Best Babysitters Ever. Caroline Cala

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СКАЧАТЬ as one by one, the five-year-olds plunged their fingers deep into their noses, like they were digging to reach a foreign land. When they unearthed a decent enough treasure, they added it to a small pile of bogeys at the top of the stick.

      Malia stood up and walked a little closer to them. If she was going to babysit, she reasoned, she should probably figure out how to deal with kids. As a younger sibling, it wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

      “What are you doing, squirts?” Malia asked. The Baby-Sitters’ Club founder, Kristy Thomas, called her little brother squirt, and it seemed like a nice vintage thing to say.

      Smith looked up at her. “We’re making a sacrifice to the squirrel gods,” he said, like this was a completely normal endeavour. Then he turned back to the crew and plunged his index finger into his left nostril.

      “YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND! YOU’RE A GIRL!” Clark added, with a very unnecessary amount of rage.

      Ugh. Children were weird AND gross. Yet here Malia was encouraging her friends to spend time with them. On purpose. She made a mental note to negotiate rates that were worth it.

      Then again, everyone was a little gross. That was part of being a person. As usual, it made Malia think of Connor Kelly, who was about as perfect of a human specimen as one could find. Even he had his moments. The other day at lunch, he was eating a burrito when he laughed so hard he snorted a black bean out of his nose. It shot all the way across the table and hit Aidan Morrison in the eye. It should have been gross, Malia thought, but it wasn’t. It was cute.

      Malia turned back to her friends, who were smiling and laughing. They’d already moved on from the bogey incident, and were casually stalking someone’s whereabouts on Instagram.

      Everything was going to be great.

      What could possibly go wrong?

      Dot wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this whole Baby-Sitters Club thing. Yes, she was drawn to the promise of a regular income. She wanted an amazing party just as much as her friends, and that was only the beginning. She’d already made a mental list of things she’d buy once they were in business, and it was not short. She could practically taste the limited-edition seasonal Oreos and smell the clouds of dry shampoo waiting in her future.

      But in the present, she felt anxious. No amount of money could change the fact that children were horrid. Starting a business was a lot of work. And despite the part where she had a pretty decent grasp of what makes people tick, she’d never actually held a marketing job before. Or any job, for that matter.

      “Our growing organization is stressing me out,” Dot announced as soon as Malia and Bree had settled in her bedroom for their first official club meeting. Malia sat backwards on Dot’s desk chair, while Bree sprawled out on her stomach across the bed. Dot nervously paced back and forth between them. “We have a lot of stuff to do if we’re going to get this business off the ground.”

      “Way to be a killjoy,” said Malia.

      “To get things rolling, I have a couple of ideas for the website,” Dot said. “I think it might be cool if we populate it with stills of babysitters from old movies, like from way back in the eighties and nineties, when it was cool for teenagers to babysit.”

      “Parents will probably love that, because they’re old,” added Malia.

      “Yes, I think it will totally resonate.” Dot nodded.

      Bree screwed up her face. “Huh?”

      “You know, resonate – when an idea stirs up feelings in somebody. Like, if Malia were to hear a pop song about unrequited love. That would resonate with her, because she loves Connor Kelly but he doesn’t care about her.”

      Malia shot her a death stare. “It’s Alia. Who Connor could have a secret crush on. And Alia would like to go back to talking about the website, please.”

      “Right, yes,” Dot continued. “So the site could also have an ‘about’ section, with a photo of us and a little bit of background about our unique skills.”

      “You guys, this sounds so nice!” said Bree. “I’m so excited!”

      “We also need to develop a system to track our progress,” Dot continued. “I think we’ll feel more motivated to hang out with nasty children if we can see at a glance how much money we’re actually earning. We can make an Excel spreadsheet –”

      “Or a poster!” said Malia, like this was art class.

      “Ooh, yes, a poster! With a picture of Taylor Swift on it!” Bree clapped her hands. “Or it can be a collage with, like, lots of pictures of Taylor Swift. I have a box in my room filled with photos of her that I cut out of magazines. There are probably four hundred in there, at least.”

      “Let’s keep our eyes on the prize,” Dot said. “Our goal is to throw the most amazing party this town has ever seen – not to mention other stuff, like success and freedom and red-velvet Oreos. We already know what Taylor Swift looks like.”

      “Yes, but what could be more inspirational?” Bree asked.

      “A party,” said Malia.

      “Oh, right,” said Bree.

      “Let’s not limit ourselves,” Dot said, pacing back and forth in front of her colour-coded bookshelf, her wall full of vintage concert posters, and her collection of old records. “My financial goals are varied and far-reaching. Clothes. Candy. Deodorant. Eventually, New York. The sky’s the limit.”

      “Speaking of far-reaching, I got access to the elementary school database,” said Bree. “It’s actually really easy, so we can send out our first email blast, if you want.”

      “Oh my god, it’s like our debut!” Malia nervously tapped her pen against the desk.

      Dot flinched. It could be an only child thing, or a byproduct of the nosy-mom-who-searches-through-her-stuff thing, but it bothered Dot whenever anyone was all up in her personal space the way her friends were right now. They inevitably touched things and moved them around and made scratches on surfaces where no scratches were before.

      “Um, Alia? The pen. Could you not?” Dot figured if she used her new made-up name, maybe Malia would be more receptive. It worked; Malia ceased her tapping.

      All things considered, though, the e-blast was a cinch to put together. The girls just filled out their names and contact information (Malia insisted on using her recently fixed phone so she could feel “presidential”) and a short description of the service they provided (“swift, responsible babysitting by a team of experienced professionals”). Then the server blasted it out to all the parents with kids in kindergarten to fourth grade.

      So what if they lied about the part where they had experience? After all, they’d been small children not long ago. Shouldn’t that count for something?

      “Woo-hoo!” said Bree, snapping Dot’s laptop shut.

      They high-fived one СКАЧАТЬ