Dear Dumb Diary #9: That's What Friends Aren't For

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by Jim Benton


  Isabella was not happy. “You’re just

  going to walk out on me?” she said. “The show is

  tomorrow.”

  I did kind of walk out on her, and I wanted to

  take it back, but it was for all the right reasons. The

  Talent Show was really important to me, but I know

  I couldn’t act all happy participating in a show that

  the school had decided to do instead of the Art

  Show. I guess I’m not that good at acting, after all.

  I’m probably no longer qualified to pronounce

  it as “duh - rama.”

  112

  Isabella stared at me in such an angry way

  that it made me think about how happy I was that

  there were witnesses around. Then she quietly said

  that she understood, and drank my milk without

  asking. I could tell that she was pretending that it

  was all of my precious bodily fluids.

  I watched her walk out of the lunchroom.

  She stopped just long enough to talk to

  Angeline. I

  couldn’t tell what they were saying, but Angeline shot

  a furious look my way, and I swear I saw her eyes

  turn from baby -blue to baby -red.

  As hard as it is to find BFFs, it seems pretty

  easy to lose them.

  113

  After school, I just sat on my bed for a long

  time and watched Stinkette chew up Stinker’s

  beloved Grossnasty. I still don’t understand why he

  doesn’t go all crazy werewolf on her for it. Maybe

  he’s just too dumb to notice.

  114

  Friday 27

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  The Talent Show was tonight. I’ve been mad

  all day about the Art Show, but my parents made

  me go to the Talent Show — and I’m glad they did.

  It was long, and pretty boring at times. There

  was the usual assortment of acts: a baton twirler, a

  violin player, and a kid who tried to juggle (but I’m

  pretty sure he just started practicing this morning).

  Isabella did her magic act — but not with

  Angeline. She had Emmily assisting her. But here’s

  the thing. You know how Isabella’s main interest

  in magic is fooling people ? She had never in her

  wildest dreams hoped to fi nd a magician’s assistant

  who would be easier to fool than the

  audience.

  Emmily was shocked and amazed by

  everything Isabella did. She gasped and clapped

  at each little trick. And her astonishment was

  contagious.

  115

  Isabella just went with it. Toward the end,

  Isabella started laughing a little, and the audience

  laughed and Emmily laughed and it was hard to tell

  who was laughing at what. I’ve seen Isabella do

  these magic tricks a million times, and I’ve never

  enjoyed them more than when I watched Emmily —

  sweet, stupid Emmily — get completely taken in by

  Isabella’s wizardry. I could tell that Isabella had

  never enjoyed them more, either.

  A note to magicians everywhere: Get

  Yourself an Emmily.

  116

  The next act was — believe it or not —

  T.U.K.W.N.I.F. They rolled out a piano for him to

  play, but he turned it so we couldn’t see him, just

  the front of the piano, which I thought was a pretty

  reasonable way to hide his face from the audience.

  But I was wrong — he turned it like that because

  there was something on the front of the piano.

  My Art Show drawing. For a second, I didn’t

  really recognize it. When you see something that’s

  totally unexpected, your brain can’t understand

  what you’re seeing: like if you found your shoes

  in the refrigerator or saw your custodian walking

  down the street in a dress. (To be fair, that might

  not have been him.)

  But, there it was, and for his entire song, it

  glittered and shimmered and sparkled in the bright

  spotlight even more beautifully and dazzlingly than

  I knew it could. T.U.K. made the school look at my

  drawing for a full four minutes, and he did a pretty

  good job on the piano. Who knew he could play?

  He stood up and took a bow, and for a

  second, I think I very nearly remembered his name.

  117

  Next, Nadia, Anika, Margaret, and

  Fléurrål came out and lip- synched a song. As

  embarrassingly horrible and awful as they were,

  they were at least twice as good as we would

  have been.

  At that moment, I realized how fortunate we

  were that The Jamie Kelly Experience did

  not perform.

  Finally,

  Angeline came out with a guitar.

  OMG. She was going to do our lip-synching

  act ALL BY HERSELF.

  I felt a wave of sickness come over me.

  Part of me knew it would be delicious to watch

  Angeline fry in the spotlight’s scorching flames of

  embarrassment. (You can’t even put aloe on those

  kinds of burns.) But part of me weirdly wanted to

  protect her from it, because this was pretty much

  my fault.

  I started to stand up. I don’t know what I was

  planning to do. I suppose I was going to scream,

  “Stop!” and pull her off the stage or maybe throw

  a shoe at the lighting guy, but I didn’t have to do

  either one.

  Because Angeline didn’t start the lip-

  synching act. She just stood there and talked.

  118

  “The funding for the Art Show was cut,” she

  said, “and we need your help so it can go on next

  month as planned. Please drop a dollar or whatever

  you can in the donation buckets by the exit as you

  leave tonight. Thank you.”

  And maybe that would have raised a buck

  or two, but she wasn’t done. Because then Angeline

  turned on those switches inside that she had kept

  turned off all month. It was like watching some

  immense nuclear power plant activate and then

  slowly begin generating electricity.

  First, the smile; the spotlight hit Angeline’s

  gleaming white teeth and a blinding ray of toothy

  beauty blazed into the audience. Then she batted

  her long eyelashes. They created a breeze that

  we all felt flutter across our faces. And when she

  was up to full output, she tossed her glimmering

  hair back and forth in slow motion, causing every

  hand in the auditorium to plunge helplessly into

  pockets and purses and fork over what added up to

  more than three hundred bucks — much more than

  they needed to put on the Art Show.

  Angeline did that for me. I didn’t ask

  for it. I didn’t expect it. Angeline hadn’t lost

  her gorgeousness — she could turn on the

  charm anytime she wanted. She had been

  intentionally not using it on Hudson. And now

  I’m sure it was for Isabella’s sake.

  119

  120

  Right after the show, I caught up to Angeline

  and Isabella in the hall.

  “You’re not mad?” I said.

  “We were mad,” Isabella s
aid. “For a

  minute.” And then shoved me hard into the wall to

  show me that she wasn’t mad anymore. I shoved

  her back to show how happy I was that I hadn’t lost

  my BFF.

  Aunt Carol and Uncle Dan walked over to

  say hi.

  “Nice job, everybody,” he said. “And good

  news about the Art Show. Thanks to the donations,

  that’s back on.”

  And then he asked Angeline why she hadn’t

  played her guitar.

  “Changed my mind,” she said.

  “You can

  play

  that?” I blurted out.

  121

  Uncle Dan laughed. “She’s been taking

  lessons for years. She’s amazing. She would have

  won the Talent Show hands down— no offense,

  Isabella. But you guys have a band or something,

  don’t you? You knew she could play.”

  And then it happened. Before I could

  stop myself, I actually GAVE ANGELINE A

  HEARTFELT HUG and I even thanked her. It was

  a really quiet whispered “thank you,” but I’m pretty

  sure she heard it because she whispered back an

  equally quiet “You’re welcome” that I very nearly

  heard.

  It was so weird. I never hug Isabella, and

  we’ve been BFFs forever. But it didn’t seem right to

  shove Angeline.

  Angeline hugged me back. Really hard. Like a

  crazy person.

  Am I friends with Angeline? Can I be friends

  with somebody that is so perfect all the time? Can I

  overcome Angeline’s perfection handicap?

  122

  Saturday 28

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  This morning while I was watching TV

  (and by the way, I’ve lost some respect for its

  expertness), the doorbell rang. My mom answered

  the door.

  “Jamie — it’s for you. Somebody named Tuc

  or Tuckster or something like that. The boy who

  played the piano last night.”

  I couldn’t believe it. He actually goes

  by T.U.K.W.N.I.F.?!

  123

  When I went to the door, he had my drawing.

  “I wanted to get this back to you right away. I

  knew you’d want it,” he said.

  “Thanks. And thanks for making it part of

  your act. That was really great,” I said, and he

  smiled. It was weird, because when he smiled, like,

  at least a gallon of ugly poured off his face.

  “It was Isabella’s idea. But I agreed with

  her right away. She didn’t have to threaten me

  like that.”

  I knew just what he was talking about.

  “Sometimes she does that without thinking. A

  threat is just like ‘please’ to her,” I said.

  T.U.K.W.N.I.F. nodded. “I’m glad the Art Show

  is going on after all. You’re really going to want to

  hang this one up.”

  He was right. I did want to hang it up.

  It’s probably the best drawing I’ve ever done.

  124

  But standing there looking at him, something

  changed my mind. “I was thinking of putting that

  other one up,” I said. “The portrait I did of you. If

  that’s okay.”

  Then T.U.K.W.N.I.F.’s face did all sorts of

  things. It was confused, then happy, then confused

  again, then really happy. He nodded and laughed,

  and even more ugly poured off his face.

  “But I want to make sure I spell your name

  right,” I cleverly said. I still couldn’t remember it,

  and this was an ingenious way to get it.

  “T-U-,” he began, “C-K-E-R.”

  “Tucker? Your name is Tucker?

  Really?” I laughed. “That’s easy to remember.”

  He looked a little confused, but I decided not

  to explain.

  I watched him walk down the sidewalk. A

  few of his friends had been waiting for him. All of

  a sudden, I almost couldn’t remember why I’ve

  called him T.U.K.W.N.I.F. all these years.

  125

  Later today, Isabella popped in

  unannounced, which is her favorite way to pop.

  She said she wanted to come over today because

  tomorrow she’d be studying with Angeline, and we

  need at least one day each weekend to just hang.

  She missed our fake homework Sundays, too. I

  thanked her for threatening Tucker for me, and she

  cutely blushed.

  She said that she thinks, with Angeline’s

  help, she won’t have to go to summer school and

  watch me and Angeline having fun out the window

  without her. That mattered to Isabella. Turns out,

  Isabella is a little possessive, too.

  But not about Hudson. Earlier this morning, I

  had called Isabella and begged her to tell Angeline

  that she was officially throwing him away. That way,

  if Angeline wanted to work her voodoo on him, it

  was okay with Isabella. Hudson was the first boy to

  ever have a crush on Isabella, so it was very difficult

  for her to just give him away like that. Isabella

  doesn’t even like throwing old shoes away.

  126

  “You were right, Jamie. Angeline is protecting

  me from summer school. And she got your Art Show

  back for you, even though you bailed on us. I called

  her and told her that I didn’t care about Hudson,

  and it made her really happy.” It was such a kind

  thing for Isabella to do that I couldn’t breathe for

  a second because I thought that maybe she was

  dying.

  127

  Isabella smiled. “And did you see how

  Angeline worked the bucks from the crowd? It’s

  like I’ve said all along, being friends with her is a

  good idea. She’s going to be a very handy friend

  to have.”

  So now it comes out: Isabella thinks we own

  Angeline, like our socks, or our infections.

  And we’ve been thinking of Hudson the exact

  same way.

  Isabella must think of me that way, and

  Angeline probably does, too.

  Is this how friendships work? Maybe we really

  are just like each other’s socks or infections.

  128

  Isabella and I made plans to meet tomorrow

  at Angeline’s house after they do their math stuff.

  We called Emmily to meet us, too, even though it

  took us twenty minutes to give her directions.

  Emmily lives four doors down from

  Angeline.

  This whole business with Angeline had me

  questioning what friends really are.

  The truth is (and I know you won’t believe

  this, Dumb Diary), I may be an eensy, weensy,

  beensy bit jealous of Angeline. In my defense,

  she is so perfectly kind and pleasant and pretty

  that it would be hard for a normal person not to

  despise her.

  129

  I thought that since we were kind of related.

  by the marriage of our aunt and uncle AND by

  the puppies that our dogs had together, that we

  were some sort of cousins or something and that

  made us Automatic Friends. But just being relatives

  really doesn’t make yo
u automatically

  friends.

  I mean, I think of Aunt Carol as a friend,

  and I think of my parents as friends when they’re

  not telling me what to do or making me eat Mom’s

  cooking. Stinker thinks of his dogdaughter,

  Stinkette, as a friend. But some relatives aren’t

  really friends, like Isabella’s brothers, who are

  archenemies she eats dinner with every night.

  And now I think there is no such thing as an

  Automatic Friend.

  130

  I used to think that friends were there

  to give you things or to do things for you. They

  will, of course, but actually, that’s what friends

  aren’t for.

  It’s just the opposite.

  If you want to know who your friends are, look

  at the people you do things for, or who you give

  things to —whether it’s saving them from a shark, or

  giving them a heartfelt crazy- person hug, or letting

  them have Hudson Rivers. Or maybe you’re saving

  an Art Show for them, doing a drawing of them, or

  going along with their dumb band idea even though

  you know your magic act would be way better. Or

  maybe you’re letting them have your Grossnasty.

  Especially letting them have your

  Grossnasty.

  There’s no way around this: Angeline is my

  friend. And I just can’t stand it.

  Thanks for listening, Dumb Diary,

  131

  P.S. I asked Isabella about the drawing

  she did of Angeline, and why it had so much great

  detail, and why the drawings she did of me were

  always so simple.

  “Because,” she said, “I always wanted to

  finish mine as fast as possible so I could watch you

  draw. Angeline watches you draw, too — she’s so

  jealous. ”

  Angeline, jealous of me? It was such a sweet

  thing to say that I punched her in the arm for it,

  hard. And Isabella warmly punched me back.

  Money can’t buy happiness.

  But it can buy an awesome

  summer vacation.

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Isabella asked her mom for money, but since Isabella’s

 

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