Diary One

by Ann M. Martin

  Carson spun around. He gave me a blank look.

  “Sunny!” I reminded him. “Remember?”

  CRRRRRACK! Lightning split the air. Thunder shook the earth. The skies opened and a choir of angels descended.

  Well, maybe not. But Carson did smile. That was cool.

  He skated closer. “You brought your blades.”

  “I live in them,” I replied. (A lie, yes, but it just seemed the right thing to say.)

  “Yeah. Me too.” That smile was a killer. “Well, see you.”

  “Wait! I was about to go that way too.”

  Carson nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, actually, I was going to get some joe.”

  “Joe? I love joe!” (Not.)

  “Cool.” he shrugged and headed toward the Java Voom Cafe.

  I skated behind him to an outdoor table on a small terrace. A waiter came right over to us. “Cup of joe,” Carson ordered. “Large.”

  “Same,” I said.

  When the waiter returned, he placed two steaming, black, awful-smelling cups before us.

  “Nice place,” I said. (Duh.)

  Carson nodded and stared out to sea. He looked totally relaxed. As if I weren’t there.

  I sat forward. I sat back. I blew on my coffee. I smiled. I noticed how huge my feet looked. I remembered the pimple I’d seen this morning near my left nostril.

  Why wasn’t he saying anything?

  Finally, after about 17 hours, he sipped his coffee and said, “No school?”

  “Nahhhh. I’m just—well, today is—we didn’t—” I took a deep breath. “I’m cutting.”

  Carson laughed. “All riiight!”

  Nice to know someone approved.

  “I mean, sometimes you just can’t go,” I said boldly. “If they don’t like it, too bad.”

  “They probably don’t care, anyway,” he remarked.

  He sipped his coffee. I sipped mine.

  He looked out to the ocean.

  I nearly had a heart attack.

  The coffee was awful! ALL coffee is awful. What possessed me to order some and actually drink it? I must have been insane.

  I started coughing.

  “You okay?” Carson asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

  Carson quickly fetched a cup of water for me.

  I swigged it down. “Thanks. Strong coffee.”

  “Tastes like mud to me,” Carson remarked.

  “Me too!”

  Carson spilled his cup onto the brick floor. He didn’t even look to see if anyone was watching.

  I frankly didn’t care either. Over it went.

  Both of us started laughing.

  “Out of here,” Carson said, standing up.

  He pulled a few bills out of his pocket and slapped them on the table. Together we bladed down the boardwalk, past the shops. Carson showed me how to do a few spins. I tried to imitate him and plunged into the sand.

  Carson fell down beside me.

  We stayed there, giggling at first, then just lying still. People whizzed by us on skates, bikes, and skateboards, but we didn’t pay them any attention.

  “I want to get my feet wet,” Carson suddenly announced.

  We took off our blades, slung them over our shoulders, and walked toward the water. Just before the surf, where the sand is wet and firm, we turned left.

  As we walked, we watched a group of little birds run after each receding wave, only to be chased back by the next one. “Why do they do that?” I asked.

  “Sandpipers,” Carson said. “They eat the algae left by the wave. They don’t have much time, so they have to grab what they can.”

  “That’s what my dad says about people.”

  “What? They eat algae?”

  “Noooo!”

  Carson was grinning. I punched him in the shoulder.

  At that moment I felt really close to him. I linked my arm in his. He didn’t mind.

  I realized I hadn’t told him a word about myself—or at least a truthful word.

  “Carson,” I said. “My name isn’t Camilla.”

  “I know. It’s Sunny.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “How do you know?”

  “You said so, back on the boardwalk.”

  Agggggh. I could feel my face turning red. “Well, see, I guess Camilla is sort of a—I don’t know, a—”

  “Road name.”

  “Huh?”

  “Lots of people use them. People who hike the Appalachian Trail, guys who hop trains. Me.”

  “You? Why?”

  “Because people might recognize my real name on a Wanted poster.”

  “What?”

  “Joke,” Carson said with a laugh. “You know what’s the coolest thing in the world? Walking into a strange town and starting a life from scratch. Finding a place to live, work, friends…it’s like you’re a new person. Sometimes you need a new name too. I don’t know why. It just feels right. I’ve been Neal Cassady, Dean Moriarty—”

  “From On the Road!” I exclaimed.

  Carson looked impressed. “It’s practically my bible.”

  “So, how do I know Carson’s your real name?”

  “You don’t,” Carson said with a sly grin.

  I gave him a shove. “You can’t fool everybody, you know. I guess you’re not going to tell me anything about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Your age, where you’re from, how you got here, your last name…”

  “Seventeen, Cleveland, hitching, and it doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, I’ll guess the rest. You graduated high school, and you’re really not as tough as you sound. Your mom and dad gave you money to travel around the country for a year.”

  “I didn’t graduate. I just left school. Who needs it? I’ve had plenty of jobs since I left, and I didn’t have a diploma.”

  “My parents would kill me if I tried that.”

  Carson snorted a laugh. “My mom hardly noticed. She probably just discovered I’m gone. Her boyfriend’s thrilled, I’ll bet.”

  “That’s so sad, Carson.”

  “It was, when I was there. I don’t think about it anymore.”

  “So I guess that makes you a runaway.”

  “A dropout runaway,” Carson said dryly. “You afraid of me now?”

  “No! Why would I be?”

  Carson shrugged. “You look like you come from a nice, normal family.”

  “Oh, puh-leeze!” I cringed. “You don’t know! My dad is never home. My mom—well, she can’t really function. She’s in the hospital all the time. And when she’s not, she’s with this support group. I’m, like, invisible in the house, until work needs to be done. Then I’m the hired help. Some life, huh? I don’t have one. My house is this big prison. And don’t get me started with school. That’s even worse.”

  It really, REALLY felt good to get that out of my system. You know what I liked best about Carson? He didn’t judge. He didn’t tell me what to do.

  He just listened.

  We walked silently for awhile. A wave rolled over our feet, carrying a perfect white seashell. Carson picked it up and handed it to me. “It’s for good luck.”

  I turned it over. Its smooth inner wall shone in the sun. “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  I rested my head on Carson’s shoulder and listened to the gulls. I was kind of hoping he’d ask more about me, but he didn’t.

  Which was fine, to tell the truth. I didn’t want to admit my age. And I would have, if he’d asked. I was feeling very open and truthful.

  Oh, well, that will be my secret.

  We were approaching the cafe again. I could see a clock through the window and my heart sank. The bus I wanted to take was going to arrive in a few minutes.

  “I have to go,” I said. “Maybe we can do this again?”

  “Sure.”

  “What would be a good time? Maybe Friday morning?”

  Carson gave me a half smile and shook his head. �
�No plans. I hate plans. If you want to come and hang out, cool. I’m here a lot.”

  “Okay. Then maybe I’ll see you.”

  “I hope so.”

  And that was that. Carson waved to me as he bladed away.

  Well, I was wrong about the bus. I’d missed it. Now I’m waiting for the next one.

  I’ve had lots of time to write and think. I’m a little numb. But I am calmer than when I started writing this.

  So what now? That’s the big question.

  I’m full of strange feelings.

  I have never, ever been more attracted to a guy. I have never met anyone as exciting. I could spend weeks and weeks with Carson and not get bored.

  Do I love him?

  I don’t know.

  I’m not dying to kiss him and trade rings or whatever. I don’t want to E-mail and call him every day and go on dates every weekend. I mean, let’s face it. He’s a runaway. He’s a loner.

  He’s just like me.

  Every word he said could have come from my mouth. The difference? He’s really done something about the way he feels. Me? I’m heading back home, ready to cover myself with excuses.

  So what is it I’m feeling? Is there a word for something more than love?

  I’ll think of one on the ride home. Here comes the bus.

  Wednesday 11/5

  10:04 A.M., study hall

  This note saved my life today. Printing the letterhead was easy. The handwriting was the hard part. Fortunately, Mom had a prescription from Dr. Merwin lying around, and this is exactly how terrible his handwriting looks.

  I give myself an A+ in forgery and espionage. (Maybe I’ve finally found my true calling.)

  For my journal writing, though, I deserve a big, fat F. It’s been one whole week since I last wrote, so I have lots of catch-up.

  Here goes. First of all, Mom’s feeling better. She’s home. She spends a lot of time on the phone, and Sylvia drives her around all day. (Sylvia’s middle name is Loves-to-Shop.)

  Dad? Well, all the new windows in his store were measured wrong, and they’re too short. He went ballistic. In fact, now I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. I have hardly seen him this last week. (I think he’s making the new windows himself.)

  Now back to the big news: my transformation into a world-class forger.

  I had no choice. My teachers were really getting on my case. Well, most of them. Mr. Hackett finally ran out of pitying looks and started getting angry. He was the one who demanded a note.

  Dawn and Maggie know something’s up. They’re being kind of distant, as if they’re not sure how to approach me.

  Frankly, I don’t care what people think anymore. I’ve enjoyed all my trips to Venice Beach this week. Especially Saturday’s, when I brought a surfboard. (I told Mom I was going to the local beach. She offered to drive me, but I told her Ducky would.)

  I am a horrible, two-faced liar. But I’m getting used to it. It’s better than being a miserable, sulking, depressed girl who hangs around home and burdens everybody. Now, when I’m feeling bad—off to the beach, come home smiling.

  I still can’t stand being in this house. But it’s nice to have an escape.

  And I’m not harming a soul.

  It helps that Carson has been at the beach every single time I’ve been there. My favorite visit was the one on Saturday. Carson’s eyes went wide when he saw my surfboard.

  “Nice board,” he said.

  “Do you surf?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Then rent one.”

  “Nahh. I twisted my ankle.”

  “But you can blade?”

  Carson’s face turned beet-red. I burst out laughing. “I hear the surf’s great up there in Cleveland.”

  “Well, I—I didn’t say I was great at it—”

  “Have you been on a board in your life, Carson?”

  He looked out into the distance, as if he’d spotted some rare species of pacific sandpiper. “Uh…well, no.”

  “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

  I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the surf. At first he sputtered and protested, but he came.

  Well, guess what? Carson No-Lastname is not perfect. In fact, if I were to grade him on Beginners’ Surfboard Technique, I’d give him a D. He flailed his arms, he couldn’t center himself on the board, he couldn’t stand, and his timing was atrocious.

  I must say, though, he was a good sport. Each time he fell, he got back up and muttered something like, “Gotta shift my weight,” or “That was closer.” He only became angry once or twice, but that was because I laughed at him.

  He was so determined.

  And he was so cute, I couldn’t stand it.

  Afterward we sat at Java Voom again. (This time I had herbal tea.) We spent about an hour making up stories about the people who passed by. We were howling.

  I feel so comfortable with Carson now—as if I’ve known him my whole life. We finish each other’s sentences. I know just by the look in his eye what he’s thinking.

  So why won’t he tell me his last name? Or anything personal, for that matter. He lets me in and lets me in, and then—wham! The door slams in my face.

  I didn’t even bother asking him questions today. But I still want to know everything. I’m starting to dream about him now. This is

  Wednesday

  3:45 P.M.

  Guess who interrupted my last entry? Ms. Krueger. She just walked into study hall and sat down next to me.

  “Sunny,” she said, “I have been trying to decide how to approach you. You came up at our departmental meeting.”

  I almost laughed. Me? A topic of discussion among teachers that weren’t even mine?

  Oh, well. After that party, Ms. Krueger had said she’d be keeping an eye on Ducky, Dawn, and me. She was true to her word.

  “I guess I must be pretty interesting and complex,” I said.

  Ms. Krueger laughed. “Well, you’re human. And I figure it’s time the teachers stopped treating you like a fragile teacup. What’s up?”

  “Up?” I shrugged. “You know…”

  “You’re missing school.”

  I started to mention Dr. Merwin, but Ms. Krueger cut me off. “Ms. Newell showed me the note,” she said. “Signed Dr. Michael Merwin, M.D. I don’t know of any doctors who write both Doctor and M.D. with their names.”

  “Oh.” I felt about three inches tall. “I wonder why he does that.”

  “You know, some teachers don’t believe that Dr. Merwin wrote that. But I told them I didn’t believe you would do something illegal.”

  “Illegal?”

  “Look, Sunny. I can’t climb into your head and know what’s going on in there. But you need to go to school. And you can use the school. Use your friends. Use me. I will sit and listen to anything you want to say. Anything. But I’m not going to beg you, and I’m not going to drag you. This is just an open invitation, no expiration date.”

  I nodded. I mean, that was nice of her, but what was I supposed to say? I’ll never take her up on the offer.

  Ms. Krueger stood up with a smile, touched my arm gently, and left.

  Now what? She knows I had forged the letter. Do the other teachers? Are they all humoring me?

  I was still in shock when I left study hall.

  I didn’t even notice Ducky when I passed him in the hallway.

  “Don’t say hello,” he called out.

  I grunted something in return.

  His smile disappeared. “Hey, are you all right?”

  “Fine. Cool.”

  “No, you’re not. Not with that look.”

  Where did this guy get off? “With what look?” I snapped. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Whoa, sorry. Just trying to help.”

  I took a deep breath. I was too wound up. “It’s…nothing.”

  “Look,” Ducky said, “if you ever want to talk…I’m here, you know.”

  I couldn’t believe he wasn’t furious at me.
I thanked him and started to walk away—and he was smiling at me.

  Smiling.

  Suddenly I realized something. I really could take him up on his offer.

  I spun around. “Ducky?” I called out. “Can I ask you some…guy advice?”

  Ducky faced me and shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure I know what guys think. But I’ll try.”

  “Okay. Say you’re a high school senior who ran away from home? And you’re just bumming your way across the country and you’re hanging out at the beach? And you meet this girl—”

  “Who just happens to be thirteen and goes to Vista?”

  “Don’t interrupt. Anyway, the two of you are so alike it’s not even funny. Except for one thing. She blabs everything to you, but you’re quiet and you like to be alone, so you don’t tell her much. Not even your last name.”

  “So far I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “I see him almost every time I go to the beach, Ducky. He seems to like being with me. We blade together on the boardwalk. We sit at the cafe and joke about the weight lifters. He even let me teach him to surf.”

  “I don’t know…” Ducky sighed. “I mean, if the guy didn’t like you, he wouldn’t be there every time you go. Chances are he wants to see you too.”

  “You think so?”

  Ducky shrugged. “Don’t you?”

  My heart was pumping. I thanked Ducky, kissed him on the cheek and ran toward my locker.

  His words made sense. Carson must feel something for me. But how could I know for sure?

  Well, I was going to make him tell me.

  When the bell rang for the next period, I was out the door.

  Lots of kids were outside for a recess, and no one noticed me leaving the school and heading for the bus stop.

  A bus was pulling up as I arrived. It got me to Venice Beach by 1:00.

  It took me about ten minutes to find Carson. He was sitting on a bench, reading a paperback. He did kind of a double take when he saw me. “Hey, where have you been? This is about the time you leave.”

  “I just got here,” I replied. “I cut school in the middle of the day.”

  Carson looked amused. “Not bad.”

  I sat down next to him. “You missed me, huh?”

  “Well, I—” Carson angled himself away, his face turning red.

  “So, you want my address and phone number?”