The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy

by Caroline Cala

  “At my old school, distillation of wood was actually a sixth-grade experiment,” Pigeon said. Her condescending tone was not lost on Dot. “I wonder if I’ll be repeating a lot of the old curriculum here. Especially because science has always been kind of my thing.”

  “Science has always been my thing,” said Dot. “Which is why, outside of the school’s curriculum, I’ve been conducting research on my own for years now.”

  Pigeon impatiently tapped her fingernails on the lab table, breaking Dot’s concentration. Dot noticed they were painted a sort of green metallic oil-slick color that Dot had never seen before. Even Pigeon’s nail polish was fancy.

  “So, where in New York did you live?” Dot asked.

  “We lived on the Upper West Side,” Pigeon said, “but my school was on the Upper East.”

  “Wow. That must have been amazing,” said Dot, while her head kept singing unfair, unfair, unfair.

  “This town seems . . .” Pigeon trailed off, as though searching for the right word. “Cute.”

  The way she said the word “cute” made it clear it wasn’t a compliment.

  Dot wanted to leave this town more than anyone, but she didn’t appreciate this stranger rolling up and trash-talking it on her very first day. Who did this person think she was?

  Dot’s hands flew across the equipment, attempting to complete the assignment as quickly as possible so she could be free of this situation.

  “I’m going to start handing back the quizzes from yesterday,” said Mr. Frang. “Please don’t let them distract you from your experiments. If you have any questions, of course I’m available after class.”

  Dot didn’t even bother to look when the paper landed on her table. She never got anything less than an A, especially in science.

  “Hm. B-plus,” said Pigeon, staring at the quiz.

  “What?” Dot snapped to attention. “There must be some kind of mistake.” Dot did not get Bs, ever. She hardly ever got A-minuses. Bs were for the hoi polloi. The fact that Dot even knew what “hoi polloi” meant only further cemented her status as an A student.

  But sure enough, there it was: her quiz, with a big red B-plus on top of it.

  How had this happened? She knew she’d been kind of exhausted this week, with babysitting eating into her homework time, but still. This was unprecedented.

  Once again, Principal Davies appeared at the door.

  “Pigeon, I’m sorry. As it turns out, I need you to come with me. I forgot I have another part of the orientation packet to go through together.”

  “You know, I actually interned for Elon Musk last summer,” said Pigeon as she stood and pushed her chair in. “You know, the guy who started SpaceX? And Tesla? And who is, like, an investor and businessperson—”

  “I know who Elon Musk is,” Dot interrupted, annoyed.

  “If you ever need somebody to tutor you, I’m sure we could work something out.”

  Dot was flabbergasted. Pigeon smiled. “It’s been awfully nice chatting with you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” And with that, she turned and walked away.

  “Yeah, likewise,” murmured Dot.

  Dot kept her eyes on her beaker, fighting the urge to watch Pigeon as she walked away.

  Dot knew one thing for sure: She did not like this Pigeon person. It wasn’t just her ridiculous first name, although that probably didn’t help. It was—Dot couldn’t believe what she was thinking, was she turning into her mother?—her aura.

  Pigeon had very bad energy.

  You’re being ridiculous, Dot thought. You don’t even know her. It’s her first day at a new school and she’s just trying to be impressive to make friends.

  Still, this felt like that moment in a movie, where the main character meets her nemesis. Dot wanted to remain open and kind. She wanted to know her story. But she was, Dot hated to admit, experiencing a feeling she had never felt before. She was intrigued. She was jealous. She was conflicted. For perhaps the first time ever, she was seriously intimidated.

  Chapter Four

  Malia

  Malia watched as Connor Kelly sauntered across the cafeteria, blue plastic lunch tray in hand. He gave her a slight nod and then sat down with the other boys on the soccer team. Malia sighed. He was so close and yet so far away.

  Malia remembered a time, not too long ago, when she and Connor barely exchanged words. Back then, she sometimes wondered if he even knew her name. Now he said at least three sentences to her each week. That, Malia thought, was progress.

  Still, so much about Connor remained a mystery. He was like some exotic endangered species Malia could only observe from a safe distance. Across rooms . . . on social media . . . but rarely up close and personal. But now she had places to run into Connor—like the cafeteria, or the Gregory house, or, if everything went according to plan, the Veronica concert.

  She had spent all of her waking moments (and also some of her sleeping ones) dreaming for the past three days about the concert and how it might go. The darkness, the neon lights, the fog, the music, the dancing. Malia shivered. The thought of dancing in Connor Kelly’s proximity was almost too much to handle.

  But of course, before that could happen, she had to buy the tickets. Malia had lined up jobs like crazy, posting on social media to drum up some new clients. Plus, Bree’s mom agreed to let her babysit her brother, Bailey, three days a week, and Mrs. Gregory had booked Malia for three upcoming jobs, which meant money and a potential Connor sighting in one.

  Shoko and Mo arrived at the table, placing their trays down with a clatter. Shoko and Mo were pretty much inseparable, and they always sat at the same lunch table as Malia and Bree. Malia snapped out of her daydream.

  “What are you wearing to the concert?” asked Mo urgently. The entire school had caught Veronica fever. The concert was all anybody could talk about.

  “I don’t know,” said Malia, though she had, of course, been obsessing about this very topic for days. Maybe if they had any money left over from buying the ticket, she could get a new outfit. “What are you guys wearing?”

  “Ugh, who knows? It’s such an event. We’re going shopping this weekend!” said Shoko, waving her hands around as if she found this stressful. Her parents gave her a seemingly unlimited allowance to spend on things like concert wear. Malia wondered, as she often had, what that must be like.

  “Hiiiii,” said Bree, suddenly appearing with her lunch. She put her tray down and pulled up a seat next to Malia.

  Bree removed her studded jean jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. Malia noticed that she had tiny little scratches all over her arms.

  “Oh my god, what happened to you?” said Malia, with genuine concern.

  “Oh, just Veronica.” Bree sighed. “There was an incident this morning, involving glitter eyeliner and a very violent feline outburst. That cat’s claws are no joke.”

  “Wow. I’m . . . sorry to hear that,” Malia said.

  “It’s okay,” said Bree with a shrug. “I mean, it’s actually not okay. But I’m fine.”

  Dot approached the lunch table and put her tray down next to Malia’s.

  “Can I sit with you guys?” she asked.

  This was an irregular occurrence. For as long as Malia could remember, Dot had always sat at a different lunch table, with the honors students who thought they were a little bit smarter than everyone else. Malia had learned not to take it personally, as lunchtime politics were complicated.

  “What? You’re deigning to sit with the non-honors students?” Malia teased. “At LUNCH? What is going on here?”

  Dot rolled her eyes. “This annoying new girl is sitting at my table, and I just . . . can’t.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Malia said, “Because we were just talking about gearing up for the Veronica concert and I have booked all the jobs in the land.”

  Dot took a deep breath.

  “Okay. To be clear, I still need time to focus on homework right now. Not to mention the science fair.” She p
aused before adding, “And for the last time, I do not like Veronica.”

  “To each her own,” said Malia. “But I, for one, will babysit every second I can until we are all sitting front row at that concert.”

  And she meant every word.

  * * *

  Malia arrived home floating on a cloud. She had taken to listening to Veronica on her way to and from anywhere, as she found it inspired her to make her dreams a reality.

  “I saw your face on my phone. You just won’t leave me alone,” sang Veronica. Of course, this made Malia think of Connor. “Social me-me-me-me-media. But everything’s about you.”

  Malia felt so joyful that she almost didn’t mind when she bumped into her sister, Chelsea, the seventeen-year-old human equivalent of an evil snake, making her way through the front hallway.

  “Why, if it isn’t the smaller version of me!” said Chelsea. This was her idea of the ultimate compliment. It was also a stark contrast from the usual insults Chelsea flung Malia’s way.

  Immediately, Malia was suspicious.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “The real question is: What do YOU want? What do you want, little sister, from your life?”

  Yes, Chelsea was up to something. But really, Chelsea was always up to something. Previously, she had formed a rival baby­sitting business and attempted to put Malia and her friends out of business. Who knew what sort of terrible scheme she was devising now.

  “Right now, all I want is to go to my room,” Malia said, then added, “Where you aren’t allowed.”

  Malia’s eyes landed on the large framed family portrait that hung near the front door. The entire family—Mom, Dad, Chelsea, and Malia stood dressed in white and beaming for the camera. It looked so happy, and so misleading. Malia could barely remember another time when she had been in Chelsea’s presence and made that same expression.

  “Oh, Malia. When I was your age, I was so ambitious. I was already mapping out my future. I think it’s about time you started to do the same.”

  Malia tried to go around her, but Chelsea blocked her path.

  “MOM!” Malia yelled, which was the easiest way she could think of to make this situation stop.

  “Yes?” called their mother. Moments later she appeared, with a celery stalk in her hand.

  “Chelsea is harassing me about my future again,” said Malia.

  “That is an unfair assessment. I was just trying to offer Malia a chance to follow in my unusually accomplished footsteps.”

  “I can make my own footsteps!” Malia protested.

  “By joining our team at Abernathy Inc.” Chelsea paused, waiting for a reaction.

  “Wait, what?” asked Malia. This was news to her.

  “Ramona and I are looking for a new junior intern,” Chelsea continued, “and I think Malia would be a perfect fit.”

  Chelsea had recently accepted an internship with Ramona Abernathy, a retired tech mogul and the wealthiest woman in all of Playa del Mar. Even though she was technically retired, Ramona was still a very busy woman. As Chelsea explained it, she worked as a consultant on all sorts of projects and sat on the board of many organizations. Malia didn’t quite understand what that meant, but she gathered that it was important. And working for Ramona was impressive, by any measure.

  “Oh my goodness! What an honor,” said their mom.

  Still, Malia was skeptical. This was Chelsea, after all. Her big sister was known for achievement in every area except kindness. Doing Malia favors was not a bullet point on her very long résumé. In fact, she wasn’t even particularly inclined to include Malia in social activities, routinely excluding her from social gatherings in their own house and “forgetting” to wait for Malia to join the carpool home from school.

  But now Chelsea was being nice? For no apparent reason? Something was amiss.

  “I think this sounds like a wonderful opportunity!” said their mom, clapping her hands together as though she was at a Broadway show.

  “Does it pay?” Malia asked.

  “It pays to put it on your résumé,” Chelsea said, rolling her eyes.

  “That kind of experience is priceless,” said their mother. Malia’s mom worked as a career counselor, and this kind of thing was right up her alley.

  “The internship is every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday after school, plus Saturdays,” said Chelsea.

  “Whoa. Four days? But what about babysitting?” Malia asked. “And schoolwork? I’m already super busy.” And the Veronica concert is happening in a few weeks, she silently added.

  Chelsea snorted. “Like you’ve ever been serious about school. And look at me. I’m able to balance my internship with school, plus way more activities than you’ve ever done.”

  “Malia, I’m glad you’re thinking about time management,” said their mom.

  “Yes, and I have a lot on my plate,” said Malia. This was a phrase her mom used a lot, so Malia hoped it might work to her advantage.

  “But time management is a great skill for you to work on,” her mom concluded. “And this can be practice. Having an internship will teach you how to prioritize!”

  “Unless you’re afraid you can’t do it,” Chelsea added.

  Malia sensed this was a fight she would never win. Plus, she hated when Chelsea acted superior. If Chelsea could balance everything, then surely Malia could, too.

  “Okay, so how does it work? Do I have to apply?” she asked.

  “Just come with me to the office on Thursday,” Chelsea said. “I’ve already talked you up. You’re my sister, and Ramona will love you.”

  “Could I, like, try it out first?” Malia asked. She was terrified of committing to something that would eat up four days of her week, without the promise of money or Connor or her friends or anything of the other things that brought joy.

  “Malia, this is an opportunity hundreds of girls would kill for,” Chelsea said. “It’s a yes or a no.”

  Malia had never liked that phrase, about the things other girls would kill for. Anything involving killing was sure to be bad, including the sound of this internship. Still, she felt trapped. If she said no, she would look like a wimp in front of Chelsea. If she said yes, she just cut her available babysitting time in half, not to mention her funds. She had a concert to go to and Connor’s heart to win.

  “I don’t know . . .” Malia waffled.

  “The answer is yes,” said her mom.

  “Yes?” said Malia tentatively.

  Her mom beamed. Chelsea smirked. Malia sighed.

  Since she clearly had no choice in this matter, she figured she might as well roll with it. With the art of babysitting firmly under her control, maybe it was time to expand her business sense by taking on a real-person job. Who knows what she’d learn, or what she’d be inspired to do? Maybe Ramona had the secrets to unlimited earning potential. She was about to find out.

  Chapter Five

  Bree

  “But the bonnet is so cute!” yelled Bree. “I don’t understand what your problem is!” She held a glittery blue bonnet in the air, prompting the cat to dig his claws ever deeper into Bree’s second-favorite sparkly pillow.

  In the three short days Bree had owned him (the vet had informed them that Veronica was, in fact, a boy cat), Veronica had all but destroyed Bree’s lifelong dream of feline parenthood. He had also, quite literally, destroyed her comforter, her fluffy white rug, her curtains, and everything that once sat on top of her desk.

  Despite what Bartholomew had said, this particular sphynx cat had no interest in being hugged. He wasn’t even a little bit cuddly. He didn’t want to socialize with Chocolate Pudding, or with Bree, or really with anyone. He did, however, have a lot of energy.

  “I love you!” Bree yelled, close to tears. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

  The cat stared at her menacingly, his giant yellow eyes glowing with what anyone who wasn’t Bree would likely identify as pure evil.

  Bree pounced on top of him, causing the c
at to scratch at her arm. “You’re supposed to want to be held!” she said. “Hugs are good for you!” Somehow, she managed to hold him for just long enough to squeeze the bonnet onto his head and secure it with the little elastic. Veronica made a sound not unlike a baby screaming.

  Just then, there was a knock at her bedroom door.

  “Bree, lovey?” her mom called from outside the locked door.

  “Yes?” Bree called, trying to sound casual.

  “I’m picking up Emma and Olivia up from dance lessons, so it’s time for you to hang out with Bailey until we get back. He needs help with his school project.”

  “Okay!” Bree called as Veronica ran in manic circles around her.

  Bree’s job was to babysit Bailey, especially now that the concert was approaching and she needed the extra money. But so far, it felt virtually impossible. How was Bree ever supposed to see human Veronica if she couldn’t get cat Veronica under control?

  “And it’s taco night, so can you also take the stuff out of the fridge? I’ll heat everything up as soon as I’m back.”

  “Uh-huh!” Bree said, her voice colored with fake sunshine.

  “Okay! Everything is good with the cat?” Her mom sounded suspicious. How did she always know everything?

  “Yep! Everything is great,” Bree said as Veronica went into full-on attack mode with one of Bree’s remaining pillows, sending stuffing flying through the air.

  “Okay, then! I’m heading out. Come downstairs, okay?”

  “Coming!” Bree said in a singsong voice, as she scrambled to pick up the bits of discarded stuffing and bury them securely in a trash bag.

  Veronica meowed, pleased with himself.

  Bree sighed.

  “Look, I get that you had a rough kittenhood or whatever, but I love you now. You’re safe here. You don’t have to keep acting out. You have food and litter and toys and an entire wardrobe with outfits for every occasion and even accessories.”

  The cat meowed defiantly.

  “I need you to, like, calm down.”

  Veronica blinked one time.