Hm. She kind of had a point. Malia decided to change tactics.
“You know what else is annoying? Babysitting,” said Malia.
Sage looked confused for a minute.
“SO ANNOYING,” Bree chimed.
“You know what I mean? Like when you really want to just hang out with your friends and have fun and go to the mall and maybe talk to a cute boy? But instead you have to hang out with children who are cute but definitely not in the same way that boys are?”
Sage looked thoughtful for a moment. Malia hoped she was considering the weight of this very important question.
“No,” said Sage. “If anything, babysitting is actually the perfect job if you like boys, because it sometimes lets you interact with them! Like when the kids have cute boys for neighbors or when the kids have cute older cousins or something.” This was not going the way Malia wanted. Sage continued. “And it lets me earn money so I can hang out with friends at the mall or the arcade or whatever. And there are always boys at those places.”
I KNOW, thought Malia. THAT IS WHY I WANT MY JOB BACK.
“But also, aren’t the kids so annoying sometimes?” Malia pressed on.
Once again, Sage looked thoughtful. “No. You know, I expected it to be harder. But it’s, like, once you get to know their individual personalities, kids are actually really fun!”
Ugh. This was going to be harder than she realized.
“You know who looks really cute lately?” said Malia, trying one final tactic.
Bree shot her a confused look. The babysitting portion of the conversation was definitely over.
“Aidan Morrison,” said Sage.
“Yes!” said Malia. “He’s been wearing his hair differently.”
“It really suits him,” gushed Sage.
“Oh, totally,” agreed Malia.
Malia really didn’t care for Aidan Morrison or his new haircut. Malia didn’t really care for any of the other boys in the grade. It was annoying how Sage’s love spread across all boys. Why couldn’t she just leave Connor alone? She didn’t even appreciate his uniqueness, so why should she take up his attention?
“Hey,” said a voice. It was THE voice. The voice of Connor.
Had Malia’s thoughts summoned him over?
“Oh, hey!” said Malia, like she hadn’t just been thinking about him.
Now would be the perfect time to ask him about the concert. But before she could speak, Sage started making words.
“Are you on your way to homeroom?” asked Sage.
“Yeah,” said Connor.
What was this?
“Great! I’m headed that way,” said Sage.
“Bye, Malia,” said Sage and Connor, in unison, as they walked down the hallway, in the opposite direction of Malia’s own homeroom.
This was much worse than Malia had thought. She had to get Sage to quit babysitting, but even more pressingly, she had to get Sage to quit Connor. Or else Malia was going to have to quit everything.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dot
“Of course it will work,” said Malia with what sounded to Dot like a bit too much confidence.
“Just like it worked with Sage and Brody,” said Dot.
“Those plans are in progress,” Malia said defensively. “They haven’t not worked. Good things take time.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Dot. “Whatever you say.”
The girls were gathered in Dot’s room for an official club meeting. But instead of discussing the usual business topics—upcoming jobs, fees, scheduling—they were entirely focused on what to do about the new hires. Namely Pigeon de Palma.
“You just love making fake email accounts any chance you can get,” said Dot.
“Because it works!” said Malia. She stopped to think for a moment. “Although I guess that’s technically how Ramona found her way into my life, so maybe I should be more careful about these things.”
Indeed, the last time Malia made a fake email account, it was to convince Chelsea that Ramona Abernathy, who at the time meant nothing more to her than a wealthy town figure, was interested in hiring an experienced babysitter. Malia wrote a fake email from “Ramona” and sent it to Chelsea. As it turned out, Ramona wasn’t looking for a babysitter, but she was looking for an intern, and the rest was history.
Malia tapped her keyboard. “Okay, so who should this email be from? A senator? A famous scientist?”
“No, Pigeon already interned for Elon Musk last summer,” said Dot, rolling her eyes. “Let’s make it from the director of a fake science program that’s too good to pass up. From like, Johns Hopkins or MIT or something.”
“What’s that?” asked Bree.
“A really smart school for science people,” said Malia.
“One of the top universities in the country for science and technology,” said Dot.
“Literally what I said,” said Malia. She started typing. “Okay, so we’ll say it’s from MIT Youth Talent Recruitment.”
“Yes! And they should invite her to apply for a really advanced program that, like, nobody gets into,” Dot said.
“Perfect!” said Bree, absently petting Veronica with one hand. Veronica was securely in his carrier, as always, but Bree had opened the door just enough to squeeze one of her hands in. Veronica looked perturbed, like he was barely tolerating the human contact.
“Dear gifted scientific youth,” Malia read out loud as she typed.
“They would never say that.” Dot crossed her arms.
“Okay, fine, then you tell me what to type. It can be just like when Ramona makes me do ‘dictation.’ I am just your lowly typist,” said Malia.
“Dear Ms. De Palma,” Dot recited. “It is my great pleasure to invite you to participate in the MIT Summer Scholars Program for Gifted and Talented Youth.”
“That’s good,” said Bree.
“Meow,” said Veronica.
“This letter goes out to a very select group of students who have demonstrated above-average academic abilities,” Dot continued as Malia typed.
“I wish I got letters like that,” Bree said softly.
“This email isn’t real,” Malia reminded her. “No one gets letters like this.”
“In order to gain entry into this very exclusive and prestigious program, we ask that you build a solar-powered rocket. The rocket can be to your own specifications, using any parts you wish. We only ask that the rocket is completely constructed by you and is capable of remaining in flight for a minimum of two hundred and forty seconds.”
“This sounds really complicated,” said Bree.
“She’ll totally do it,” said Malia. “I bet she’ll drop everything and spend all her time building this rocket to nowhere. And then you can win at life.”
“We look forward to receiving your submission and are even more excited about the prospect of welcoming you to our gifted and talented program this summer.”
“Who should we sign it from?” asked Malia.
“Mildred Kittersberg,” said Dot.
“Who’s that?” asked Bree.
Dot just shrugged. “Sounds uptight and sciencey.”
“Great!” said Malia, pressing Send.
The email was on its way out the door. Dot could only hope that Pigeon was right behind it.
* * *
Historically, Dot always sat with the honors kids at lunch, but ever since Pigeon came onto the scene, everything had changed. The other kids hung on her every braggy word (“Why yes, I do have Sheryl Sandberg’s direct contact in my cell phone! My dad knows her personally!”), and it was too much for Dot to stomach. So for the time being, she’d taken to sitting with Malia and Bree and Shoko and Mo at their less pretentious lunch table.
“Do you know if Pigeon got the email yet?” Malia asked through a mouthful of peanut butter.
“I mean, I’m sure she got the email. We sent it yesterday, so she got it yesterday. That is how emails work,” said Dot.
“But do we know if she’s, like,
building her impossible rocket?” Bree asked.
“We can only hope,” said Dot.
“Or we can follow up,” said Malia.
“How?” asked Bree.
“We cannot ask her,” Dot said. Malia had that look on her face like she always got when she was scheming, and it was making Dot nervous.
Malia grabbed Dot’s phone. Before Dot could object, Malia started yelling.
“Oh my God!” Malia exclaimed at a volume more appropriate for a stadium than a lunchroom. “Dot, YOU GOT AN EMAIL FROM THE MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY?” Malia was not a good actor. She sounded like she was reading lines from a very bad play.
“Shh, you’re being embarrassing.” Dot covered her face with her hands. It was bad enough she was sitting at a different lunch table, but now she was also becoming a spectacle.
“WOW!” Bree joined in the charade.
“WOW, THAT SOUNDS SO PRESTIGIOUS,” Malia continued.
Pigeon looked up.
“It’s working,” Malia singsong-whispered.
“You’re ruining my life,” Dot groaned, her hands still covering her face.
But sure enough, Pigeon was coming to investigate.
“What’s all this about an email?” she asked.
“Oh, Dot here just got a very impressive-sounding email from MIT,” said Malia.
“I got that, too,” Pigeon said, waving a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t real.”
“What are you talking about?” said Dot, feeling suddenly invested in the scheme.
“It’s from some bogus account. Haven’t you ever heard of phishing?” Pigeon laughed.
“Like the band?” said Bree.
“You guys are so funny,” said Pigeon. “Did you think that email was real? It was from some weird dot com. Any correspondence from the real MIT would have come from a dot edu.”
“Obviously,” said Dot, trying to save herself. “I didn’t get a good look at the email address because Malia grabbed my phone.”
Malia shot her a look.
“It’s too bad the email was fake, though,” said Pigeon wistfully. “It said applicants were being asked to build a solar-powered rocket, and I’m actually taking Aloysius to the Museum of Science this weekend to look at an exhibit about that exact thing!”
Dot fought the urge to launch her chicken finger, rocket-style, right at Pigeon’s face.
“Oh well, see you later,” said Pigeon, turning so swiftly that the chicken finger would never have had a chance.
With that, Pigeon sauntered off.
Chapter Thirty
Malia
Gym class. More torture than class. At least, as far as Malia was concerned.
Today, Coach K had decided all of the seventh-graders should practice the long jump. He set up shop in the huge sand pit running along one side of the track. The students were expected to get a running start and then take a flying leap over the sandpit. This was a horrible idea for many reasons.
Why was this a necessary skill in life? Malia wondered. Unless one encountered a very large puddle and also couldn’t walk around it, when would a person ever need to do the long jump?
That’s why Bree, Dot, and Malia were safely situated on the opposite side of the field, as far away as they could possibly be from the sand pit. They were sitting in the bleachers—okay, technically, they were sitting under the bleachers, which could also be characterized as hiding.
“This whole thing is a liability,” said Dot, staring down the field, where Francine Fitzmeyer had just taken a flying flop into the sandpit, where she landed right on her face. “Look at poor Francine. She’s going to feel bad about this for at least a week.”
“You just hate everything to do with this school since the science fair happened,” said Malia.
“Next up, Pigeon de Palma!” yelled Coach K.
The timing was uncanny.
Pigeon sped down the track and leaped into the air, like some sort of gazelle. Naturally, she cleared the entire sandpit, landing gracefully on the far end of it.
“UGH! Look at her,” said Dot, not even trying to hide her contempt.
“How do you really feel?” asked Malia.
“It’s just, like, why is she trying to be good at everything? Who does she think she is?” Dot said.
“You,” Malia responded. “I think she thinks she’s you. She thinks she can be super smart and good at every subject but especially science and sit with the honors kids at lunch. She thinks she can win prizes and also babysit in her free time. She hasn’t yet realized that there already was a you and she’s stepping on your toes.”
“But even I don’t care about being good at gym,” Dot spat. “She’s outdoing me! Why can’t she just be good at gym? Why does she have to step all over my turf?”
“At least she isn’t practically living at your house and taking over your family,” said Bree. “Brody stole my brother! Brody stole my parents!”
There was a long silence as the girls stared wistfully out at the field.
“We should never have hired them,” Malia conceded. “I miss the old days, when the club was our main focus. I can’t tell if the new sitters have been too good at taking our places, or if we let them win too easily.”
“It all seemed like a good idea at first,” Dot said, “But as it turns out, this might have been the worst one yet.”
Malia watched as Sage, wearing the exact same gym outfit as her (cropped leggings, tank top) in a slightly darker shade of blue, made her running start. But just as she approached the sand pit, her nerves seemed to get the better of her. She stopped short, just as it was time to jump.
“Sorry!” she said, shrugging helplessly. But instead of thinking she was a failure, everyone seemed to think it was funny.
“That’s totally something I would do,” said Malia. “In fact, I’ve done it before. But when I do it, no one laughs. When Sage does it, everyone thinks it’s cute.”
“Let’s face it,” Dot said. “We basically hired doppelgangers of ourselves.”
“Dopplerwhats?” asked Bree.
“Doppelgangers,” Dot repeated. “It’s like, a double, or a long-lost twin. Consciously or unconsciously, we picked three people who are weirdly similar to us.”
Bree digested this information for a moment.
“Wait—does that mean my twin is Brody?” Bree seemed offended. “I do NOT look like Brody.”
“You definitely don’t,” Malia agreed. “But you’re, like, spirit doppelgangers.”
“You guys do have similar mannerisms sometimes,” Dot argued.
“And you’re both so sweet,” Malia said. “And he does have a way with animals . . .” She trailed off before Bree could become annoyed. Although, come to think of it, Bree didn’t really get annoyed. And neither did Brody.
“And Sage is your spirit doppelganger because she loves Connor!” Bree said.
“She loves ALL boys,” Malia clarified. Still, the thought made her grimace.
“So how do we get rid of them?” Bree asked. “We’ve already tried, and they won’t go away!”
“We must take our lives back,” Malia said. She felt so impassioned that she stood up, although she could only stand eighty percent of the way so she wouldn’t hit her head on the bleachers. “Dot’s point is a good one. We hired doppelgangers. Which is a little weird, honestly, and kind of concerning. But! No matter. We must use this to our advantage.”
“How do we do that?” Bree wondered.
“Well, since we’re basically dealing with versions of ourselves, it’s almost like we have insider knowledge. We must do some deep self-examination. What are our greatest weaknesses? What are our biggest fears? What are the things that we fear could destroy us?”
“Cats?” Bree ventured.
“Deeper than that,” Malia said.
“Clowns?” Bree tried again.
“More internal,” Malia said. “We have to face the things that shake us to the core. We need to gain mastery over who w
e really are. Only then can we summon the strength to take back what’s ours.”
“How do we do that?” asked Bree.
A very valid question. Malia wasn’t completely sure how they would accomplish this. They couldn’t fire the doppelgangers. And thus far, their efforts to force them to quit had failed. But maybe they could beat them at their own game.
“Maybe it’s not just about exploiting what we’re afraid of,” Dot said. “Maybe the key to winning against the doppelgangers isn’t to hinge on what they don’t like, but also to focus on what they love.”
Malia nodded. She wasn’t yet sure how their plan would come together, but she knew that it would. Sage loved boys more than babysitting. Brody loved animals and people. Pigeon loved glory and recognition. Maybe these were the keys to take down the doppelgangers and take back their jobs, once and for all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dot
Dot was sad. There was no other way around it. She had such high hopes, and thanks to Pigeon, they had all been dashed.
After Malia’s speech in gym class, Dot had hung around after school. She felt too listless to move quickly, too depressed to seek out another activity. She had nowhere to go. Instead, she waited until everyone else had cleared out of the building, and then she walked slowly down the halls.
She stopped when she got to the gymnasium, where the science fair projects were still set up on display. She knew she shouldn’t go inside, but she couldn’t help herself. It was like visiting the scene of a crime. She couldn’t stop herself from looking away.
The hive was still on its table, the bees buzzing away despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that her losing device had been turned off. Dot continued to make a lap around the gym, running her hand wistfully along the edge of each table. It just wasn’t fair. So many of these experiments were phoned in. They weren’t even trying to be innovative. Shouldn’t she at least have gotten credit for trying? So what if the execution was a little flawed? Her idea was a good one, and with a little adjustment, maybe it really could save the world.
The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy Page 15
