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First published in USA 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company
First published in Great Britain 2019 by Egmont UK Limited,
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Published by arrangement with Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,
3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016
Text copyright © 2019 Alloy Entertainment, LLC
Cover illustration © 2019 Sarah Hoyle
First e-book edition 2019
ISBN 978 1 4052 8815 6
Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1821 9
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record of this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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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
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 got 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 neighbours. The house next door was small and blue, with a grey-shingled roof and some spindly evergreen trees dotting the back yard. To almost 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 could 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 clean-up. 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 Centre.”
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 backwards, 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 Centre,” 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.
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, ignored 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 MeowTown, the neighbourhood 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.
MeowTown 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 MeowTown were up for adoption, and the staff was knowledgeable about every cat’s story. Bree had been to MeowTown 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 grey. Bree stopped to say hello to each one.
“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” asked Dot. “I mean, did you do any research?”
“Research? On what?” Bree asked, perplexed. “They’re cats. I love them all.”
“But don’t they have, like, different temperaments or whatever?” Dot asked.
Was there any truth to this? Bree just shrugged. A cat was a cat. And a cat was wonderful.
Looking at face after feline face, Bree wondered how she would ever make a decision. How could she choose just one? It was like being asked to wear only purple or eat only gummy frogs for the rest of her life.
But then, she saw it.
All the way in the corner, a very creepy creature was huddled in the back of a hollow scratching tower. It didn’t have any fur, and its skin was pink and wrinkly. It had huge yellow eyes and enormous ears that stood tall on top of its head, like a vampire bat.
Was it even a cat?
All around her, the other cats were busy romping, playing and being petted by visitors. But the vampire cat-bat was all alone. At once, Bree’s heart broke. She knew how it felt to be ignored, when all around you everyone else was doing cute or impressive things and you seemed invisible. She often felt overlooked in her giant family, and it was a sad sort of feeling.
She and the cat locked eyes. Bree loved it immediately.
“Hi, little friend!” said Bree, by way of greeting.
She approached the scratching tower.
“Ew,” said Dot.
“I think there’s something wrong with that one,” said Malia.
“There is nothing wrong with her!” said Bree. She felt insulted on the maybe-cat’s behalf.
Dot crouched down so she was close enough to read the tag around the cat’s neck. “McDuffin. What kind of name is that?”
“It sounds like fast food,” said Malia.
“You know I love fast food, but that sounds like a mistake,” said Dot.
“I’m in love with her!” said Bree, clasping her hands together.
“You’re in love . . . with that?” asked Malia, wrinkling her face up like she smelled a fart. “Are you sure?”
“We’re not even sure what that is,” said Dot. “Is it a cat?”
“It is the most beautiful cat,” said Bree. The cat visibly brightened. Watching this cat, Bree suddenly understood how Malia felt about Connor Kelly. It was like seeing a unicorn in a forest, and then having all your friends insist it was just a regular horse. Why couldn’t they see the magic?
Bree’s mom, who had lingered silently a few feet away from the girls, finally spoke up. “Oh,” she said. “That’s, um, that’s interesting.”
Bree sighed. “Everything about her is perfect.”
“I beg to disagree,” said Dot. She began counting off the reasons on her fingers. “For one, it doesn’t have any fur. Two, do we need to be concerned that it’s standing like that? Like it wants to maybe kill us? Three, its expression is . . . highly concerning.”
“No! Her face is sweet,” argued Bree. “So sweet and wrinkly. She just needs lots of hugs.”
“And a sweater,” said Malia.
“Oh my goodness, yes! Or a hoodie!” Bree was already planning her extensive wardrobe, mentally putting aside some of her former dolls’ clothes that might be a good fit. Bree had dreamed about dressing up her cat, but this hairless cat would actually require it!
“Excuse me, um, Bartholomeow?” Bree called to the nearest volunteer. “Can you tell me more about this one?”
The volunteer shuffled over to the scratching tower. He looked to be a college student, and his name tag read BARTHOLOMEW. (Though Bree had clearly misread it as “Bartholo-meow,” which only added to her excitement.)
“This here is a sphynx cat,” he said, “a very special breed.”
“You can say that again,” said Dot, prompting a giggle from Malia.
“Sphynx cats are highly social cats that enjoy more attention than your typical housecat,” Bartholomew explained. “They tend to get along well with other animals, and they have LOTS of energy. They love to be held and snuggled, almost like dogs!”
Attention? Snuggling? Bree was sold.
“I’ll take her!” said Bree, with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for people on game shows or reality shows or home makeover shows or really any kind of show where people win stuff.
“Um, perhaps he can tell us some more facts about this specific cat before we sign on the dotted line,” Bree’s mom cut in.
“Yes, it’s best to be absolutely sure of your decision.” Bartholomew nodded sombrely. “We’re looking to find each of these animals forever homes, and we wouldn’t want to cause the cat any undue stress.”
“Where did this particular animal come from?” Bree’s mom asked.
“McDuffin was an owner surrender.” Bartholomew frowned. “McDuffin is quite young, you see, but the original owner had change-in-life circumstances and could no longer handle pet ownership.”
This prompted an “Aww” from Bree.
Bartholomew paused before adding, “And neither could either of the families who adopted him since.”
“I’m sorry, did you say this cat has been returned three times?” Dot asked.
Malia and Dot elbowed each other.
“Now, not exactly. I mean, technically yes, but not for any real reason!” Bartholomew added quickly. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong with McDuffin. McDuffin just has the worst luck.”