a very friendly looking salamander standing in some grass.

  “You guys!” She was out of breath. “I just put Save the Salamander posters on all the community bulletin boards. It has everything anyone needs to know about crossing the street safely and also ways to help.”

  “That’s great!” said Dot. “Do you need our help hanging up the rest of them?”

  “No, I was just going to hit all the outside bulletin boards, but there aren’t that many. And then Chelsea and I are meeting up to discuss our plans going forward.”

  Malia picked her head up for the first time since the incident with the soccer boys.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  Malia looked to Dot for backup. Dot remained quiet.

  “Look, I know you think she’s evil—” Bree started.

  “No, she is evil. I don’t see why you have to get involved with her. We can help you save the salamanders. Seriously, partnering with Chelsea will be the end of you.”

  Bree huffed. “No, refusing Chelsea’s help will be the end of the salamanders. I’m not becoming her best friend, I’m just working with her on something that we all care about.”

  Malia’s expression remained skeptical.

  “She has good ideas,” Bree continued, “and good connections. I understand why you’re skeptical, but she really wants to help. Plus, there’s enough room for ALL of us to save the salamanders. They need all the help they can get.”

  “Okayyyyy.” Malia held up her hands in a sign of surrender. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Bree looked around the table one more time. “Okay, I gotta go hang the rest of these posters!” she trilled. “See you later!” And with that, she scooted off.

  As soon as she was gone, Malia turned to Dot. “I’m telling you, working with Chelsea is going to be the end. Of her, of the salamanders, of everything.”

  Perhaps she was being a touch dramatic. But when it came to Chelsea, everything was dramatic.

  “Speaking of the end,” Dot said. “Those three little monsters need a babysitter again, and I am not about to do it alone.”

  “That’s fine. We need to keep them as a client,” Malia said. “So we can all go. We’ll all babysit the monsters and we’ll all babysit Zelda.”

  “Zelda?” Dot was honestly surprised. “You’re willing to keep the Zelda job even after what just happened with the closet?”

  Malia shot her a look of death. “This isn’t a matter of preference. We don’t have a choice. If Zelda goes away, our business is basically doomed.”

  She had a point. Still, some things—like dignity—were priceless.

  “Maybe we just need a new tactic,” Dot tried. “We don’t give Zelda a chance to prank us because we don’t even engage with her. No speaking, no encouragement, no nothing. We stick together and we stay alert.”

  Malia nodded solemnly. “That sounds like a plan. And also our only hope.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bree

  “Hi, salamander,” Bree said, crouching down to get a better look at the little creature.

  It blinked and continued on its way, making a slithery run across Waveland Avenue.

  “And that’s it!” said Bree. “That’s all we have to do.”

  “So we’re basically just lizard crossing guards,” said Chelsea.

  “Yes, but heroic ones. And if we see any traffic of any kind, we flag it down using this sign.”

  Bree held up a poster she had made, which read SLOW DOWN! SALAMANDER X-ING! It didn’t glitter, unfortunately, but it was still a marvelous sight to behold. Every letter was a different color.

  “Oh!” said Chelsea, with a slight frown. “Well, I suppose there’s no way any cars will miss that.”

  “Then, once the vehicle has slowed, we do whatever we need to to usher any salamanders safely across the street. We might scoot them along, or pick them up and carry them across. You can try to get a sense of their personality and use your best judgment.”

  “Got it,” said Chelsea. “About how many salamanders cross per hour?”

  “It varies,” Bree said. She actually had no idea.

  They sat down on a log. Nothing happened. A frog croaked nearby.

  “What’s that?” asked Chelsea. There was rustling in a nearby bush. Was it a salamander?

  They watched. They waited.

  It was a mouse. And it didn’t even want to cross the street.

  “Ew,” said Chelsea.

  “So should we use this time to brainstorm our plans?” Bree asked. She had been busy since the rally and was proud of what she had to share. Bree reached into her tote and pulled out a piece of paper folded into the shape of an origami flower. She unfolded it to reveal a handwritten list.

  “Great idea!” Chelsea pulled an electronic tablet out of her tote bag. She clicked around to reveal a complicated-looking spreadsheet. “So. I was thinking we should work on defining our mission with
a clear, simple statement.”

  Bree nodded. “That’s easy! Save the salamanders.”

  “Right, sure. But our mission statement should also describe how we are going to do that.”

  “Well, the first step is what we’re doing right now: helping them cross the street safely.”

  Chelsea frowned. “That’s not an effective, long-term solution. We can’t man this crosswalk twenty-four-seven.”

  “But we can!” Bree said excitedly. “We just have to raise awareness in the community and then get people to take shifts. Once they see how important it is, I’m sure they’ll be happy to volunteer! And then we can have someone here all the time.” She rustled through her papers. “I have a bunch of ideas. Like, I was thinking we could do something that involved dressing up like salamanders.”

  Chelsea looked confused and also a little bit horrified. Bree couldn’t understand why. “How will that help?” Chelsea asked.

  “Because dressing up like salamanders is festive and a great way to get attention. People will ask why we’re dressed like salamanders, and then we can tell them about the cause and ask them to sign up for shifts. We could dress up like salamanders to man the crosswalk, or wear our costumes and go door-to-door to try to drum up support. We could even hold a salamander costume contest, where everyone is encouraged to dress up, too!”

  Bree loved anything involving costumes. She already knew what she would wear. She could borrow Ariana’s sweatshirt with the green cheetah print, which looked a lot like a spotted salamander. She’d pair it with cheetah print leggings and huge round sunglasses that looked like salamander eyes.

  “Bree.” Chelsea looked at Bree like she had just suggested putting ice cream up her nose. “I think you need to broaden your horizons. Plus, what if you don’t get any volunteers?”

  Bree hadn’t considered that. Wouldn’t everyone want to help? “Um, I guess we could hire someone to do it? Like the crossing guards at school. For salamanders.”

  Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “You want to hire a full-time crossing guard? How will they get paid?”