Dot hoped everything was going slightly better with Pigeon. She would need her half of Pigeon’s babysitting fees—and fast—to replace the melted prototype parts.
As if on cue, another text popped up:
Thanks! It worked. He’s showing me his latest research.
Good, Dot thought, running her thumb over the pyrite. At least today wasn’t a total disaster.
Chapter Fifteen
Malia
Once again, it was time for the weekly club meeting. Malia arrived at Bree’s room to find Dot already spread out on the floor, eating what appeared to be an entire candy store.
“I’m stress eating,” she said when she saw Malia’s expression. “My science fair project is a total disaster and you know the only thing my mom stocks is organic twig bites, so I can’t get any good stress eating done at home.”
“Where’s Bree?” Malia asked.
“Don’t ask,” said Dot.
A few seconds later, Bree entered the room, holding a wadded-up bath towel. Her clothes were wet, and she looked exhausted.
“Hi, guys,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
As soon as the door was locked, she put the towel on the ground and out popped a particularly psychotic Veronica. His eyes glowed neon. He was so angry that the wrinkles on his face were actually moving.
“Mrrreow!” he screeched, bounding all around the room as if he were on fire.
“I had to give him a bath,” explained Bree. “I have to give him a bath once a week.”
“And clearly he enjoys that,” said Malia, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Cats hate water,” Bree said. “Even sane cats with the ability to like other stuff. So you can imagine how he feels about it.”
“Sounds fun,” said Dot, shoveling gummy bears into her mouth as though they were popcorn.
Bree plopped down next to her friends.
“My back hurts,” she said. “My whole life hurts.”
“I feel that,” said Malia.
“The good news is, the new babysitters haven’t killed anyone yet,” said Dot.
“Yeah, speaking of babysitters, should we figure out the schedule for this coming week?” Malia asked. As soon as she said it, she realized how much she had missed feeling like she was in charge—in charge of the club, in charge of a child, in charge of anything.
The girls pulled out their phones to cross-check what they had booked.
“Okay, so the satellite sitters have already taken on three jobs and so far they haven’t totally ruined anything,” Malia said.
“So we’re only six jobs away from the Veronica tickets,” said Dot, quickly adding, “Not that I care about that. But I know how important it is for you guys.”
Malia continued. “The Gregory kids need a sitter on Tuesday evening and again on Saturday afternoon. I have my internship on both of those days, so I was going to put Sage on that.” She supposed this meant it would be another week without additional Connor sightings.
“I’m totally slammed with my project, so Pigeon is covering for Aloysius pretty much every day after school, except for Friday, when he has a mini MENSA meeting,” Dot added. At this point, she had completely finished the gummy bears and already moved on to red licorice.
“Brody is going to start helping me out after school,” Bree said. “Technically, I think he’s going to help out with watching Bailey, since my mom has been hiring me to babysit at home. That way, I can focus more of my energy on Veronica so my mom doesn’t make me return him. I’m excited, but also nervous that he’s going to mess up and my mom will figure out the plan, but also so tired I almost don’t care. I hope it goes well.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Malia. “And if it’s not fine, you can trade with Brody, and you can watch Bailey and he can watch Veronica.”
At the sound of his name, Veronica hopped down from Bree’s dresser and joined the girls on the floor.
“That’s actually not a bad idea, considering how well they got along at the interview,” said Dot.
“You guys, Veronica is my baby. I can’t leave my baby with some random person. It’s my job to take care of him. What kind of parent would I be if I just left him with a random dude so I could go enjoy myself?”
“I think the thing you just described is babysitting,” said Malia.
“Oh,” said Bree.
“So, Malia, how is your internship going?” Dot asked.
“It is the worst thing I have ever done,” Malia said.
This surprised even her. She knew that it was stressful, time-consuming, and somewhat bad for her dignity. She knew Chelsea had only brought her on to take on the terrible grunt work. But until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how horrible it was making her feel.
“That bad?” Dot said.
“Worse than you can imagine. It’s, like, every time I go there, I have no idea what’s going to be thrown at me and each task is worse than the last. Then, even if I do a good job, nobody says thank you. They just tell me the next thing to do. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot make this person happy.”
“She sounds nuts,” said Bree.
“You have no idea. Imagine Chelsea, in fifty years. But crazier.”
“Could you quit?” asked Dot.
“No. I was badgered into it; there’s no way my mom would let me. Plus, now it’s an issue of pride. I have to show Chelsea that I can be as good as her.”
“But this is about your well-being,” said Bree.
“Yeah, who cares about Chelsea?” Dot chimed in. “It’s impossible to win with her, anyway. If you were learning things, or enjoying yourself, I’d say to stick with it, but this is just stressing you out. And you’re not even getting paid! You’re turning down babysitting jobs to be miserable.”
Malia sighed. Maybe her friends were right. She wanted her old life back, when she could focus on babysitting, on running the club, on doing the things she liked—namely, watching Connor and thinking about Connor and making enough money so she could go to a concert and dance in his vicinity. It might be smarter—not to mention healthier—for her to go back to how things were before.
* * *
Malia waited until well after dinner, when all was calm in the Twiggs household. Experience had taught her this was usually the best time to ask for things—a new phone, for example, or permission to quit one’s terrible unpaid internship.
“Mom?”
Malia found her mom sitting in her favorite green armchair, reading a book about cleanses. Her mom loved cleanses, which Malia found weird, since she tried to get out of cleaning things as much as possible. Sometimes her mom was into juice cleanses, which were apparently good for your body, and sometimes she was into clutter cleanses, where you threw away a bunch of stuff in order to clean your house. Her current obsession was the most confusing of all: a mental cleanse, where you got rid of negative thinking.
“Yes?” Her mom looked up from her book.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Mm-hmm?” She peered at Malia through her reading glasses, which had thick red frames. Malia wasn’t sure how the glasses had managed to survive through so many clutter cleanses.
“My internship . . .” She paused for a second, hoping her mom would read her mind. She didn’t, so Malia continued. “Well, the thing is . . . it’s terrible.”
“What do you mean, terrible?”
“Oh, Mom. Ramona is, like, the witch from a storybook.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” said her mom, though she cracked the tiniest smile.
“But it’s true! She yells for no reason and asks for the craziest things. I spend most of my time moving things or fixing things or making her coffee. Sometimes, she yells stuff like ‘Uh-oh!’ and I have to figure out what’s wrong, and also fix it, with no other directions about what the problem is. And Chelsea is not helpful at all. She didn’t even train me or explain how anything works. I thought I was going to be learning about busine
ss, but I’m not learning anything.”
Her mom looked dismayed. Malia hoped it was a sign her mom also thought she should quit. Malia needed a life cleanse, and this was the first step.
“Malia. You may not realize it, but you are learning things. Valuable things. You’re learning how to take on assignments, and multitask, and deal with personalities that are different and perhaps a bit more challenging than the people you encounter elsewhere in your life.”
Malia could already see this conversation wasn’t going to go in her favor.
“Honey, if I thought this job was truly a bad fit, or that you were being mistreated in some way, of course I wouldn’t allow that. But I don’t want to encourage you to be a quitter.”
“But it makes me want to throw things!”
“That sounds like a feeling you need to explore. Dealing with frustration is a very big part of life. Imagine if you could tackle difficult situations and not feel that way!”
Malia wondered what it must be like to have a mom who was not a career counselor. Dot’s mom, for example, would probably deal with this situation by casting some sort of spell. Malia’s mom, on the other hand, had a self-help book for every occasion.
“But, Mom . . .” Malia started to speak but trailed off. This conversation was pointless. Her mom would never see it from her point of view.
“Sometimes, when we’re in a stressful spot, it can seem like the feeling will last forever. But this internship is temporary, as is this feeling.” Her mom gave her an encouraging look. “Just try to do your best, that’s all I want you to do.”
Malia was doing her best, she thought. Her best work was being the CEO of Best Babysitters. She was good at that, and she even managed to juggle it with schoolwork. How much was one person supposed to take on in order to be doing her “best”?
Interning for Ramona was something that no one—not a sane person, not even a superhero—would be able to do well. And somehow, Malia was surviving. She should have been proud. But instead, she just felt trapped.
Chapter Sixteen
Bree
Bree hated the doctor’s office. She also hated the dentist. She especially hated the vet, which had the same kind of icky stressful feeling as the regular doctor’s office, with the added feature of making animals sad. So Bree was surprised by the scene that greeted her at the office of Veronica’s new therapist, Dr. Marcy Puffin, animal behaviorist. So far, Dr. Puffin had proven wise and insightful in their initial phone consultation. But Bree was particularly excited for this first session, because her friends were coming, too.
“I can’t wait to see what this is about,” Dot said as they entered the tiny office.
“Meow,” Veronica contributed.
The waiting room didn’t feel like any doctor’s office the girls had ever seen. A bunch of Moroccan area rugs were strewn haphazardly in the center of the space. A wind chime dangled overhead, tinkling away. In one corner, a small artificial waterfall flowed into a koi pond, filled with brightly colored, speckled fish. Across one wall, a bookshelf was crowded with volumes with names like Triumph of the Tiger and Tears for Fears—for Felines.
“Why do I feel like my mom probably knows this person?” Dot asked, eyeing a large crystal geode, sparkling on a shelf.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Bree asked.
“It’s something,” Malia agreed.
“I want to be just like Dr. Puffin,” Bree said, then added, “I mean, when I grow up.”
“Veronica,” said Dr. Puffin, opening the door to her office. “Come on in.”
Dr. Puffin was a youngish woman, meaning she was definitely younger than everyone’s parents, but beyond that Bree had no idea how old she actually was.
“Who have we here?” she asked.
“These are my friends Dot and Malia,” Bree said, “and this, of course, is Veronica.” She opened the door to the cat carrier, giving Veronica free rein.
All of the girls braced themselves for impact, but much as he had with Brody, Veronica remained calm. He curled adorably in Dr. Puffin’s lap, blinking his enormous eyes.
So far, visiting Dr. Puffin felt more like going to hang out with a really nice aunt who also happened to be an expert on cats.
“Veronica seems to have a lovely disposition,” said Dr. Puffin, petting Veronica’s wrinkly body.
“He’s certainly being less violent right now,” Bree said, nodding her head. “But at home, he hardly ever stands still for more than ten seconds. He destroys anything he can get his claws on. And he likes to mistake everything I own for a litter box.” She sighed before adding, “I swear he does it on purpose.”
“Let’s play a little game, shall we?” Dr. Puffin said, speaking directly to Veronica. She held up an oversize deck of cards. “I’m going to go through a little exercise to get to know Veronica a bit better.”
She held up the first card, with a picture of a fluffy white cat on it.
Veronica blinked once.
“Hm! Very interesting,” said Dr. Puffin.
Next, she held up another card, with a picture of a clown on it.
“Meow,” said Veronica with his usual level of emotional detachment.
“I see!” said Dr. Puffin.
She held up a third card, with a picture of a pizza on it.
Veronica started to lick his left front foot.
“Well, isn’t that fascinating!” Dr. Puffin said. She put the deck of cards facedown on the low glass coffee table.
Bree had never been more confused.
“Well, maybe we should begin our session by talking about boundaries,” Dr. Puffin said. At the mention of the word, Veronica climbed out of Dr. Puffin’s lap and started to ascend the bookcase.
“Boundaries?” Bree said. “Like borders?”
“Yes, you might say that. Boundaries are a bit like the fixed limits between cities or countries, or even on a sports field,” Dr. Puffin explained. “But what makes boundaries different is that they are often invisible. Boundaries are like borders we create for our emotions.”
Bree felt lost. This seemed more like a weird geography lesson and less like a conversation about cats. Who knew parenthood was going to be so complicated?
Dr. Puffin continued. “Let’s say you meet a new person and, for whatever reason, they are very angry. They have a lot of pent-up emotions and a tendency to unleash them upon the world. Would you let this person come into your home and yell at you constantly?”
“No!” said Bree. “That sounds terrible.”
“That sounds like my internship,” Malia said to no one in particular.
“MEOW!” Veronica yelled from the top of the bookshelf, whether in fury or agreement no one could be sure.
“Hopefully, you would try to establish healthy boundaries,” said Dr. Puffin. “For example, you might limit your exposure to that person. You might speak up if they say or do something that makes you uncomfortable. And after an interaction with them, you might make time for an activity that makes you feel good, to help you heal from any emotional trauma.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being lectured by my mom right now?” Dot stage-whispered to Malia.
“Now, Veronica is coming from a place where he has never lived within established boundaries,” said Dr. Puffin as Veronica began to swing dramatically from the overhead light fixture. “So it is up to you, Bree, to establish them.”
“I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong!” wailed Bree. She shook her fists in the air, causing her armfuls of sparkly bangle bracelets to jingle-jangle.
Veronica took this outcry as his cue to go berserk. He let out a high-pitched mewl, jumping off the light fixture and landing on the smooth glass coffee table. He arched his back like a scary cat on a Halloween decoration. Then he leaped high into the air, landing back on the top of Dr. Puffin’s bookshelf, next to a potted fern. “Meow,” he concluded defiantly.
The girls looked to Dr. Puffin, expecting a larger reaction from her. But she just looked at the cat wit
h deep concentration, saying, “Hmmmmm.”
“So aside from the whole boundaries thing, do you know why he is, uh, the way he is?” Malia asked.
“Pets sometimes feel scared or sad or anxious, just like people,” Dr. Puffin explained. “Veronica has some learned behaviors from his past, but just like us, he creates new habits all the time.”
“Meow!” said Veronica. This time it definitely sounded like agreement.
“Animals absorb a lot of energy from their environment, and Veronica is greatly affected by his time with Bree.”
Veronica scowled.
Dr. Puffin continued. “That’s why, in each of our sessions, the goal will be to work with both the pet and the owner. It’s imperative that I gain a good understanding of them both.”
“So you’re also kind of Bree’s therapist,” Dot said.
“In a way, yes,” said Dr. Puffin.
“Do I have to react to the flash cards, too?” Bree asked.
“No, your role is more like a detective. Our main focus is to determine what exactly sets Veronica off. He doesn’t seem particularly sensitive to sound, though he does demonstrate a preference for a bit of personal space and a calm demeanor.”
“I have no idea what sets him off!” Bree said, then added sadly, “Except that he doesn’t like me.”
“So, let’s bring the focus over to you for a minute. What’s going on in your life this week, Bree?” Dr. Puffin asked.
Bree brightened a little at the chance to talk about herself. That was something she didn’t get to do very often. She loved her family, but they almost never gave her the chance to talk about what was going on in her life—about school, about her friends, about anything. At Bree’s house, there was always someone who was talking a little louder or crying a little harder or otherwise demanding attention.
“This week has been a little challenging,” Bree started. “Veronica is, well, Veronica, and I haven’t been getting much sleep.”
The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy Page 9
