by Jim Benton
Oh. And one other thing: Angeline’s bald hair
patch is almost totally invisible now. She has
employed some sort of secret military combing
technology to camouflage the patch she had been
covering with the beret. It is also possible that she
simply regenerated the lost hair, regrowing it the
way a lizard regrows a lost tail or a slug regrows —I
don’t know —a big snotty lump or something that
somebody cuts off him.
49
Wednesday 18
Dear Dumb Diary,
Mom would not call me in sick from school
today. But it’s okay, because I have miraculously
recovered from my OCD and actually do not even
think about or care about Angeline anymore. Let me
prove it. Below, I will write the names of people that
I just don’t care about at all.
50
Thursday 19
Dear Dumb Diary,
Okay, okay. Maybe Angeline does still bug me
a little. I just had to have Angeline’s permanent
record, and the only way to do it was to get sent to
the principal’s office again.
So at lunch today, Miss Bruntford, the neck-
waggling cafeteria monitor, lost her mind and said
that nobody could leave the cafeteria until they
had finished the meat loaf. She was staring at us
and we were staring at her and you could have cut
the tension with a knife, which is something you
can’t do with the meat loaf.
51
Suddenly, a big honkin’ slab of the shiny
slippery meat loaf came flying through the air and
smacked Miss Bruntford right in the neck blubber.
She started screaming and sputtering and
demanding to know who did it. It seemed like a
golden opportunity, so I said that I was the one who
had thrown it. Easy ticket to the principal’s office,
right?
52
But get this: As they’re hustling me out of the
cafeteria like I’m a perp on that COPS show, I’m
looking down at everybody’s trays. I see meat loaf
after meat loaf after meat loaf. And then I see one
tray without meat loaf. I look up, and there’s
Angeline, wiping gravy off her hand with a napkin.
ANGELINE!!! She was the one that threw
the meat loaf, and I had taken the fall for it.
53
Of course, I got a big lecture from the
principal and he might have even mentioned
Wheretheheckistan. Plus, he banned me from eating
school lunches for two weeks. (I got the feeling that
he thought that was a much worse punishment than
it actually was.)
And, to make things worse, of course I did not
get Angeline’s permanent record. (I mean, what did
I think I was going to do? Knock the principal out
with a karate kick and just grab the folder out of
the file cabinet???) It turns out this was a pretty
lousy idea. I’m never going to try something that
dumb again.
54
Friday 20
Dear Dumb Diary,
I tried something that dumb again. Between
classes, I saw the principal talking to Miss Anderson
who is a teacher and therefore old, but is beautiful
enough to be a waitress, and all the men teachers
talk to her for a long time. I ran all the way to the
office and walked right in and asked to talk to the
principal. He wasn’t there, so one of the secretaries
told me to come back later, but I told her I had a
private matter to discuss with him, and could I
leave him a note? Then I told her that with that
beret on, I thought for a second she was one of the
school cheerleaders.
55
Of course, she let me right in and all I had to
do was just walk over to the cabinet and snatch
Angeline’s permanent record. I know what you’re
thinking, Dumb Diary: You are thinking that I am the
Smartest Chick in the World. And you’re right. I am
the Smartest Chick in the World.
56
And later on, the Smartest Chick in the World
forgot Angeline’s file at school. On a Friday. So
now I’ll have OCD about it all weekend.
57
Saturday 21
Dear Dumb Diary,
What’s the name of that little animal with the
big head and the sharp little teeth? Oh yeah: Eddy.
My aunt dropped off Cousin Eddy today with his
permanently sticky face and Robot Avenger
backpack. She had a big long list of things he liked
and things he didn’t, but most of all, she said, don’t
give him anything with strawberries in it because
he’s allergic.
Mom keeps washing his face, but, like, three
minutes later he’s sticky again. He’s like a
doughnut that secretes its own glaze. Mom yelled at
me for using my finger to write “wash me” on his
cheek.
58
Sunday 22
Dear Dumb Diary,
Angeline uses such a wonderful and
important shampoo that the small wad of hair I
have has actually made our whole house smell
better. It also has a powerful effect on Eddy, who
seems to have an unnatural love for it, and a
mutant ability to sniff it out of its hiding places.
My Scientific Theory is that since Eddy will
grow up into a Guy one day, he is already
instinctively and unnaturally in love with Angeline.
The hair has no effect on my dad, and Isabella says
that is because he is my dad and stopped being a
Guy when he met my mom.
The fragrance also seems to have an effect
on Stinker,who sneezes and sneezes whenever I
grind the hair wad in his face. I wonder if that
annoys him?
59
Monday 23
Dear Dumb Diary,
There’s good news and there’s bad news. The
good news is Mom says that my aunt is picking up
Eddy on Thursday, which is a relief because I’m
getting tired of trying to hide Angeline’s hair wad
from him. There’s more good news. I remembered to
bring Angeline’s permanent record home. But I set it
down one second and turned my back and when I
reached for it again it was gone. I know it was either
Stinker or Eddy who took it, but no amount of
yelling or depriving of toys or dog bones has had
any effect. And Eddy really likes those bones.
60
Tuesday 24
Dear Dumb Diary,
It is making me mental that Angeline’s
permanent record is in this house and I cannot find
it. I even looked in Stinker’s doghouse, which meant
I had to throw out all the sticks and trash he had
been keeping in there. Since then, Stinker has been
staring at me for hours with his black, black, dog
eyes and I think he may be planning something
against me.
May be I should buy a dozen big mean cats to
have around the house in case some mean little dog
shows up to try to do something mean to me.
(Dumb
Diary, I read that last sentence out loud so that
Stinker could hear it, but it did not seem to have
any effect on him. If I turn up missing in the
morning, I just hope the police dust for fingerprints,
or foot prints, or whatever you call the prints left by
those paw-nubs on the bottom of a guilty beagle’s
foot. Hint, hint. )
61
Wednesday 25
Dear Dumb Diary,
I’m angry on the outside . . .
62
. . . but I’m far angrier on the inside.
63
I finally finished my mythology report. In
spite of distractions, like cousin Eddy clawing at
the door to get in, and the frustrating knowledge
that there could be something so joyfully
horrendous in Angeline’s folder that it could be
used to reduce her to a tiny quivering lump of
sobbing goo, and I do not know where the folder is.
64
Happily, Mom told me that Eddy won’t be
here much longer —my aunt is meeting us at school
tomorrow morning to pick him up.
I wonder if I’ll miss having him around the
house? I didn’t miss Stinker’s Frantic Itchy Butt
Disease when that cleared up, so I think I’ll be okay
when Eddy is gone.
65
Thursday 26
Dear Dumb Diary,
Stinker ate my mythology report.
I guess at least now I know what he’s been
planning. He was waiting for me to finish it. Here’s
how I know he was doing it to get back at me: He
only ate the words. He left the paper margins in his
bowl like pizza crusts.
66
I had to pack my own lunch this morning, on
account of being banned from buying lunch at
school. There was only a spoonful of strawberry jam
for my sandwich and just to make things worse,
Stinker must have licked it off my bread while I went
to the fridge to look for a juice box. I figured he did
it to get the taste of mythologyout his mouth —
which probably tastes awful —so I didn’t even get
that mad at him. My mom finished packing my lunch
and stuck it in my backpack.
67
So there I was, Dumb Diary. Mom was
dropping me off at school, and I knew I was headed
for an “F” from Mr. Evans. I mean, you just can’t
actually say the dog ate your homework. I have to
give that mean little beagle credit: Stinker played
that one beautifully.
68
While I was headed into school, my aunt met
my mom outside, and they were getting ready to
transfer Eddy from one minivan to another when he
escaped, I guess.
And the way I know that is because while I
was walking the Walk of the Condemned toward Mr.
Evans’s class, a small, dirty savage went whipping
past me in the halls with his little Robot Avenger
backpack followed by my screaming aunt. I was just
about to grab Eddy for her when I noticed Hudson
walking past, and I had to quickly decide if I was
going to help a family member or try to look cool for
a guy that probably hardly knows I’m alive.
“Hi, Hudson,”I said as Eddy scrambled out of
sight around the corner followed by my aunt who I
think was starting to cry.
69
I walked into Mr. Evans’s class, knowing full
well that I would be going first. Mr. Evans called on
me to stand up in front of the class and give my
presentation.
I had just started to say “Mr. Evans, I don’t
have my —” when Eddy ran into the class. His face
was swollen and his tongue was so thick I couldn’t
understand whatever he was jabbering. I suddenly
knew that Stinker had not licked my bread this
morning —Eddy had. I guess he really is allergic to
strawberries. Eddy was so puffy he looked like a
picture of himself somebody had drawn on a
balloon.
70
Eddy saw my backpack at the same time I saw
him use his supernatural hair-wad-locating-ability
against me, and we both lunged for it. But the little
demon-child was faster, and he managed to get his
big round head inside the backpack before I could
stop him. When I finally pulled his head out, he had
Angeline’s hair clump stuck like a beard to his
always-sticky face. With his dirty clothes and beard
and weird swollen-faced jabbering, he didn’t seem
human.
71
The fact that I was holding Eddy around his
neck as he kicked and growled and clawed at the air
did not do much to create the impression that he
was a human being, either.
Mr. Evans jumped to his feet and turned red
and started bulging his forehead vein at us and was
all “Do you know this . . . child, Jamie?” That’s when
I realized that the next thing out of my mouth was
going to get me failed, and also nicknamed
throughout the school as the Girl with the Crazy
Cousin, or something worse: Mike Pinsetti was
quickly jotting down a few nickname ideas on a
sheet of paper. You could tell he was trying out a
few things. I thought about pitching Eddy out the
second-story window.
72
Then, it happened. Eddy had knocked my
lunch bag out of my backpack, and what comes
rolling out and stops right in front of me? A
PEACH. My mom had packed a peach.
Angeline stood up. This was it. This was her
big opportunity. She had waited for just the right
moment, and this was obviously IT.
73
Angeline walked to the front of the class, and
stood next to me. She smiled her perfect Angeline
smile and said, “Mr. Evans, Jamie and I did our
report together. We did it on trolls. And this,” she
said, pointing to Eddy, “is our visual aid.”
74
She didn’t call me Peach Girl. She didn’t do
anything bad. Angeline was ACTUALLY
HELPING ME.Mr. Evans and the whole class —
even Hudson —suddenly looked like they were
getting this giant backrub from Angeline’s voice,
which is the most beautiful mortal voice ever heard,
but so what?
75
My butt was on the line here. So, I went with
it. The two of us started making it up as we went
along and every time Eddy would snarl or growl the
whole class would laugh, and I think Eddy even
started to like it. I quickly realized this was the best
report I had ever given, and I was actually enjoying
giving it. Just as we finished, my aunt showed up at
the door and took Eddy away, and we got an A on
the report and even a round of applause. (Isabella
had to do her best not to smile. Her lips are so dry
now that even a slight smile will split them open like
a pair of burnt hot dogs.)
76
As I went back to my desk, I asked myself:
Why would Angelin
e help me out? Could
it have been because I took the fall for her meat
loaf crime? Were we supposed to be friends now?
The thought of it just made me totally ill. I looked
SO sick, in fact, that Mr. Evans told me to get my
stuff and go down to the school nurse.
77
When I went for my bag, I saw Eddy’s Robot
Avenger backpack on the floor next to it, and
peeking out of just one little corner, I saw
Angeline’s permanent record. I scooped it up and
headed for the nurse’s office.
78
The nurse did what she always does. It
doesn’t matter if you have a heart attack, a leg
eaten off by bear, or an ax stuck in your face, it’s
always the same thing: Lie Down on the Cot
and Rest.
79
While I was lying there, I looked at the cover
of Angeline’s permanent record. Before I opened it,
I am used myself with what might be inside: Maybe
counterfeiting, kidnapping, fixing the outcome
of school football games by means of insincere
eyelash-batting at quarterbacks.
Or maybe she had been brought up on
charges of spending her whole life as somebody who
people can’t help but like even though deep down
they really and truly want to hate her.
All that was left to do was open it, and read
it, and then share its terrible contents with the