The Good, the Bad and the Bossy (Best Babysitters Ever). Caroline Cala
That is sick!” Bailey added, covering his nose and mouth with his hands.
They followed the smell out of the study, through the foyer and into the formal living room – the fanciest room in the house, where Bree and her siblings were usually not allowed to go. The scent grew stronger and stronger.
And then, she saw it.
Veronica – sparkly bonnet still on his head – was inside the grand piano. There he stood, perched on the strings of the enormous instrument, where he proceeded to puke directly into it.
“GAK! GAK! GAK!”
“Whoa,” said Bailey. “Mom is going to kill you.”
“VERONICAAAAA!” screamed Bree, sprinting to the piano and trying to grab the cat. But Veronica was too fast. He leaped out of the way and scurried out of the room, flying through the house until he was nowhere to be found.
Bree exited the living room in a stupor, following Veronica’s path of destruction. In the short amount of time she had been with Bailey, Veronica had attacked a dining-room chair and consumed all of the ingredients that were laid out for the family’s fish taco night. Now the thrown-up fish tacos were marinating inside the piano.
“How did he even get out of my room?” Bree wondered aloud.
“Meow!” Bree turned around, hoping to see Veronica. Instead, she saw Chocolate Pudding, the family’s furry orange cat. Chocolate Pudding used to annoy her, the way she was always licking her hind legs and minding her own business. Now Chocolate Pudding seemed so sane. Why, oh, why hadn’t Bree realized how good things were before?
Bree missed her old life from three days ago. She missed doing crafts and seeing her friends and eating snacks and listening to the soundtrack from Cats the Musical on endless repeat in the comfort of her own bedroom. That is, her old bedroom – before a disturbed cat had taken over and turned it from a sanctuary to a stress factory. Bree loved animals; she even loved this animal. But that didn’t change the fact that this whole cat adoption was the hardest thing she had ever done.
After doing her best to clean out the piano (which took more paper towels and more self-control than Bree had wielded before), she searched the house from top to bottom. Veronica was nowhere to be found. With a resigned sigh, she reasoned she might as well return to her other responsibility and go check on Bailey.
She entered Marc’s office to see the tower had grown impressively in size.
“That looks great!” she exclaimed. At least something was going right.
Unfortunately, as she took a closer look, Bree saw the tower had something very, very wrong with it. There were a bunch of handwritten notes and little typed words all over it. Damages . . . compensation . . . loss . . .
Bree gasped as she fully accepted the sinking realization: The topmost layer of the papier-mâché tower was constructed from Marc’s legal papers.
“Bailey! What kind of paper did you use for that?”
“I just took some of the pages from one of those big piles,” he said, motioning to one of Marc’s shelves.
“But that looks like one of Marc’s briefs! It has lawyer words all over it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going to paint over it,” Bailey said. “No one will see them.”
“That’s not the point. The point is what if he needed that? Marc is going to be super mad!”
“Oh. Do you think that paper was, like, important?” Bailey asked.
Bree covered her face with her hands.
“Can’t he just print a new one?”
“No, it had his notes all over it!”
“Oops?” said Bailey.
Bailey seemed remarkably unfazed by this exchange. Of course, Bree thought, because he could just go back to eating popcorn and being nine and not having to take responsibility for stuff. This was all Bree’s fault, because she was supposed to be watching him. This entire day was a disaster. Before Veronica, babysitting had been the one thing she had under control. Now she suddenly felt like she was failing at everything.
Never one to hide from her problems, Bree sat in the front hallway, waiting for her mom to get home. As soon as she got back, Bree would tell her what happened. Her mom was going to be super mad. But Bree also needed her to tell her what to do.
“Why, hello there, Mom!” Bree said the moment the key turned in the lock.
Emma and Olivia ran past her, flaunting the joyful freedom of being children.
“What’s wrong?” asked her mom, making a suspicious face.
“Who says that anything’s wrong?”
“You. You’re acting very odd right now. Why are you sitting on the floor like that? What happened?”
Bree started to cry. “Veronica-ate-the-tacos-and-puked-in-the-piano-and-Bailey-used-Marc’s-brief-to-make-the-Eiffel-Tower-and-I’m-sorry!”
“Bree.” Her mom looked tired. “Remember what we talked about. Bree, I know you love Veronica, but I need you to get this cat under control! Our agreement was that the cat couldn’t interfere with your ability to help out around the house. Your job is to watch Bailey at least three days a week, and you promised this wouldn’t interfere. This is exactly the kind of situation . . .”
Bree wailed with grief.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” her mom said. “I mean, it’s not okay, but no one is hurt and that’s what’s important.”
“I’m sorry,” Bree said. “Please don’t make me give up the cat.”
She thought of the terrible things he was probably doing to her bedroom at that very moment.
“All right, but consider this a warning,” her mom told her. “We need to get this under control, otherwise the cat can’t stay.”
Bree hoped that she and Veronica could come to an understanding. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but for now, she was willing to be hopeful.
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