Inside the Shadow City by Kirsten Miller

reason to pick up after ourselves, and our sloppiness had gotten out of control.
    I devoted an exhausting hour to removing the splatter from a batch of spaghetti sauce that lent one wall of our kitchen the appearance of a gory crime scene. In the bathroom, I discovered a patch of mold growing on the tiles that had assumed the size, shape, and texture of a small wombat. My parents watched with growing amusement as I traveled from room to room with my bucket, rags, and bottle of hot pink household cleaner.
    â€œI didn’t know we could afford a maid, Bernard,” I heard my mother say to my father as I passed by.
    â€œYou’d be surprised, Lillian, child labor is remarkably affordable these days,” my father replied.
    â€œI
knew
there was a reason we wanted a child,” said my mother.
    â€œThink of it. If we’d only wanted three or four more,we could rent Ananka out to the neighbors,” said my father.
    â€œYou’re hilarious,” I huffed, wishing my parents would take me seriously. “You know, I could use a little help. My friends will be here soon, and this place is revolting. Haven’t you noticed the smell?”
    â€œIf there’s a smell in here, it never seemed to bother you before, Ananka. We’d like to help, but your father’s giving a lecture tonight, and we have to prepare. Besides, haven’t you heard? The Fishbeins don’t do windows.”
    â€œOr floors or bathtubs or dishes or laundry, I guess.”
    â€œIsn’t she witty?” said my father. “She must get that from me.”
    I gritted my teeth and tried to stay calm.
    â€œWell, if you aren’t going to help, will you at least stay out of the way when my friends show up? We’re working on a very important project.”
    â€œInterfere with your schoolwork?” said my mother with the same infuriating smile I’d seen her offer the mentally challenged. “We wouldn’t dream of it, dear.”
    I grabbed my bucket and sponges and stomped off toward the bedrooms.
    â€œDon’t forget to iron the sheets,” called my father. “I like mine with a smidgeon of starch.”
    â€¢ • •
    When the first of the Irregulars arrived, I was still a nervous wreck. Before I opened the door, I uttered a silent prayer to keep them from noticing the spiderwebs I had been unable to reach or the mouse that lived in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. I shouldn’t have worried,however, because the only thing each of the girls did as she stepped through the door was stare at the towers of books that lined the walls.
    Kiki and Oona arrived first. They both looked so effortlessly glamorous that I felt dowdy in their presence. Oona wore a silk dress in a vibrant shade of scarlet and the sort of floppy hat that usually only looks good on movie stars. Kiki, dressed casually in black, almost seemed to glow. I was slightly relieved when DeeDee showed up in a yellow skirt covered with purple blotches, followed by Luz in a rather unflattering gray outfit that showcased a little potbelly I hadn’t noticed before. Betty was the last to knock at the door. Still out of disguise, but hiding behind another pair of enormous sunglasses, she was soon so busy scanning the titles of books along the hall that she didn’t spot the spider that dangled inches above her head.
    Once we were all seated in my decontaminated living room, Kiki retrieved a pile of index cards from her satchel.
    â€œThis is even more impressive than I expected,” she said, her eyes still skipping across the spines of my parents’ books. “Is there some kind of organizational system?”
    â€œTell me what we’re looking for, and I’ll tell you where to find it,” I replied, feeling suddenly confident. Most people would have found our library hopelessly confusing. But having spent twelve lonely years searching for subjects to keep myself entertained, I knew where to find