Diary One

by Ann M. Martin

“Huh? Well, I don’t have a pen—”

  “I do.” I began unhooking my backpack. “I’ll write it down. You have to give me yours too.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. I can’t do that. I don’t have an address or number.”

  I grabbed some paper and a pen and began writing. “Then call me sometime. I won’t mind.”

  “Okay. Whatever.” I gave him the sheet and he scanned it quickly. “Where’s Palo City?”

  “Closer to Anaheim than here.”

  “Far, huh?”

  “The bus is cheap. Want to come with me? My treat.”

  What was I saying?

  Carson laughed. “No, thanks. Maybe another time.”

  “Carson, now that I’ve given you that, will you at least level with me?”

  “I always do.”

  “Okay, then I want to know your last name. That’s all. I mean—”

  “Frame.”

  “We do know each other, and—” Screech went the brakes in my mind. “Frame? That’s it? Carson Frame?”

  “It’s Albert Carson Frame on my birth certificate.” Carson said. “And you?”

  Oh my lord. I could not believe I hadn’t told him. “Winslow!”

  “Cool,” Carson said with a shrug. “Was I right?”

  “About what?”

  “About names. They don’t matter, do they?”

  I must have been grinning like a fool, because my cheeks hurt. “Nahh, not at all.”

  I’m riding home now. I feel about ten pounds lighter. I think I may levitate off the seat.

  Ducky was right. Carson had been waiting for me. Waiting for me at the beach, waiting for me to make a move.

  And I did it. I broke the ice.

  In one short trip, everything has changed.

  Albert Carson Frame is wrong. Way wrong. Names matter. A lot.

  Without a name, you’re a phantom. Carson and I could have drifted in and out of each other’s lives until someday we floated apart forever.

  Now we’re real. Real people with real identities. No more secrets. No more closed doors.

  I trust Carson now. Totally.

  Wednesday night

  I have to write this fast.

  I am cold. I can barely see the page. I should have brought a flashlight with me, but it’s too late for that now.

  A car just drove by and someone screamed at me out the window. I couldn’t make out the words, and I’m glad.

  What am I doing?

  I know what I’m doing. I have just made the biggest decision IN MY LIFE. I can’t second-guess it now.

  It all started this afternoon. When Dawn yelled at me.

  Well, she had a reason to. She saw the beach towel sticking out of my pack as I walked past her house, on the way home from the bus stop.

  “Your mom was in the hospital,” she said, “and you were at the beach?”

  Ugh. My secret was blown. But I was more concerned about Mom. I mean, she had been home when I left.

  “She’s in the hospital?” I asked.

  Well, Dawn just started ranting. I have never seen her so mad. First she explained that Mom was in for tests—nothing major—but that Dad had been waiting for me in his car after school. When Dawn couldn’t find me, she guessed that I was on a late field trip.

  “I covered for you, Sunny!” she yelled. “Now I’m a liar, just like you! I hope you’re happy.”

  “I wasn’t lying!” I replied. “I never said I wasn’t at the beach!”

  “I am not hearing this. This is not Sunny Winslow speaking. What is with you, Sunny? You’re like a different person. I don’t even know you anymore.”

  “No, you don’t!”

  I couldn’t talk to her. I was worried about Mom. I was worried about Dad. I was worried about me.

  Dawn, frankly, was way down on the priority list.

  And she wasn’t helping her cause by screaming at me.

  “Fine!” she said. “Turn your back on your best friends. Keep secrets. Just don’t expect us to hang around for long.”

  I was seeing red. “This is not about you, Dawn! You know, I have a point of view too!”

  “Then tell it to me someday! But in the meantime, think about your mom and dad, Sunny. At least you can be loyal to them.”

  “I am loyal! They’re the ones who don’t even know I’m alive!”

  “How can you even say that?”

  Dawn was shaking her head in disbelief. I caught a glimpse of her earrings. They were shaped like big eyes with long lashes. I’d seen them before somewhere.

  And I knew where.

  Suddenly I forgot about our argument. “Where’d you get those earrings?” I asked.

  “Your mother gave them to me!” Dawn shot back.

  I just started sputtering. “But—why—?”

  “Maybe she’s happy someone cares about her!”

  With that, Dawn stormed toward her house.

  I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach.

  Still do.

  Now Mom’s giving her family heirlooms to Dawn? Since when has Dawn become the daughter? Why doesn’t she just move in? Then she might even be written into the will.

  This is my reward for all the hospital visits, all the work at Dad’s store, all the shopping and cleaning. I finally do a few things for myself, and blink—I’m out of sight, out of mind. Replaced by my best friend.

  A phantom. That’s what I am. A phantom in my own family.

  After Dawn left, I marched across our lawn, let myself into the empty house, and stomped upstairs to my room.

  I went right to the closet and pulled out the antique music box. Raising it high over my head, I threw it.

  It hit the floor with a loud crack. The wood shattered. Springs flew against the wall. The ugly little porcelain ballerina spun through the air and landed facedown at my feet.

  I did the first thing that popped into my head. I stepped on her.

  When I lifted my foot, her arms and legs were broken off at odd angles, leaving tiny dust piles at her shoulders and hips.

  Ballerina, R.I.P. Ignored, stepped on, broken.

  Like me.

  That was when I made my decision.

  It was clear as day. I had no other choice.

  Which is why I am here at the bus stop again. For the last time.

  I am going, going, gone. Packed up and ready. I have my toothbrush, my soap, and my blades. I left Mom and Dad a note. I’ll bet Dad doesn’t even notice it until tomorrow.

  Who cares? By then I’ll be far away.

  From this day on, I am on the road.

  And I will not look back.

  Wednesday night

  I am writing this at a table in Java Voom. I haven’t ordered anything, but the staff doesn’t seem to mind.

  I am exhausted and hungry. I’ve just searched the beach for Carson. I bladed practically all the way to Santa Monica. I didn’t find him.

  Carson said he didn’t have a phone number or address. I wonder what that means. Does he sleep on the beach? Under the pier?

  The sun has set. Soon it’ll be nighttime.

  What do I do now?

  Thursday

  2:15 A.M.

  I can’t believe what time it is. And where I’ve been. And what has happened in my life during the last few hours.

  I have to write this down. Even if it takes me all night.

  When I last wrote in this journal, sitting at Java Voom, I was on the verge of tears. I was also starving.

  I checked my wallet. Stupidly, I had not packed much cash. I scanned the menu, checking the prices.

  “Looking for what’s-his-name?” asked the waiter.

  At first I assumed he was talking to someone else. But his eyes were on me. “Excuse me?” I said.

  “The guy you’re always with. He was in here awhile ago.”

  “Really? Did you see where he went?”

  “He went to the cashier and traded some bills for quarters. Either he’s doing laundry or he’s at the arc
ade.”

  “Thanks!”

  I took off down the boardwalk. The arcade was a blaze of garish light in the darkness. It was crowded. As I walked in, the beeps and sirens and explosions were deafening.

  Carson was working a video game all the way in the back. I watched over his shoulder. When he saw me, he did a double take. “Heyyy, have you played this?”

  I hadn’t. I don’t even remember the name of the game. But it doesn’t matter. I was so relieved to see Carson.

  I tried playing, but I was a total wimp, which made both of us laugh. Fortunately, Carson ran out of quarters, so we took a walk.

  The moon was low and swollen. Its reflection on the water was like a trail of fire to the horizon.

  I remember every word of what we said. I’ll never forget it.

  First, Carson put his arm around me. “Cold, huh?”

  “I don’t mind,” I replied.

  “What are you doing here at night?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. I ran away.”

  Carson stopped walking. “You what?”

  “Ran away,” I repeated. “Like you. I couldn’t take it.”

  “Oh.” Carson raised his eyebrows and exhaled. “Uh, maybe we should sit down.”

  This was not the reaction I expected. I thought he’d be happy. Or even amused.

  Was he going to lecture me now too?

  We walked back into Java Voom. The waiter spotted me and gave me a thumbs-up. Carson ordered coffee and a sandwich. I ordered a muffin and hot chocolate.

  As the waiter ran off, Carson asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “If I spent one more minute in that house, I would have broken every window,” I replied. “I have to run away, Carson. I have no choice. I can’t be tied down to them anymore.”

  He nodded. “I know what you mean. People aren’t meant to live in one place for a long time. The idea of a permanent home and stuff—it’s only a few hundred years old. For millions of years before that, people traveled all the time. We’re programmed to.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re doing it, and you’re happy.”

  “I see all kinds of cool places. I’m thinking of going south to Mexico, and then maybe work my way down to the Panama Canal.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there!”

  “But I might go the other way too. I hear the badlands of South Dakota are totally awesome. And Montana has these huge ranches where you can get a job working with horses. But I also might want to check out this creative writing school in Iowa, where you can meet famous authors and maybe learn to write like Kerouac. I mean, cool or what?”

  It was more than cool. It sounded like paradise to me. “Can I come with you?”

  Carson smiled. “Yeah, right.”

  The waiter appeared with our orders, and I fell silent. When he was out of earshot, I leaned into the table and said, “I’m serious, Carson.”

  Carson’s smile vanished. “Who-o-oa. Sunny, you can’t—I mean, I thought—how do you expect—”

  “I don’t have a lot of money. But I can work too. And I’m really good at buying stuff cheaply—”

  “Look, I know you’re angry and all, but—”

  “You’re running away. I’m running away. It’s perfect. We can keep each other company.”

  “But I don’t want company, Sunny. I mean, no offense, but that’s the whole point. You run away to be unattached. Not to tie yourself down.”

  “A family is tying yourself down—a house, a school, a town. But this is different! We’re exactly alike, Carson. I want to see the same things, go to the same places. We’ll be able to share stuff, help each other when we’re sick—”

  “Sunny, how old are you?” Carson interrupted.

  Gulp. “I’llbefourteenthisyear but what I’m trying to say is—”

  “Wait a minute. You’re thirteen?”

  Why, why did he have to complicate this? “I said I’ll be fourteen—”

  “Sunny, whoa, hold it. Have you really thought about this? I mean, is your life that bad?”

  I swallowed deeply. I’d been keeping the whole truth from Carson, and I was determined not to do it anymore.

  I told him everything—about Mom’s lung cancer, the chemotherapy, the radiation treatments, the hair fallout, the sicknesses, the tests, the scares, the trips to the hospital. About the annoying support group. About Dad’s business problems and his workaholism. About all the family fights and my secret identity as Robo Slave Daughter. About my so-called friends who had turned on me.

  Carson sipped his coffee. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t say a word or even nod. But I could tell he was listening intently.

  When I was done, my cheeks were streaked with tears and my voice was hoarse. I felt cold and vulnerable, as if a layer of skin had been stripped from me.

  He handed me a paper napkin. “You need this. Want something else to eat?”

  “Is that all you can say?” I exploded. “I just told you the story of my life. Do you think that was easy? Didn’t you hear a word of it?”

  “Let me get this straight, Sunny. You have a mom and dad. They’re still married and they both care about you.”

  “But—”

  “But they’re real busy. Your mom has cancer, and your dad’s having business problems. So they can’t see you, and that makes you angry. But you have these really close friends. You see them all the time. When you started skipping school, they got on your case. Because they care about you too.” Carson shook his head in disbelief. “And you want to run away from all that?”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Carson, my life is a mess. It’s falling apart. I can’t sleep at night. No one sees me for who I am. I have to run away. And if you’re not going with me, I’ll go by myself. And I better go now before they chase after me and try to drag me back. I thought you, of all people, would understand, but I guess you don’t.”

  “I understand,” Carson said, almost under his breath. “It’s a tough thing. I feel bad for you. I feel bad for your mom and dad too. But think about it. You have people who want you back. If I had what you have, I’d never have left home in the first place.”

  “What I have?” I shot back. “Puh-leeze. Oh, I guess I’m wrong. My life is just a paradise. Why did you leave home, Carson? What makes you so different? So—so superior?”

  Carson glared at me. Without saying a word, he stood up and walked toward the exit.

  “Wait!” I called out, running after him. “Where are you going? I—I want to listen! Talk to me, Carson!”

  Carson spun around. “Sunny, do you have a motto?”

  “A motto?”

  “Like, for yourself. For life.”

  “No…”

  “You know what mine is? Don’t complain; don’t explain. It’s the only useful thing I ever remember my dad saying. I try to live by it. It makes me happy. Well, I’ve already broken both rules. Consider yourself lucky.”

  “So you do have a family!” I exclaimed. “Tell me about them, Carson! Did something bad happen? I mean, you don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want…”

  Carson’s face was darkening. I could see his jaw muscles working. I braced myself for a big, angry blast.

  But all he said was, “’Bye, Sunny.”

  Before I could reply, he was out the door.

  I lunged forward to go after him. I opened the door and stepped onto the boardwalk.

  The night crowd had arrived, full force. The boardwalk was practically shoulder to shoulder with people. Carson was somewhere in there, swallowed up and moving fast.

  I stood there, frozen, trying to hold back a scream that was welling up inside me.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned quickly.

  The waiter was standing behind me, holding out a bill. “Excuse me?” he said. “Will you be leaving your table?”

  “Uh…yeah.” I took a look at the bill, then dug around for money in my pocket.

  I had enough to cover, with a little t
o spare. I gave the waiter what I had.

  “Will you be needing change?” he asked.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  His eyes widened. “You will?”

  A tip. I had to leave a tip. “Uh, no. Keep it.”

  Boy, did he give me a nasty look.

  Frankly, I should have given a look back to him. He had almost all my money now. I was broke.

  Broke, alone, and homeless.

  I felt as if the floor had just dropped away from my feet and I was plunging into blackness.

  Suddenly, running away seemed like a majorly dumb idea.

  I grabbed the bus schedule out of my pocket. I followed the departure schedule down to the final listing.

  Which was right then.

  My backpack was still in the cafe. I ran inside and scooped it off the floor. Then I bolted for the bus stop.

  I could see a bus waiting, its engine running. “WAAAAAAIIT!” I screamed, flailing my arms.

  VRRRRRROOOM! The bus answered.

  It pulled away before I reached the stop.

  A man in a driver’s uniform was standing there, looking at me blankly.

  “When’s the next bus?” I asked.

  “Five A.M. tomorrow,” he answered.

  Big help.

  I spotted a pay phone nearby. I fished in my pocket for change.

  One quarter. Period.

  (I shouldn’t have tipped that waiter, after all.)

  I dropped the quarter in the phone and punched in my number.

  “Hello, you have reached the Winslow residence,” said my voice. “We can’t come to the phone right now…”

  I hung up. What could I say? “Mom and Dad, I changed my mind about running away, so when you get in, could you pick me up at Venice Beach?”

  No way.

  I turned back toward the beach. Music was blaring from one of the shops. People were milling around, shopping, talking.

  Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Maybe Venice Beach stays like this all night. Maybe I could camp on a bench, or on the sand. Maybe lots of people do the same thing.

  I walked slowly along the boardwalk, remembering the hours Carson and I had spent blading. I passed the area where we’d fallen into the sand, laughing. I looked out at the jetty where he’d removed the splinter from my toe.

  By the time I reached the arcade, I was a wreck.