“I have an idea! How about a snack?” said Dot.
“SNACK! SNACK! SNACK!” chanted Smith.
She presented them with a big red plate piled high with carrot sticks, sugar snap peas, and a dollop of hummus, which their dad had left on the counter.
“GROSS!” yelled Smith. “I WOULD NEVER EAT THAT!”
“Yeah, we don’t eat vegetables,” said Clark, matter-of-factly.
“Me neither. I’m not allowed,” said Chase.
“ORDER US FRENCH FRIES!” demanded Smith.
“We are not ordering French fries,” said Dot.
“We are not ordering French fries,” Clark repeated, in a gremlin voice.
“Are you a gremlin now?” asked Dot.
“Are you a gremlin now?” he parroted.
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” Clark snickered at this.
“This is amateur,” said Zelda.
“What?” asked Clark. “What is THAT supposed to mean?”
“See, I got you to say something else,” said Zelda.
“Ugh!” snorted Clark, defeated.
“GOING TO THE BATHROOM! BE RIGHT BACK,” said Smith.
“Don’t,” Zelda said, simply.
Smith stopped in his tracks.
“BUT I HAVE TO PEE!” he protested.
“Don’t lie to me. I already told you I know about the water balloons. Do you think I was born yesterday?” Zelda turned to the other sitters. “He was going to get the bucket of water balloons they hid in Smith’s room before we got here.”
Clark’s eyes grew wide. “You are a witch.”
“WHAT!” yelled Smith. “HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?”
“I know every game in the book, kid, because I practically invented them.”
“DON’T CALL ME ‘KID,’ OLD WOMAN,” said Smith, which was ridiculous, since Zelda wasn’t even old enough to drive.
Zelda sounded the airhorn again. “What did I tell you about volume?”
“Sorry,” said Smith, at a normal decibel level. It was the only time, in the history of their babysitting him, and perhaps in the history of his short life, that Smith had ever spoken at a regular volume. Never mind that the word he had just uttered was an apology. Zelda was a miracle worker.
They had expected Zelda to be good at predicting the monsters’ actions, but this was next-level. This was like they’d hired a psychic wizard with four decades’ worth of experience teaching kindergarten. To demons.
What sense did it make that Zelda—a loner with antisocial tendencies and a penchant for mischief—could have been so downright intuitive when it came to others? Perhaps, thought Dot, that was the secret to her particular brand of genius. Whatever it was, this was the magic ingredient they had been missing. With Zelda in their court, they could take on any job—even the worst of them—and know that it would be a success.
“That was seriously impressive,” said Malia, as they left the Morrises’ house two hours later. Malia counted out the bills from the boys’ mom and handed Zelda her cut.
“I concur,” said Dot. “I’ve been dealing with those demons for weeks, and you knew things about them I hadn’t even begun to figure out.”
“Yeah, how did you know about the water balloons?” asked Bree.
“Bree. A good babysitter never reveals her secrets.” Zelda laughed as she pocketed her share of the money. “Anyway, I told you I was worth it.”
Then she mimicked dropping an invisible mike, turned, and walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
Bree
“I’ve got you, salamander!” Bree said, kneeling by the side of the street and scooping the little creature up with one hand. She dodged away from the road in the nick of time, just as a kid on a bike zoomed past.
Bree panted, both exhilarated and exhausted. It was her best save yet.
“Great job!” said Chelsea, who was perched on a nearby tree trunk, typing away on her laptop. She reached out to offer Bree a high five.
“Meow,” said Veronica, looking on from his cat carrier. If he was impressed by the save, he didn’t let on.
Inspired by recent events, Bree was feeling many good feelings about their chances of raising money for the bridge. She had taken Bianca’s words to heart, and she was finding it easier to work with difficult people (ahem, Chelsea) when the results seemed more than worth it. Each day that passed, they grew more committed than ever to building that bridge.
Today, she and Chelsea were meeting to get their game plan in order, and Bree was excited to share her ideas. (Even though she knew that no matter what she said, Chelsea would probably hate it.)
“So! I talked to Ramona about hosting a gala,” Chelsea started off. “And we tossed around a bunch of ideas, including a seafood tower, a silent auction, and live entertainment in the form of dancing holograms of famous musicians from the past.”
Bree was confused by a lot of this, but she let Chelsea continue.
“We think it’s totally within the realm of possibility to pull all of this off. The question we’re having is, who we really want to appeal to with our fund-raising efforts.”
“We want to appeal to everyone!” Bree said. “Or at least, anyone who wants to help the salamanders.”
“Well, yes. But do we want to attract big-ticket donors, or do we want to involve the community at large? Ramona was thinking maybe we make it more of a two-pronged approach. Appeal to the big donors for support, while hosting an event that’s accessible for everyone. All ages, all interests . . . everyone.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that!” said Bree. “Because I think I have an idea.”
“Yes?” Chelsea looked slightly afraid.
“Don’t worry, it doesn’t involve costumes,” said Bree, as she checked for more crossing salamanders.
At that, Chelsea breathed a very audible sigh of relief.
“So, I know you weren’t into the idea of my bake sale–slash–raffle,” she started. “And you know I wasn’t that thrilled with the idea of a big, fancy gala. But I think there is a way to combine the two into a formal—yet casual—fund-raiser.”
“What do you mean?” Chelsea seemed curious.
“Well, if we combine forces, we can each use our strengths to make a fund-raiser that’s the best of both worlds. We can still throw an event at the school, like I wanted to, but it will be a much bigger event than just a bake sale. We can still have all that stuff, like a bake sale and a craft fair and a raffle. But we can also contact local vendors and have them participate. And have live entertainment, to attract more of a crowd.”
“Ooh! I like it,” said Chelsea, adjusting the laptop in her lap. “We could have a taco truck and an ice cream stand. I can donate a college counseling session with me and my mom. Maybe we can have a few different kinds of entertainment, like a portrait artist and a magician or something.”
“And Marvelous Ray’s can set up a carnival game with prizes!”
“And there can be pizza!” added Chelsea.
“And music!” said Bree.
“And dancing!” said Chelsea.
“Just no clowns.” Bree was serious about that one.
“Of course no clowns,” said Chelsea, typing at a furious pace. “This is great. I have so many ideas. I can ask Ramona for her advice! And, ooh! I can pitch it to my old internship coordinator at the local news! They love promoting community events. I bet they’d be thrilled to cover the story!”
“Oh my goodness, really? That would be amazing.” The thought of the salamanders being covered on the news was almost enough to make Bree cry.
“Yes! I don’t have her info on me right now, but let me run home and give her a call!” Chelsea jumped up from the tree trunk. “We don’t have much time and I want to see if I can secure a spot as soon as possible!”
“Sounds great!” said Bree. “Keep me posted!”
With that, Chelsea hustled off to make her call
, leaving Bree alone with her brain full of ideas. She felt really good about this fund-raiser, but she still wasn’t sure how to take it over the top. She wanted it to be THE biggest event Playa del Mar had ever seen, something everyone would be thrilled to go to and would keep talking about for weeks.
But what would it look like? And more important, how would they make it happen?
Chapter Nineteen
Malia
Lunch. Today’s meal involved something called cauliflower rice, which was really just shredded-up cauliflower that had no business calling itself rice. It sat in a bowl, where it was all mixed up with a sauce that had no business calling itself sauce. This was at least thirty percent more disappointing than the usual cafeteria fare. But Malia didn’t care. The view more than made up for the disaster on her lunch tray.
As usual, Malia was practicing her favorite ritual: watching Connor Kelly float around the lunchroom looking impossibly good. Today, he wore a blue fleece hoodie that made him resemble a cross between an athlete and a cuddly lamb. It was easily one of his finest ensembles.
“Hi!” said Bree, ambling up to the table with her own lunch tray. “Do you have any idea what this is?” She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the offending meal.
“It’s cauliflower rice,” said Malia.
“Why?” said Bree. “Just . . . why?”
Malia shrugged.
“Chelsea and I were able to get some new pledges for the salamander bridge fund-raiser,” Bree reported.
“That’s great!” said Malia, then held her tongue. She was happy about the new pledges, of course, but she would never be excited about any news involving Chelsea.
“We still have a ways to go. And we have to keep manning the crosswalk until we can build the bridge. But I just talked to Mr. Frang, and he said he’s willing to offer extra credit to any environmental science students who sign up for a shift!”
Malia was genuinely excited by this news. Her environmental science grade left something to be desired.
A moment later, she saw a sight that was even more confusing than cauliflower masquerading as rice. Zelda—yes, Zelda—was approaching their lunch table. She placed her own tray down right next to Malia’s. And then she took a seat.
Zelda had never so much as acknowledged them at lunch before, never mind sat at their table. Malia wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Malia was so confused by the events unfolding around her that she actually started eating the cauliflower rice.
She chewed in silence for a few moments. Bree looked at Malia, then back at Zelda, then back at Malia. She seemed to be equally confused.
“Uh, hi?” Malia ventured.
“Hi,” Zelda said, taking a bite of her lunch like this was totally normal. “Isn’t it so strange all the things they’re trying to make with cauliflower these days?”
Malia wholeheartedly agreed with this statement—perhaps more than she had ever agreed with any words ever spoken—but she wasn’t sure how to reply. Since when did Zelda act like her friend?
“My mom made a pizza the other night, and after the fact she tells me the crust was made of cauliflower,” Zelda continued. “Like, what’s next?”
“Yeah,” Bree said, simply.
Malia dug into her own lunch. Because what else was there to do? A trio of French nannies had stolen all their business, everyone was obsessed with a bunch of amphibians, and now Zelda Hooper was eating lunch with them. The world was a bizarre and confusing place.
At least one thing remained the same, Malia thought while looking across the room to where Connor Kelly was making his way over to the drink vending machine.
Zelda looked at Malia, then to Connor, then back at Malia.
“Enjoying the show?” She smirked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Malia said. It took all her self-control not to break out in the creepy grin she often made when she felt embarrassed.
Then Zelda leaned in, a little too close for comfort. “Why don’t you go talk to him?” she whispered.
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Well, for starters, because it couldn’t be more obvious that you want to,” Zelda said.
“I do not,” said Malia. Even though she did.
“Malia. You watch him like he’s the only thing on television. It’s not subtle.” Zelda smirked again.
What was this noise? She had no idea she was being so obvious. Was everyone aware of her feelings for Connor? Even more horrifyingly, was Connor aware of her feelings for Connor?
Malia was at a loss for words.
Zelda continued. “Get that terrified look off your face. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re allowed to like somebody. There’s a pretty good chance he likes you, too. The only annoying thing is if you don’t do something about it.”
“But . . . what would I do?”
“This is your LIFE, Malia. Make a move. Go say something.”
The thought made Malia want to faint into her cauliflower.
“What would I say?”
The thought of approaching Connor and saying multiple words to him—on purpose—was too much for her to handle. If he were to call her over, or ask her a question or something, then of course she would be happy to go talk to him. But Malia wasn’t sure how forward she could be.
“You could start with ‘hi.’ Maybe ask him how his day is going,” said Zelda.
“Isn’t that weird?” asked Malia. “Why would I act like I want to know how his day is going?”
“Because you do.”
Zelda was right. Malia always wanted to know how his day was going. Indeed, she devoted a sizeable part of her own day to wondering about it.
“But then he would know that I care!”
“Right . . .” Zelda looked skeptical. “But it’s not like you’re being super low-key about this. You’re watching his every move. Wouldn’t it be more direct to just ask him?”
Again, Zelda had a point.
“Go,” she urged.
When a bully tells you to do something that’s not totally horrible, you do it. So, Malia gingerly pushed her chair back and made her way across the cafeteria, legs shaking all the way. WHAT ON EARTH WAS HAPPENING? She had thought of this moment many times, but she hadn’t planned on actually doing it. Malia told herself she could change direction at any time, but when she glanced back over her shoulder, Zelda was watching her intently. She had no choice but to continue walking—right up to Connor.
“Hey,” said Malia, not smoothly. She was so nervous, the word sort of vibrated out of her mouth, like he-eh-eh-eh-ey.
“Hi, Malia,” said Connor.
“How is your day?” She spoke softly, like maybe if nobody could hear her, this wasn’t really happening.
“Huh?”
“How is your day going?” she said, a bit louder this time.
“Oh, you know,” Connor said.
Malia didn’t know. That’s why she was asking. She also didn’t know how to respond to that, so she just said, “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” repeated Connor, like some kind of adolescent parrot.
This was a complete disaster.
Malia took a deep breath.
Get ahold of yourself, said a voice inside her. This is the subject you know best. You could talk ABOUT Connor Kelly for hours, so why not talk TO him? Think back on all the research you’ve done, and ask him about stuff he likes.
“How is soccer going?” Malia asked.
“Good.”
This boy did not make it easy.
“Have you heard about the salamander bridge?” she asked.
“Huh?” said Connor.
Apparently he had not.
“A bunch of us are trying to save the local salamanders that keep getting squashed by traffic. There’s this section of Waveland Avenue where we set up a crosswalk, and Mr. Frang just announced that anyone who volunteers there will get extra credit.”
“Oh, I should do that. I did so bad on the last quiz.”
He had uttered two whole sentences. This was progress!
“We should go together!” Malia said. The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to realize what was happening.
“Yeah,” said Connor.
“Great!” said Malia. “I’m doing the shift on Friday. Do you want to join? I’ll put your name down. I’m helping Bree keep track of the sign-ups, so it’s no trouble.”
“Okay,” said Connor.
“Great!” Malia said, again. Her brain couldn’t think of other words, because SHE HAD JUST MADE A DATE WITH CONNOR KELLY. Was it a date? It was just extra credit. But it was happening at night. On purpose. Whatever—it was the closest thing Malia had ever had to a date, so she would take it.
“All right, so I guess I’ll see you there,” said Connor.
Malia nodded so that she wouldn’t say “great” for a third time that minute. Then she turned and, in what she hoped was a smooth manner but knew was definitely not, started to make her way back to the table. No matter what Zelda had going on, Malia sort of owed it to her: This had suddenly become the most exciting day ever.
Chapter Twenty
Dot
After the skunk incident, the girls had made a pact that no one, under any circumstances, would ever attempt to babysit the horrible boys alone. The official club rules had even been changed to include this fact. But somehow, the stars had misaligned, and now Dot found herself facing the monsters all on her own. Technically, though, she wasn’t completely alone. Zelda would be there in spirit. And also on Dot’s phone.
At the last moment, Bree got roped into watching her siblings (on the off chance that all three au pairs were already booked watching other families) and Malia was forced to accompany her parents to see evil Chelsea accept an award at a Future Young Leaders of America summit, hosted by none other than Ramona Abernathy. This had already resulted in many text message updates from Malia, who apparently felt tortured, invisible, and misunderstood. So Dot was forced to spend her afternoon with the furthest thing from young leaders: the trio of terrible boys.
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