For most of Dot’s life, her mother had been telling her to follow her “inner compass.” When Dot was seven, her mom went so far as to buy Dot an actual compass and string it onto a necklace, as a reminder to follow her internal one. The thing about a compass is, it doesn’t tell you if you’re headed the right way. It just points in the general direction you’re going, and wobbles around a lot, practically mocking your every move. But Dot guessed she appreciated the symbolism.
Anyway, the Best Babysitters Club—or whatever they were calling it this week—had become a prime example of what happens when one does not follow one’s internal compass. Dot had always been crystal clear about her lukewarm feelings toward small children, ongoing responsibility, and group projects (which left little room for individual creativity to flourish). Yet she agreed to this club because she shared her friends’ desire for an amazing party, and she liked the idea of hanging out with them for profit.
Still, Dot’s love for her friends couldn’t change the facts. They weren’t really earning any money. They were no closer to having the budget to throw a joint birthday. When the party never materialized, they would be embarrassed in front of the entire seventh grade. The Seaside Sitters were making life stressful. And their friendship would continue whether they babysat or not.
Yet here Dot was, knocking on the door of one Mabel McMimmers, a new client who Bree discovered in front of the Playa del Mar-ket. The door opened to reveal a tiny old lady. She wore a bright purple top and matching purple pants, with green paisleys frolicking all over them. She looked like a grape at a disco. A long strand of green beads completed the ensemble. She peered at Dot.
“Hello there, young lady. Are you Dot?”
“I am. Are you Mrs. McMimmers?”
“Yes. Come in, come in! Please, call me Mabel.”
She opened the door wide enough so Dot could enter. Dot followed her (ever so slowly) down the corridor. The walls were covered in pink floral wallpaper. Big pink flowers blossomed as far as the eye could see.
Mabel was approximately one million years old. Okay, fine, that might be a slight exaggeration, but may it suffice to say that she fell safely in the great-grandparent category. Her hair formed a helmet of little white curls, which clung tightly to her head. It looked crunchy, sprayed straight through with hair spray, like you could hold a fan right up to her head and it wouldn’t move at all. Was Dot here to watch her grandkids?
At the end of the hallway, Mabel turned right and they entered a bright window-lined living room. Green plants were everywhere—hanging from hooks, lining the floors, all over the shelves covering one of the walls. There were more leaves in this room than she’d ever seen in one place, but no toys to speak of. No tiny shoes. No childlike sounds. No colorful books. No sign of children at all.
“So, who will I be sitting today?” Dot asked. This seemed like a fair question.
“My darlings!” Mabel said, opening her arms wide.
Dot looked around once more, for good measure. She saw no darlings. Not even one. Her heart caught in her throat as she wondered if she had unwittingly stepped into a horror movie. Dot should have known better than to accept a referral from Bree, sight unseen. She started to picture the headlines in the Playa del Mar Sunday Star: Local Girl Goes Missing, Held Hostage by Elusive “Darlings.”
“The plants need constant attention,” Mabel clarified.
“The—plants?” Hold the phones, Dot was watching plants? What was there to watch? Plants don’t even move.
“Yes, it can be hard for me to reach some of them these days. And to carry the watering can. Honestly, it’s getting harder for me to do a lot of things that used to be simple.” She smiled sweetly, and Dot couldn’t help it, her heart smiled back. “That’s why today’s plant-sitting training is so very important,” she concluded. And just like that, Dot’s heart stopped smiling.
“Plant-sitting . . . training?” Dot asked.
Did Bree not ask this woman any questions?
“Yes! All the plants have very specific needs.” Mabel pointed to the bookshelf and started calling out individual plants. “Vladimir can be very feisty, and Jonas only gets watered every other week, but likes to be misted very often. Caitlin needs lots of water and so does Penelope.” She looked back at Dot. “Are you taking notes, dear? This is very important.”
Dot riffled around in her backpack and pulled out her little red notebook, which was usually reserved for recording angsty thoughts and observations of the natural world. She supposed that on some level, this wasn’t all that different from an environmental science class.
“Okay. Now. Fiona is the fiddle-leaf ficus, and her needs can be very fickle. Fickle fiddle Fiona! Fiona the ficklest fig!” Mabel clapped her hands.
Dot wrote: Fiona. Impossible to please. Stay away.
Mabel prattled on.
“The pencil cactus is named Leslie, because she reminds me a bit of my sister-in-law. All limbs, that one.”
Dot wrote: Leslie. Pencil cactus. Sister-in-law?
“Rebecca is the rhododendron. She should really be outside, but I haven’t gotten around to having her replanted. You can help with that!”
Dot wrote: Bree can replant Rebecca.
Next, Mabel rattled off an incredibly long list of names. These were her beloved succulents, which lined the windowsill. The good news was they didn’t require much water or care. The bad news was, she insisted Dot address them by name. In alphabetical order.
When they were done with all of this, Mabel said it was time for Dot’s quiz. “It’s very important to determine that you’ve passed the training before I let you interact with my darlings,” she explained, like all of this was normal.
“Who is the ficklest fig?”
“Um, Fiona?”
“Very good! Now let’s run down the list of succulents, in the proper order.”
“Abraham, Brian, Eloise, Frank, Helen, Jacques, Louis, Paul, Reynaldo, and Ziggy.” Dot had read the names directly from her notes, but Mabel didn’t seem to care.
“That’s marvelous! Oh, that’s just marvelous,” she said. “I am so pleased. I can’t wait until our next engagement. Maybe next time we can share some tea? I’d love to hear more about school and what you’re up to.”
“Sure,” Dot said. She didn’t know how to feel about this endeavor. It was super weird and not at all what she’d bargained for, but she got the sense that Mabel was in need of a friend. Maybe Dot could help out with her plants if it brought Mabel joy. Dot’s mom would say this was an opportunity to create good karma.
“That other young lady agreed today’s training was without charge,” Mabel explained. Dot took a deep breath. Bree had said today’s job was for free? “But as a thank-you for your time, here is a seedling for you to care for.” Mabel pressed a tiny potted plant into Dot’s hands. “You may name her whatever you wish.”
Dot stared down at the little plant. It was green, but it sure wasn’t cash.