Best Babysitters Ever. Caroline Cala

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of Sheila Brown’s party from the previous weekend. Even Dot, who said such a celebration was “bourgeoisie” and “contrived”, had seemed mildly enthusiastic while perched atop the elephant’s big grey body.

      “You guys!” Malia exclaimed, pulling the book from her bag. “I have. The answer. To all. Our problems.”

      No one looked up.

      “GUYS! Connor Kelly just said he loved me on social media!” That got their attention. “Just kidding! But I have something to show you.” Malia held the ratty paperback aloft, like it was Simba from The Lion King. A duo of confused expressions stared back at her.

      “I think Ariana used to have that book!” said Bree. “Although it probably got sacrificed in my mom’s insane cleaning spree. A couple of months ago, she kept running around the house muttering ‘Marie Kondo!’ and putting everyone’s stuff into bin bags.”

      “Wait, what? Who’s Marie Kondo?” Malia asked.

      “Some crazy lady who wrote a book about how tidying is magic,” Bree explained. “Anyway, we gave away, like, every single thing in the house.”

      “You shouldn’t let your mom just give things away. Ariana’s really stylish,” said Dot, pushing her giant tortoiseshell glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “You could have easily sold everything and kept the money.”

      “YOU GUYS. If you’d listen to me, I have another way to make money. Money we can use for our own incredible party.” Finally, the group fell silent. “Okay, so I found this book, about four girls who form a babysitting club. They’re all a little different – there’s a tomboy and a Goody Two-shoes who wears loafers and a cool girl from New York City –”

      “Ooh, can I be like that one?” asked Bree, rocking back and forth in her seat. The rickety gazebo floorboards groaned a little under the force of her enthusiasm.

      “– and one whose parents won’t let her wear dangly earrings and eat junk food, but she does that stuff anyway.”

      “Oh, I love earrings! Maybe I’m more like her,” Bree said, tucking her shiny black hair behind her ear.

      “You can be whoever you want!” Malia said, exasperated. “The point is, do you know how the four girls buy the clothes and the candy and the makeup they wear on actual dates?”

      “They make cash money. By babysitting,” Dot chimed in. “P.S. I already read all those books like three years ago. A lot of people have.”

      “That’s fine. This isn’t about reading the book – I’m not saying we form a book club. I’m saying we form a babysitters club. We can advertise at school and tell everyone we’re open for business. Parents call us when they need a sitter, and we make easy money. I can get a new phone, Dot, you can buy all the deodorant and processed food you want, and, Bree, you can . . .” Malia trailed off. Bree’s family was loaded, so her situation wasn’t quite as dire. But then again, who didn’t want their own money? “Most importantly, though, we can raise funds for an amazing party on our own.”

      “But we don’t even like kids?” said Bree, though it sounded like more of a question.

      “We technically are kids. Plus, this sounds like kind of a huge time commitment,” said Dot, twirling a piece of golden hair around a metallic-black-painted fingertip. “Also, no one has actual clubs anymore. Social media has made them obsolete.”

      Malia rolled her eyes. This was harder than she thought.

      “All of that may be true. But none of it matters. Think of it like this: we get to hang out, eat other people’s snacks, and watch other people’s Netflix. We can try on the parents’ shoes and use their expensive makeup and hair products when they aren’t home. We don’t even have to clean up after ourselves! And at the end of it, we get paid. All we have to do is make sure nobody, like, dies.”

      Slowly, her friends started nodding their heads.

      “Plus, just think about it. How nice will it feel to pool some of our earnings and put it towards our joint birthday party?”

      Bree’s parents usually sprang for some decorations and a cake in the shape of whatever was popular that year, but nothing had ever come close to creating the kind of excitement spawned by a rapper or a circus animal.

      “To have any chance of competing, we need to do something major,” Malia concluded. “This is the way.”

      “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a no-brainer,” said Bree. “I spend most of my time watching kids at home for free. I might as well get paid to do it for other people! Plus, um, I’ve kind of always wanted to be in a club.”

      Malia and Bree both stared at Dot, who was pretending to be transfixed by an ant making its way across the floor of the gazebo. Finally, she held up both hands in a sign of surrender. “Fine. I’m in. But I don’t change nappies.”

      “Aw, you guys! This is so fun. How do we do this?” asked Bree, flapping her hands like an excited penguin.

      “We should tell our school to post something on their Facebook page so parents know we’re in business,” Malia said. “If we hate it, we can always stop.”

      “Sounds fair enough,” agreed Dot, crossing her freckly arms. If Malia had Dot’s approval, clearly the idea was a winner.

      “Also, we should each have a specific job. Like, the Baby-Sitters Club had a president, a secretary, and a treasurer.” Malia was proud of herself for being so organized.

      “That’s . . . quaint,” said Dot. “But I believe in thinking big. We should have a CEO. And a chief operating officer. And a director of marketing.”

      Malia nodded and tried her best to look convinced. She didn’t want to admit that she had absolutely no idea what any of those jobs meant. Luckily, Dot kept rambling.

      “Malia, you can be the CEO, which is basically like the president.”

      “Alia,” she corrected her. “Remember? It’s Alia now.”

      Dot rolled her eyes, making absolutely no move to correct herself. “I’m probably the most creative, so I’m happy to head up marketing. I’ll come up with our mission statement and build our website. Bree, that means you’re in charge of operations. Does that sound okay?”

      “What does operations mean?” asked Bree. “We don’t, like, do surgery. Do we?”

      “I sincerely hope you’re kidding,” said Dot. Bree didn’t let on one way or another. “In our case, operations means you’re the one in charge of finding us actual jobs. Like, maybe you can hit up the parents of your little siblings’ friends, by getting the contacts off their class email lists.”

      Malia had to hand it to Dot – she was pretty good at figuring this stuff out.

      “Ewwwww!” shrieked Bree, pointing at something in the distance.

      Malia turned around expecting to find a tarantula the size of a 4x4. Instead she saw three kindergarten boys – Chase, Clark, and Smith – playing by a nearby bush. Malia’s parents loved to point out how they all had first names that sounded like last names. Because СКАЧАТЬ