Best Babysitters Ever. Caroline Cala

just like that, they were in business.

      It started out nicely enough. The Woo girls – Ruby, age five, and Jemima, age three – weren’t particularly gross or annoying. The little one, with a ponytail on top of her head that resembled a waterspout, was even sort of cute.

      “So, what do you guys want to do?” Dot asked, in a pitch that was slightly higher and more animated than her usual dry monotone. It was then Malia realized that aside from Bree’s siblings, she’d never seen Dot attempt to interact with a small child before.

      “I want to play chefs!” announced Ruby.

      “What does that entail?” Malia asked. Her mind immediately jumped to a kitchen engulfed in flames.

      “Mom lets us play it all the time. We put a bunch of stuff in a bowl and then I mix it all up,” explained Ruby.

      “And then YOU eat it!” added Jemima, clapping her little imp hands.

      Dot, Bree, and Malia looked at one another and shared a collective shrug.

      “Uh, sure, that sounds great!” Malia said.

      “YAYYYYYYYYYY!” yelled Jemima, running towards the kitchen, her ponytail bobbing all the way.

      “You guys play chefs. I’m going to take a tour of the rest of the house,” said Dot in her regular voice, before she disappeared from sight.

      Bree and Malia trailed the girls into the kitchen. Everything in the Woo house was white – white ceramic floor tiles, white carpet in the living room, white furniture as far as the eye could see. The kitchen was no exception. How did they keep it so clean with two little kids running around?

      “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!” said Ruby, jumping up and down while pulling various items out of the fridge. “Why did the chicken cross the road?” She barely paused before concluding, “Because you didn’t cook it!” Both girls dissolved into a fit of giggles.

      “Can I play chefs, too?” asked Bree.

      “No!” yelled Ruby. “Get out of my kitchen! I’m Gordon Ramsay and your food SUCKS!”

      Bree turned to Malia, stricken. That child is evil! she mouthed.

      The girls continued unloading every imaginable item from the fridge – ketchup, mustard, pickles, sauerkraut, sriracha, maraschino cherries – and lining them up on the counter. Malia surveyed the wide range of smells and colours they had amassed in mere minutes, and imagined them splattered all over the kitchen. “Chefs” suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.

      “Hey, guys! How about if we play something else?” Malia ventured.

      “NO!” yelled Ruby.

      “NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!” parroted Jemima.

      “How about hide-and-seek?” asked Bree.

      The girls stopped grabbing foodstuffs and exchanged mischievous grins.

      “We LOVE hiding!” Ruby said, prompting Jemima to giggle.

      “Great! We’re going to close our eyes and count to thirty,” said Bree. “Ready?”

      The girls nodded.

      “One, two, three, four . . .”

      They heard the sound of small feet scampering away. As the footsteps faded off into silence, Bree stopped counting. Malia opened her eyes and gave Bree a defeated shrug before opening the fridge and placing all the condiments back inside.

      “I can’t believe we’re already, like, babysitting,” Bree said.

      “I know!” Malia laughed. “I thought we would at least have time to research or something.”

      “How long should we wait before trying to find them?” Bree asked.

      “I dunno. Little kids are super bad at hiding,” Malia said. “They’ll, like, stand in the corner, in plain sight. We might as well wait a few minutes so we can enjoy some peace.”

      They took this as an opportunity to snoop around the Woos’ home. The television was very large. The living room couch was delightfully squishy. The wall leading up the staircase was packed tight with family photos: trips to Disneyland and Hollywood, hiking and beach weekends, dance recitals, baby photos, and costumes of Halloweens past. Bree and Malia took their time looking as they slowly made their way up the staircase.

      Dot appeared at the top of the stairs. “Where are the kids?” she asked.

      “We’re playing hide-and-seek!” said Bree.

      “Did you hear them come up here?” Malia asked.

      Dot shook her head.

      “Squirts?” Malia ventured. “Come out, come out wherever you are!”

      The three of them slowly made their way through the house, searching everywhere. The girls weren’t in their shared bedroom, or their parents’ room, or any of the bathrooms. They searched beneath the tables, under beds and couches, inside the closets, even in the oven (Bree’s idea). Ruby and Jemima were nowhere to be found.

      “Ruby? Jemima?” called Bree.

      No answer.

      “Guys! No more hiding!” Malia yelled.

      “If you come out now, you automatically win!” Dot added.

      Nothing. Not even a sound.

      “I . . . I don’t know what happened,” said Bree helplessly. “What if they’re really gone?” She looked like she might cry.

      “They have to be here somewhere,” Dot said, visibly trying to remain calm. “Their legs are less than a foot long. How far could they possibly go?”

      “We’re willing to declare this a victory!” Malia shouted. “Come out whenever you want!”

      Still nothing.

      “Should we look in the garage?” Malia suggested. At that point, it was the only place they hadn’t searched.

      Slowly, they cracked open the hallway door that led to the garage. It was dusty and crowded, with stuff piled floor to ceiling – gardening tools, a lawn mower, the girls’ tiny bicycles, boxes of holiday decorations, old bowling trophies, and lord knows what else.

      “I don’t think we should go out there,” Bree said nervously.

      “We have to at least look,” Malia argued. “They have to be somewhere.”

      Malia bravely – or maybe it was more like dumbly – ventured down the stairs. She had only taken a few steps forwards, when, in typical fashion, she tripped on a rake. In her defence, the garage was dimly lit and the tool seriously came out of nowhere. Malia staggered forward, catching her balance before she could fall down. The rake flew a few feet forward, clattering to the ground with a tremendous sound.

      Still, there was no sign of the Woo kids anywhere.

      After taking one more lap through the house, they headed back to the kitchen, defeated.

      “Do you think they actually left?” Bree asked, nervously picking the polish off a fingernail.

      “That’s against the rules. You can’t hide-and-seek outside a property’s zoning regulations. It’s not called hide-and-trespass,” said Dot, slamming her hands down on the counter.

      “What if they ran away from home? What if we go to jail for losing them?” Bree whined.

      Dot plunged her head into her hands. “That’s the worst story ever. Once upon a time, three girls got hired