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school. She was Bree’s stepdad Marc’s oldest daughter, so she and Bree weren’t actually related. Bree often thought if she couldn’t grow up to be Taylor Swift, then she would want to be just like Ariana. Sometimes when Ariana went out, Bree stole her clothes and pretended to be her.

      “I was just talking about how if Taylor Swift and I were to meet in real life, we would totally hit it off,” Bree said.

      Ariana rummaged around in the cabinet until she unearthed an energy bar. “Ugh. Thank god, I thought we were out of these!” she said. With that, she pivoted on one sandalled foot and floated out of the room.

      “Is that all you’re eating for breakfast?” called Bree’s mom, but Ariana was already gone.

      “So everyone. It’s almost my birthday!” Bree announced. “That means we should probably start planning the annual birthday party. Mom, you said we could make it extra special this year, right? Because I’m becoming a teenager.”

      “Of course,” her mom replied absentmindedly.

      “Yesssssss, pancakes!” exclaimed Bailey, Bree’s nine-year-old brother, who actually bounced into the room. When Bree’s hair was a little shorter, people used to mistake them for twins, which was weird because he was three years younger than Bree. And also, because he’s a boy.

      Her five-year-old half sister, Emma, followed close behind him. She was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and matching leggings printed with multi-coloured donuts. Her clothes were way cooler than Bree’s when she was in kindergarten.

      “Charlotte Price had Drake perform at her bat mitzvah. Can you believe that?” Bree said, slightly louder now that all of her little siblings were in the kitchen. Still, zero family members were willing to share whether they did or did not believe it. “I was thinking, maybe Taylor Swift could perform at my birthday party.” Silence. “I think she would totally do it, because we are basically the same person.” More silence. “Does anyone want to hear why Taylor Swift and I would definitely be best friends?” Bree asked. Again, no one answered – Emma began counting by twos, Bailey drummed on the table, and Olivia continued to contribute absolutely nothing useful – but no one objected, either, so Bree just kept talking. “Reason one: cats. We both love cats. And Taylor the person would probably love to meet Taylor the cat.”

      “PUDDIN’-PUDDIN’-PUDDIN’-PUDDIN’!” Olivia shouted.

      “Reason two: we both love to be on stage. Taylor’s favourite things are obviously music and singing and dancing and performing and I love those things, too.”

      “Everybody,” said Emma, “I can sing all fifty states in alphabetical order. Ready?”

      Their mom came to the table with a stack of pancakes and deposited one on each of the plates in front of Bree, Bailey, Emma, and Olivia. Bailey immediately covered his entire plate with syrup, while Olivia hacked her pancake to bits with her spoon.

      “Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas. California, Colorado, Connecticut!” sang Emma, spreading her arms wide like an opera singer.

      “Reason three!” Bree was talking even louder now so everyone could hear her over Emma. “Well, this might be kind of embarrassing, but you know how Taylor has had a lot of boyfriends? Well, I’ve liked a ton of different boys this year. I mean, I guess none of them have really technically been my boyfriend or anything, but I think Taylor and I both have really high standards and it can be super hard to find somebody who’s totally worthy, you know?”

      A blueberry sailed out of nowhere and hit Bree in the face. Olivia giggled.

      “Bree, my love, don’t throw food,” chided her mom.

      “But I –” Bree started.

      “Is everyone’s lunch packed?” her mom asked.

      “I didn’t throw –” she tried again.

      “The lunches are all lined up by the door already!” said her stepdad, zooming into, and immediately out of, the room. Marc was wearing his usual uniform of an expensive lawyerly suit, his short brown hair brushed neatly to one side. Though he spent most of his days in an office, Marc was always tanned from a regular routine of weekend surfing, and left a trail of cologne in his wake. He wore so much of it, in fact, that when the tooth fairy left money under any of their pillows, the bills reeked of Marc’s cologne.

      “Mom, Olivia threw it,” Bree said loudly.

      “CHOC-IT CHOC-IT PUDDDDIIIIIINNNNN’!!!!!”

      “What’s that, Olivia?” Mom scooped Olivia up and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, you named the cat! You picked such a good name!”

      Sometimes Bree secretly wished they could trade Olivia for another cat. They could even name the new cat Olivia. Bree wouldn’t mind.

      “Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island!” sang Emma, putting on her emoji-print backpack and skipping away.

      “Dishes in the sink, please!” Mom trilled. She probably said this more than any other phrase, except maybe “indoor voices” and “no swear words” and “no shoes on the carpet” and “don’t stick things in Olivia’s nose”. Okay, on second thought, Bree supposed her mom actually had a lot of phrases.

      “But anyway. The thing is, like, I know how silly it probably sounds, because Taylor and I haven’t actually met yet, but I’m telling you. I have a feeling.”

      “Uh-oh. Is it a tingly feeling? Better get that checked out,” said Bailey, breezing out of the room.

      “What does that even mean?” Bree asked.

      But nobody answered. Because everyone had already left.

      “It’s okay,” Bree said to herself, which is something she did when everyone else in her family was too busy to talk to her. “You’ll be at school soon and your friends will pay attention to you.” And just like that, she felt super excited for the day ahead.

      All day, Malia couldn’t wait for school to be over. Not just because it was a Tuesday, which always felt like the dumbest day of the week, but because she couldn’t wait to tell her friends about the Baby-Sitters Club. Who would have guessed she could feel such passion for an old, mildly stinky paperback about the joys of wearing sweaters and minding children?

      First, though, she’d have to endure the dreaded trip home. The minute Malia was released from environmental science, her final class of the day, she sprinted out the middle school’s front doors, across the soccer field, and over to the high school car park, her denim backpack bouncing forcefully against her body. Malia’s sister, Chelsea, was both punctual and impatient, and always insisted on leaving before the school buses had a chance to populate the roads.

      Malia arrived at Chelsea’s green Mini Cooper just in time. The taillights were on, but she hadn’t yet pulled out of her parking spot. Malia angrily knocked on the passenger window. Chelsea rolled her eyes, then unlocked the door.

      “Were you going to leave without me?” Malia asked, exasperated.

      Chelsea just shrugged, as if stranding one’s little sister at school was par for the course. Which, in their family, she supposed it was.

      Usually, Chelsea’s friend Camilla occupied the passenger seat, and Malia would be relegated to ride in the back, alongside the book bags, gym clothes, and discarded sporting equipment. But today, the front seat was empty, so Malia hopped right in.

      “Where’s Camilla?” Malia asked.

      “She got a ride home with her new boyfriend,” said Chelsea, expertly backing out of the parking space. “She’s been spending, like, a hundred per cent of her time with him these days. Because she’s lost

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