The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy

by Caroline Cala

  Still, they didn’t give out Nobel Prizes for trying. Dot hadn’t saved the world. She hadn’t even saved a bunch of bees. She had just made them cold.

  Dot knew it wasn’t a crime that she had miscalculated the voltage of the hive coolant device and made it work a little too well. Good scientists—heck, good people—made mistakes all the time. Making mistakes was part of being a person. It wasn’t simply losing the science fair that bothered her; it was losing to Pigeon.

  Now Pigeon’s name would adorn the plaque in the science lab where the winner’s names had been recorded for as long as the school had been standing. She would get to compete at the regional science fair. She might even take Dot’s place as Mr. Frang’s favorite student.

  Dot pulled the pyrite stone her mom had given her out of her pocket.

  “Some good you did,” she said.

  Dot wasn’t used to being shown up, especially when it came to academic endeavors. Sure, in some sweeping, philosophical way, she understood that the world was a very big place and there were people out there who were more talented, more driven, simply better than her. But until now, she had never encountered it before.

  She didn’t just feel like she was losing the science fair. She felt like she was losing her place at Playa del Mar. Her identity was all wrapped up in what made her different.

  She ran her thumb over the pyrite stone.

  The science fair may have been lost, but she wasn’t prepared to give up everything else. Maybe, Dot thought, she should take back all the Aloysius jobs. She didn’t need to work on the science fair anymore, so she could easily make the time. Plus, if Pigeon was left babysitting other kids, she would realize how much harder it was, and maybe it would drive her to quit. Other kids were rambunctious and loud and gross and incapable of independent scientific research. Babysitting Aloysius, on the other hand, was like having a real peer, even a confidant.

  And that’s when she made the connection. How hadn’t she realized it sooner? The solar panels that made Pigeon’s project so revolutionary—they were just like what Aloysius would call “sustainable solar technology.” This wasn’t an original idea at all. It was a great idea—a winning idea—but it also wasn’t Pigeon’s.

  Dot couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. But the important thing was, she saw it now.

  She took off running.

  * * *

  “Yes. Of course it’s my idea! Along with the technology behind it. All of it is completely mine!” Aloysius waved his hands around as he spoke. “I’ve been working on this for weeks, months, even.”

  Dot had known the idea belonged to Aloysius, and now he had confirmed it. She thought back on the conversation they’d had that day as they walked to the library, when he had said he’d been working on solar-powered everything.

  “I thought I was tutoring her!” Aloysius put his hand over his mouth in shock.

  “Wait, you thought you were WHAT?” Dot couldn’t believe her ears.

  “She told me she needed a science tutor. She did a very good job seeming like she wasn’t very academically gifted. I mostly felt bad for her. I had no idea she was stealing from me! Not to mention compromising your place in the fair in the process.” He shook his five-year-old head in dismay. “This is terrible! I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry we ever hired her, I’m sorry I let her watch you, I’m sorry you got caught up in this whole mess.” Dot couldn’t believe she had trusted her favorite babysitting charge with a cheating liar.

  “I don’t mean to make an already terrible situation more complicated, but I don’t really like Pigeon,” Aloysius said. “I mean, she’s okay enough. Or she seemed okay enough, before I knew about all this. But she isn’t you.”

  Dot was touched. “I’ve missed spending time together,” she said.

  “Me too!” Aloysius agreed. “So what are you going to do now?”

  Dot smiled. “I think it’s time for a comeback.”

  * * *

  “Pigeon, may I see you for a moment?” Mr. Frang said.

  Science class had just ended, and the rest of the students were gathering up their bags and funneling out into the hallway. Dot moved very slowly, hoping to get a glimpse of the action.

  Pigeon made her way to the front of the classroom, tossing her long, wavy hair over her shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Frang?” she said, cheerful as could be. Clearly, she had no idea what was about to go down.

  Dot couldn’t breathe.

  At this point, pretty much all of the other students had left the classroom, so Dot had no choice but to file out behind them. She loitered near the outside of the science room door, pretending to be transfixed by a poster advertising an upcoming pep rally.

  Dot held her breath as she watched them talk. She could feel her heart beating in her ears. She wasn’t sure why she felt this way, since she wasn’t the one getting in trouble. Sure, she had put the wheels in motion. She had gotten to school early enough to put the note on Mr. Frang’s desk. It spelled out everything: where Pigeon had gotten her information and how she had framed it as her own. It included a copy of a report Aloysius had compiled for his mini MENSA camp, using the exact same technology Pigeon had tried to pass off as hers.

  Dot should have felt happy, and on some level she guessed she did, but it was a conflicted kind of happiness. She didn’t like getting people in trouble, but Pigeon had stolen from Aloysius, and that upset Dot even more than losing had. It wasn’t right.

  Mr. Frang was speaking too softly to make out what was going on, but she could tell that it wasn’t going well for Pigeon. Her shoulders slumped a little bit more with each passing second. Finally, Pigeon turned and huffed out of the room, holding back tears.

  Dot pretended to be involved in something on her phone, but Pigeon could still tell she’d been trying to eavesdrop.

  “I know this is all because of you,” she hissed, squinting at Dot as she passed. “I don’t want anything to do with you, or your club, or this entire school. I hope you’re happy.”

  As she watched Pigeon stalk off down the hallway, Dot finally exhaled a sigh of relief. She wasn’t happy, exactly, at how it had all turned out, but she did feel redeemed. Sometimes, that was the most you could ask for.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bree

  Bree had practiced her speech in front of the mirror approximately seventy-three times. (First, she had tried to practice it by pretending Veronica was Brody, but that hadn’t gone so well. She kept getting interrupted by violent outbursts and eventually had been forced to clean up the remains of the plastic display case that once housed her glitter nail polish.) She had thought and thought and thought and thought about the best way to make Brody quit. But finally, she realized, if someone was doing something that made her upset, she would want them to talk to her about it.

  Bree had tried this approach with Veronica, and given the part where he didn’t speak English and she didn’t speak Cat, it had gone kind of meh so far. But when it came to Brody, Bree was hopeful they could have a heart-to-heart. She wasn’t a fan of awkward conversations, but she understood that sometimes they were necessary. By now, she supposed she felt as ready as she would ever be.

  It was simple, really. She just had to say: “Hey, Brody, you’re obviously cool and all, but can you not steal my family? Thanks.” But, like, maybe a little bit nicer than that. She hoped her anger wouldn’t get the better of her. Most of all, she hoped that he would understand.

  Brody lived in Playa del Norte, which was a ten-minute walk to the next town over. The quickest route was mostly along the boardwalk, the houses growing bigger and nicer with every passing block. Bree used this time to rehearse her speech yet again.

  “They’re my family!” she exclaimed at one point, slightly louder than she meant to.

  An old man sat on a nearby bench, feeding the seagulls. He gave her a funny look. Bree just scurried away.

  Bree hoped she would feel ready by the time she arrived at Brody’s
door. But here she was, at 78 Laurel Lane, and she still felt completely anxious. Her nerves weren’t helped by the fact that Brody apparently lived in a castle. How was no one aware of this? Bree had thought her house was big, but it was nothing compared to this. Brody’s front yard was so big it had actual gates in front of it, big enough for cars to drive through.

  Smitherington, read a plaque on the gate. With a gasp, Bree realized she had never even known this was Brody’s last name. He was basically part of her family now, yet she barely knew anything about him.

  Bree walked through the gates, feeling sort of silly that she was just a person, not a car. She continued up the gravel driveway, her feet crunching with every step. The walk up the lawn felt almost as long as the walk to Playa del Norte. Finally, she reached the front door.

  Bree rang the bell. It sounded loud and a little bit scary, like church bells. She waited.

  She couldn’t help but think of the first time she met Brody, when he wandered confusedly into their interviews and asked if they were selling Girl Scout cookies. Bree wished she were standing on this step to sell Girl Scout cookies. That would be a much easier conversation.

  The door opened, and a very thin, very blond woman peered down at her.

  “Good afternoon. Um, is Brody home?”

  The woman looked at Bree as though she were speaking Swahili.

  “I’m sorry, dear. Are you sure you have the right house?”

  “Oh. Does Brody not live here?” Bree pulled out her phone so she could check the address.

  “Bro-deeee?” The woman thought for a moment. “Are you referring to Brodford?”

  “Who?”

  “Brodford! Brodford Smitherington the Fourth? My elder son.”

  Before Bree could respond, Brody’s familiar face appeared in the vestibule. But nothing else about him looked familiar. He was dressed in khaki slacks, a navy-blue sport jacket, a white button-down shirt, and a blue bow tie. He looked like he had just escaped from the nearest country club. He did not—in any way—resemble Brody.

  “Whoa,” said Bree.

  “I’ve got this, Mom,” said Brody.

  His mom seemed skeptical about leaving her son alone with a strange, glittery girl, but after a long pause she reluctantly stepped away.

  “What are you wearing?” Bree asked. “And what is your name?”

  “Bree! Why are you here?” Even Brody’s voice sounded different than usual. He spoke at a quick clip, any trace of his surfer vibe completely missing.

  “I wanted to talk to you about . . . some stuff.” Bree was already losing her nerve. “But now I discovered you have a secret life.”

  Brody glanced around nervously, making sure the coast was clear before he continued speaking.

  “I can explain. Honestly, my life is . . . not very fun. You know I go to Fratford Academy, which is really intense.” Bree nodded. “My entire life is, like, doing homework and having my parents get mad at me if I get anything less than an A. That’s why I wanted to babysit. It was the most random thing, but it was a break from being me. It’s so different than what I normally do. I got to be the one in charge! Plus, I could wear whatever I want and just act like a regular kid.”

  “Yeah, that must have been like a vacation for you,” said Bree. She couldn’t imagine what Brody’s regular life was like. But she did love vacations.

  “That’s why I liked hanging out at your house,” Brody said. “Your family is so big and loud and nice. Your parents don’t care how anyone is dressed or if you know which fork is for salad.”

  Bree had no idea there was a fork especially for salad. Wasn’t there just one type of fork?

  “Oh,” was all Bree could manage. Looking at this Brodford person, with his bow tie and his frighteningly high expectations, Bree felt bad for Brody. She had come here to tell him to back off her family, but now she wanted to invite him to move in. “I’m sorry,” Bree said. “I didn’t know any of that.”

  “Anyway, my mom got super mad at me the other day, because I got an A-minus in algebra. I guess all the time I’ve been spending babysitting took my focus away from my schoolwork, and my grades slipped. She’s watching me like a hawk, so I don’t think I’ll be able to help you guys out anymore.”

  “Oh,” Bree said again. This was technically good news. She was getting exactly what she wanted without having to ask for it. But Bree felt bad. It was the kind of bad she felt back in fourth grade when everyone thought the class rabbit had been kidnapped. Afraid for the safety of someone smaller and sadder and potentially in danger, but also not sure what else you could do to help. (As it turned out, the class rabbit was just hiding behind one of the bookshelves. But the feeling lived on.)

  “I’ll miss you guys,” said Brody or Brodford or whoever he was.

  “You’re welcome to hang out with us, both the club and my family, whenever you want,” Bree said.

  “Thanks,” said Brody. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too,” said Bree. She was surprised to realize she actually meant it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Malia

  “Something is very wrong here!” Ramona yelled from inside her office.

  These were the worst types of exclamations. Ramona loved to yell things like “Oops!” or “Uh-oh!” or “Oh no!” or, simply, “HELP!” All of these had the ability to send Malia into panic mode before she had any idea what she was being asked to fix.

  Today, the problem was with Ramona’s coffee.

  “There is too much coconut milk in this latte.” Ramona sighed. “I like the color to be closer to a groundhog. A deep, golden brown. The color of this latte is closer to a camel.”

  This woman was absolutely bananas.

  “Would you like me to make it again?” Malia asked.

  “Yes. Please. And keep in mind this time: groundhog.”

  Malia picked up the mug and headed toward the kitchen.

  She made another latte, using Ramona’s fancy Italian coffee machine. Reasoning it was better to be safe than sorry, she actually googled a picture of a groundhog to make sure the color was accurate. (Though, in her own defense, even the Internet was aware that groundhogs were not necessarily uniform in color.)

  When Malia returned just moments later, latte in hand, she found Ramona slumped over with her head resting on the desk. At first, Malia thought she might have died, but then Ramona let out a wail.

  “Oh my. I’m sorry,” she said, smoothing her hands over her helmet of perfectly groomed hair. “That wasn’t very professional of me.”

  Like you’ve ever been concerned with acting professional, Malia thought.

  “It’s just that since my daughter moved to Playa del Norte, she’s been expecting so much of me. Like she thinks I’m some regular retiree who has time to show her around town and point out the organic grocery stores and shop with her at Bed Bath and Beyond.” Ramona rolled her eyes. “Not to mention she somehow expects me to entertain Martin. Like he has any interest in tootling around town with his grandmother.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Malia. It was a rhetorical question. After all, Malia’s job was already to help, and Ramona had no trouble asking her to do anything under the sun, appropriate and otherwise. But Ramona’s face lit up at the suggestion.

  “You know, I think there is something!” she said.

  * * *

  After just one hour together, Malia felt like she knew all there was to know about Ramona’s grandson, Martin. The main thing was he was super, super hot. If one tried to measure his hotness, it would be a number so high it would take many hours to write it out. And if one tried to measure his intelligence, well, that number would not be so high.

  So far, Martin had mistaken a squirrel for a cat. He had called Malia “Monica” no less than three times. Next, he proceeded to talk about his favorite sneakers and his favorite ice cream flavor (mint chocolate chip) for the better part of an hour. Martin was sweet, but his endless chatter made Malia yearn for the
awkward silences normally supplied by other boys her age. She simply couldn’t take it anymore.

  Despite the original plan to give Martin the grand tour of Playa del Mar, Malia felt it was above and beyond her duties to suffer through any more time with him. So she decided the best thing to do was to find Martin his very own babysitter. One who would appreciate him.

  Malia had been racking her brain for how to get Sage to quit. What would make me quit? Malia had wondered. Maybe she could use the same logic on Sage. But the more she thought about it, the more Malia realized that nothing would make her quit. Sometimes she could get frustrated, yes, or sometimes she might change course, but quitting wasn’t in her DNA. She didn’t give up—not on babysitting, not on Connor, not on anything she cared about.

  And that’s when Malia realized: Sage wasn’t her doppelganger after all. Sage might like striped shirts and cute boys, but that’s all they had in common. Because Sage had a short attention span. Malia reasoned all she had to do was distract her with a cute enough carrot, and run away.

  Then, the universe had given her Martin.

  “Is this the mall?” asked Martin as they approached the Gregory house.

  Malia looked at him to see if he might be joking, but unfortunately he was completely serious. Malia sighed. He really was gorgeous from every single angle. (Every angle, that is, except inside his brain.)

  Malia rang the doorbell, and as she had hoped, Sage answered right away.

  At the sight of Martin, Sage’s face lit up. If she were a cartoon, her eyes would have bugged out of her head. Malia knew that look. It was the same look she had given Connor every day since the dawn of time. (Or third grade. Which was basically the same thing.)

  “Oh, hi, Sage,” Malia said, as if she had just randomly stumbled up the Gregory family’s front walkway. She hoped she sounded casual, as though she hadn’t planned on this all along. “What are you up to?”