The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One: Malia

  Chapter Two: Bree

  Chapter Three: Dot

  Chapter Four: Malia

  Chapter Five: Bree

  Chapter Six: Malia

  Chapter Seven: Dot

  Chapter Eight: Malia

  Chapter Nine: Dot

  Chapter Ten: Bree

  Chapter Eleven: Malia

  Chapter Twelve: Bree

  Chapter Thirteen: Malia

  Chapter Fourteen: Dot

  Chapter Fifteen: Malia

  Chapter Sixteen: Bree

  Chapter Seventeen: Dot

  Chapter Eighteen: Malia

  Chapter Nineteen: Bree

  Chapter Twenty: Malia

  Chapter Twenty-One: Dot

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Malia

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Bree

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Dot

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Malia

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Dot

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bree

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Malia

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dot

  Chapter Thirty: Malia

  Chapter Thirty-One: Dot

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Bree

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Malia

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Bree

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Dot

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Malia

  Read More from The Best Babysitters Ever Series

  About the Author

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  Copyright © 2019 by Alloy Entertainment, LLC

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, NY 10016.

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  Cover illustration © 2019 by Bev Johnson

  Cover design by Opal Roengchai

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Cala, Caroline, author.

  Title: The good, the bad, and the bossy / Caroline Cala.

  Description: Boston ; New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt , [2019] | Series: Best babysitters ever ; 2 | Summary: When other commitments threaten the success of the Best Babysitters Ever, Malia is frustrated until she comes up with a plan to hire new babysitters and take a cut of their wages. | Identifiers: LCCN 2018051355 (print) | LCCN 2018055226 (ebook) | ISBN 9780358056041 (ebook) | ISBN 9781328850904 (hardback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Babysitters—Fiction. | Clubs—Fiction. | Moneymaking projects—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Humorous stories. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Business, Careers, Occupations. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Adolescence.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C27 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.C27 Goo 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018051355

  v2.0719

  Chapter One

  Malia

  Sometimes, if she tried really hard, Malia Twiggs could remember a time when she thought boogers were gross. It’s not that she currently liked boogers—she hadn’t gotten an entirely new personality or anything—but in the months since starting her own babysitting club, she had definitely learned to make peace with them. It was amazing, really, the limitless boundaries of personal growth.

  “Don’t worry about a thing!” Malia yelled, waving across the yard to her best friends and fellow babysitters, Bree Robinson and Dot Marino. “I’ve got this situation under control.”

  The situation at hand was a crying Jonah Gregory, their four-year-old babysitting charge who had just tripped while chasing a butterfly. The damage seemed to be two skinned knees and a lot of tears but, thankfully, nothing else.

  Bree offered a little salute and Dot nodded before they turned their attention back to the other three Gregory children.

  Malia calmly guided Jonah across the yard and into the house. As a now-experienced babysitter, she knew exactly how to clean and bandage his scraped knees, tell a goofy joke to put an end to the tears, and, yes, do away with his crying-induced snot.

  “BUT IT HUWTS!” yelled Jonah, who could not yet pronounce the r sound.

  “I know it hurts, but look how brave you are,” Malia said, expertly applying a Band-Aid emblazoned with smiling cartoon rabbits. “And now that you’re all patched up, I have a surprise for you.”

  Jonah continued to pout.

  “You get to have ice cream!”

  At the mention of a frozen treat, Jonah’s small, chubby face visibly brightened.

  Babysitting had taught Malia many things, including how easily little children could be bribed with snacks, how willing they were to believe whatever an older person told them, and, last but certainly not least, how nice it was to buy things with your own money. But on a deeper level, babysitting had shown her what it meant to transform. One day, you could be a regular seventh-grader with no crisis management skills whatsoever, and then, before you knew it, there you were: herding four children around a home, all while making grilled cheeses, breaking up a fight, and negotiating nap time like it was nothing. For Malia (who, before the club, had always struggled with school and sports and every activity known to man), being good at something felt really, really nice.

  Malia and Jonah made their way back to the yard.

  “What? How come you get ice cream?” yelled eight-year-old Fawn, the oldest Gregory child, upon seeing Jonah’s chocolate-dipped cone. She angrily crossed her arms.

  “YEAH!” echoed Plum and Piper, the six-year-old Gregory twins. “Not fair!”

  “Don’t worry, I brought enough for everyone,” said Malia, holding the box aloft.

  “Not so fast. Everyone has to sit down before they can have some,” said Bree with authority. As one of five siblings, Bree was an expert at dealing with little kids and generally navigating chaos. Immediately, everyone sat, and Dot distributed the cones.

  Malia also remembered a time—around the same point when boogers were enough to trigger a meltdown—when a gig like this would have driven her and her friends over the edge. But now they could watch four children and actually enjoy doing it.

  As the small ones devoured their ice cream, Malia craned her neck to peer over the chain-link fence, trying to catch a glimpse of the neighbors. The house next door was small and blue, with a gray-shingled roof and some spindly evergreen trees dotting the backyard. To most anyone, it looked like a regular old house. But to Malia, it was a place of endless wonder.

  It wasn’t the home itself that was magical, but the people who lived there, particularly one Connor Kelly (aka the only boy worth loving). That house was the place where he woke up each morning and played video games and ate waffles. Connor’s jeans—the very same jeans he casually stuck his hands in the pockets of—were somewhere inside, along with his backpack and his T-shirts and his bike and his toothbrush. The toothbrush that touched his beautiful smile. Malia shivered. It was almost too much to handle.

  “Any sightings?” asked Dot.

  “Not yet,” said Malia. But there was still hope.

  For years, Malia had watched Connor float through the halls of Playa del Mar’s public school system the same way her older sister watched the shoe sales at the local mall—with a laser focus. But now, thanks to the Gregory gig, the unthinkable had happened: Malia cou
ld observe him in his natural habitat. That is, if he ever came outside.

  “MOM!” yelled the Gregory twins, at the sound of a car in the driveway.

  Mrs. Gregory appeared at the gate, where a peaceful, controlled scene awaited her. This was the magic of babysitting. By this point, Jonah’s accident seemed like a distant memory. Any traces of sugar had been discarded. This was a skill they had learned over time—the ways of the artful cleanup. In the early days, the parents might return home to find their children spinning wildly, like sugar-addled tops. But today, all Mrs. Gregory saw were the smiling faces of her four beloved children and the three somewhat older children who had kept them alive and relatively happy for the last few hours.

  “I’ll definitely be calling you again soon,” said Mrs. Gregory as she counted out a stack of crisp bills. “My sister invited me to a luncheon next weekend, and we’ll need someone to watch the kids.”

  “Of course!” Malia said.

  “We’d love to,” Bree added, nodding so vigorously that her dangling iridescent gemstone earrings twinkled in the light.

  As the girls started down the driveway, Malia saw something from the corner of her eye. It was orange. It was moving. OH MY GOD IT WAS HIM.

  The orange blob was none other than Connor Kelly, sauntering down his front lawn. The only thing standing between them was the Gregorys’ chain-link fence (and about a stratosphere’s worth of middle school politics, but really, who was counting?). Malia couldn’t breathe. Her excitement level was like she’d seen a pop star and a movie star and a YouTube star and an actual star from the sky, all at the same time.

  “Hi!” Malia said, so softly she barely heard it herself. It reminded her of how sometimes, when she ordered at the school cafeteria, some boy would place his order at the exact same moment as she did, but speak way louder, and no one would hear her voice.

  “Hi?” Malia squeaked, a little louder.

  Connor didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hi!” Malia said, at a volume that was unfortunately loud. This time Connor looked up.

  “Oh, hey,” he said, brushing his floppy hair off his forehead.

  A bird chirped. Malia swore the sun began to shine a little brighter. Or was she just about to pass out? HOW WAS HE REAL?

  “Um, okay,” Malia said.

  “Okay what?” Connor said.

  “You know, just saying hi. Hi!”

  “Hi,” said Connor.

  In her frequent daydreams of this situation, Malia was bursting with topics to discuss with imaginary Connor. But now, faced with real Connor, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She glanced awkwardly down at her sneaker. Luckily, Connor interrupted the silence.

  “So, I just found out I’m going to a concert,” he said.

  “Right now?” Malia asked. Maybe she could go, too.

  “No, in three weeks,” he said. “Veronica’s coming to the Arts Center.”

  Malia gasped. Veronica (simply “Veronica,” no last name necessary) was the biggest superstar imaginable. In the past year, she and her blue hair had skyrocketed to fame unlike anything ever witnessed before. Even Bree had virtually abandoned her love for Taylor Swift when faced with the glory of Veronica.

  “Oh! Yeah, me too,” said Malia. The lie escaped before she could realize what was happening.

  Truth be told, Malia had never really caught Veronica fever. She thought Veronica was just okay, with her endless rotating wardrobe and her larger-than-life concerts. But Malia vowed then and there that no matter what it took, she would be at that show. It was the event of a lifetime—not because of Veronica, but because of Connor.

  “Yeah, Charlotte’s dad got a box for the concert, and everyone is going,” said Connor. “Aidan, Bobby, Violet, Mo . . .”

  “And me!” said Malia, with perhaps a bit too much force. “So I’ll definitely see you there.”

  “Yeah. Sounds great,” said Connor, sweeping his floppy hair away from his perfectly sun-kissed forehead.

  “I can’t wait! I mean, to see Veronica. I mean, of course.” Malia started walking backward, away from the fence. “Enjoy the rest of your day!” As she tried to scurry away before any more words could escape her mouth, she stumbled over a tiny shrub. She quickly popped back up and retreated in a manner that she hoped looked very calm but feared looked rather rushed and awkward. Malia returned to the sidewalk where her friends were waiting and hoped she wasn’t blushing too hard.

  They walked in silence for another block, until they were sure it was safe.

  “Oh my god,” Malia stage-whispered. She thought she might hyperventilate.

  “Are you okay?” Dot asked.

  “You guys. There is a Veronica concert in two weeks, and Connor is going,” Malia practically exploded.

  Bree stopped in her tracks. “VERONICA?”

  “Clearly, we have to go,” Malia concluded.

  “Veronica?” Bree repeated. “Is coming. Here?” She clutched her chest, like she had just been told something very profound.

  “Yes, she’s giving a huge concert at the Arts Center,” Dot said matter-of-factly. “It was announced weeks ago.”

  “THE Veronica. In Playa del Mar.” Bree was still trying to make sense of this.

  “I think she’s incredibly overhyped.” Dot sighed. “I mean, I appreciate how she tries to stand for female empowerment, but her songs are very formulaic.”

  “But you listen to her,” said Malia, shooting Dot a look. She knew for a fact that it was true.

  “I like to stay up-to-date on popular culture,” Dot argued. “I am not, technically, a fan.”

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE VERONICA IS COMING HERE!” Bree exclaimed.

  “Yes, and everyone will be there,” Malia added. “Including us.”

  “We have to go! How much are tickets? How do we buy them? Can we do this now?” Bree spoke, rapid-fire.

  “The concert will probably have a decent concession stand,” Dot conceded.

  “And it will give me so much to talk about with Connor,” Malia said wistfully. “Something to really connect over.”

  “How close do you think we can get? WHAT IF I COULD HUG HER OR EVEN JUST TOUCH HER HAND?” Bree continued to talk at a heightened volume.

  “That’s exactly how I feel about Connor,” Malia said.

  “Malia.” Bree stopped in her tracks, and grabbed Malia by the shoulders. “We are talking about VERONICA. Like, an actual angel that is coming to our town to grace us with her presence. This is so much bigger than Connor.”

  “I’ll never understand what you see in him,” said Dot. “He seems very . . . one-dimensional.”

  “He doesn’t even have any pets,” Bree added.

  Malia just sighed. Ordinarily, her friends were always on the same page, but when it came to matters of the heart, Malia was used to being on her own. Love was so far beyond reason. It was meant to be experienced, not understood.

  First, though, she would have to experience this concert. Malia didn’t care what it took. She would babysit every day—heck, she would babysit every hour—until that concert rolled around. She was going to be there, and it was going to be amazing.

  Chapter Two

  Bree

  Bree Robinson could barely remember a time when she had felt this happy, although she supposed she felt pretty happy a lot of the time. Still, the most wonderful thing was about to happen—something even more wonderful than Veronica coming to Playa del Mar. Bree had been granted permission to adopt her very own cat.

  Her mom had okayed it, on the condition that it couldn’t interfere with Bree’s ability to help out around the house. But how hard could a cat really be? You just had to feed it and love it and hug it and occasionally change its litter while holding your nose with one hand. A cat wasn’t like a child, which actually required attention and sometimes even bribery. After babysitting, Bree figured, having a cat should be a breeze.

  No longer would she have to feel insulted when Chocolate Pudding, the family cat, ignor
ed her displays of affection. Her own cat would never do such a thing. Her own cat would love her and snuggle with her and be her very best friend. Her own cat might even wear a hoodie. With sparkles! Bree couldn’t wait.

  All day long, she could barely concentrate on school. This was her biggest life dream come true. (Well, technically her biggest life dream was the one where she discovers Veronica is her long-lost sister, and Veronica lets Bree borrow all her shoes and clothes and joins forces to help open a cat ranch, where hundreds of cats could roam and play in total happiness, forever. But this slightly more realistic dream—adopting a cat of her very own—was pretty high up there.)

  But now the moment was finally here. Bree was on her way to meet her future cat.

  Bree, Malia, and Dot raced through the mall, with Bree leading the way, and Bree’s mom trailing somewhere behind them.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to get a cat right now?” Malia asked. “I’ve booked us for four new gigs this week alone to help raise money for the concert.”

  “It’s fine,” Bree said. “I can totally handle it. The cat will probably nap all the time, anyway.”

  Nothing was going to rain on her cat parade. Not even Veronica.

  They sped right by the other shops without so much as a glance until they reached the entrance to Meow Town, the neighborhood cat café.

  “YES!” Bree yelled, so loudly it might have been heard in outer space. She inhaled. It smelled like kitty litter and endless possibilities. She breathed in so deeply that some airborne fur went up her nose, and she sneezed. She was in heaven.

  Meow Town functioned just like an animal shelter. It took in homeless cats, provided vet care and shelter, and offered the added bonus of letting the public hang out with the cats until they found forever homes. All of the cats at Meow Town were up for adoption, and the staff was knowledgeable about every cat’s story. Bree had been to Meow Town too many times to count, but she had never before gone with the mission of actually adopting one.

  The girls scanned the café. There was an orange cat, a super-­fat gray cat, a skinny black cat, a white cat with fluffy fur, and a trio of striped kittens. There was a cat with tortoiseshell fur, and even a Russian blue cat, which was called blue but was actually kind of gray. Bree stopped to say hello to each one.