by Carol Weston
“You can’t look directly at the sun,” Maybelle explained. “But you can look at the moon all you want. And it changes!”
“I like when it’s bright and there are no clouds,” Lucia chimed in. “Like tonight.”
“Moon shadows are cooler than sun shadows,” Maybelle added.
Well, I started waving my arms in the air, and my shadow started waving its arms on the ground. It was all stretched out in front of me, long and skinny. Maybelle, Lucia, and Carmen started waving their arms too, and soon we were all jumping up and down—and so were our long skinny shadows.
Maybelle said, “The moon is 240,000 miles away.”
Lucia looked surprised, but I’m used to Maybelle being a math wonk and coming out with random facts.
“Another thing I like,” Maybelle said, “is that you don’t have to worry about moonscreen or moonglasses.”
“Hey, I brought moonscreen!” I blurted. “Smell!” I squeezed a pretend blob onto everyone’s palm.
“Lemon lavender!” Maybelle said.
“Gingerbread spice!” Lucia said.
“Strawberry shortcake!” Carmen said.
“Grape with a hint of honeysuckle,” I said, and then at the exact same time, we all went “Mmm!” (M-M-M).
“I also brought moonglasses!” I said and handed out pretend pairs.
“I’m putting mine on top of my head,” Maybelle said. “The movie star way.”
“Me too!” Lucia said.
“Me three!” Carmen said.
“Me four!” I said, and we laughed.
“What so funny?” Maybelle’s dad asked.
“The man in the moon!” Maybelle said, and we all kept walking and laughing with our moonglasses on top of our heads, in the dark but not-too-dark.
I wish we could have walked for hours.
And I wish my family liked to laugh and have fun together.
AVA IN THE MOONLIGHT
9/13
BEFORE SCHOOL
DEAR DIARY,
I told Mom how fun last night was, and instead of saying, “That’s nice,” she said, “You should have invited Pip.” Well, that made me mad because it’s not my fault that Pip doesn’t have real friends!
AVA IN THE MORNING
9/13
IN THE LIBRARY
DEAR DIARY,
Mr. Ramirez just asked how my story was coming along.
My story? What story? I didn’t tell him that I don’t have a character or a plot or even a first sentence.
At least I have a magic pen.
O-X-O
A-V-A
9/17
8 P.M.
DEAR DIARY,
After school, I went to Dr. Gross’s and waited for Mom. She was really busy, so I had to sit in the waiting room. After a while, I said, “I’m bored.”
Mom said, “Shhh.”
She hates when I say, “I’m bored.”
I hate when she says, “Shhh.”
I also hate being quiet. Pip is the Queen of Quiet. She’s even quiet when she goes up and down stairs while I, according to Mom, sound like “a herd of elephants.”
In school, Pip can go a whole day without saying five words. Last year, Lacey, a loudmouth girl with thick bangs and thick eyeliner, teased her and called her “Pipsqueak.” It made Pip even quieter!
I don’t know why Pip is so quiet. She just is. It’s like she has permanent stage fright—and she’s not even an actress.
I realize it must be hard for her, but does she realize that it’s hard for me too?
Pip and I don’t look that much alike (I have longish brown hair and brown eyes and no freckles, and she has medium red hair and green eyes and tons of freckles). We also don’t act alike (I talk fast and a lot, and she barely talks at all, and I write a lot, and she draws a lot). To be honest, I’m glad most people don’t know we’re related. It can be embarrassing when kids find out we’re sisters. They say, “You mean the short pretty girl who never talks?” or “You mean the weird girl who eats lunch by herself?”
Pip isn’t weird. She just has no life. Hardly anyone besides me even knows that deep down, she’s normal. And nice—well, except when she’s bratty.
One thing I like about having a big sister is she tells me stuff about when I was little. Like, she says I used to call “marshmallows” “marshmelons.” And once I had a tick on me and called it a “ticket.” And once I got us both in trouble because instead of a lemonade stand, I wanted to have a flower shop, so I cut all of Mom and Dad’s tulips so we could sell them. (Oops!)
Anyway, while I was waiting in the waiting room, I started thinking about how Dr. Gross does cat scans on cats and lab tests on Labs (Labrador retrievers). And I came up with an unbelievable four-word palindrome: Step On No Pets (S-T-E-P-O-N-N-O-P-E-T-S).
I was really proud of myself, and I told Mom I was going to make them a sign. I even started digging markers out of her drawer. But Mom said, “Not now, Ava! Can’t you see I’m trying to finish up?”
I said, “Okay.” But it was not okay. It was not one bit okay! In fact, it made me feel stepped on.
At 5, Mom made sure all the animals were happy. There were lots of cats and dogs, two birds, two hamsters, one ferret, and a green basilisk lizard that would probably be walking on water if it weren’t stuck in a tank at Dr. Gross’s. Mom and I locked up, and I asked where the lizard came from. She said Central America and started telling me about a famous palindrome about a Central American waterway: “A man. A plan. A canal. Panama” (A-M-A-N-A-P-L-A-N-A-C-A-N-A-L-P-A-N-A-M-A).
“H-U-H,” I said, and wondered how many other kids have word-nerd families and silent siblings and moms who sometimes seem like they care more about other people’s pets than their own daughter.
AVA ALL ALONE?
9/19
SATURDAY, BEDTIME
DEAR DIARY,
I found a two-word note from Pip on my desk. It said: “Wanna talk?”
I do, but her lights are off, and she gets mad when I wake her up.
AVA IN SUSPENSE
9/20
AFTERNOON
DEAR DIARY,
Pip and I were on the floor in her room doing Word Scrambles. I asked what she wanted to talk about, but she said she changed her mind.
I said, “That’s not fair!”
She shrugged.
Dad shouted up from the kitchen, “Who wants a Sunday sundae?”
A Sunday sundae is my favorite dessert, so I shouted, “Meeeee!” and ran downstairs.
While Dad was sprinkling nuts on our ice cream, I told him about the contest. Big mistake! He said I should definitely submit a story.
I told him my ideas about S-E-N-I-L-E-F-E-L-I-N-E-S and S-T-A-R-R-A-T-S.
He asked, “Does the ‘living creature’ have to be a palindrome?”
I said, “No,” and started feeling small.
“Then think big,” he said. “You’ll come up with something. You have a facility with language.”
“H-U-H?” I asked palindromically.
“A way with words.” He smiled. “Be patient. You’ll find your voice.”
Dad says the best writers have a “voice,” which means their words flow naturally, and you can recognize their style, and it’s almost as if you can “hear” them reading to you.
I wish I had a “voice.”
I wish I had a subject!
I guess I should be glad I can write about anything. Anything at all. Anything in the whole wide world! Anything alive!
But what should I write about? Princesses or presidents? Lions or lionfish? Friends or enemies? Frenemies??
Blank pages can be scary.
And I’m not patient.
“A way with words”? Right now I feel like shouting: “Away with words!”
; AVA THE ANXIOUS
9/20
BEDTIME
DEAR DIARY,
Pip’s door was open a crack, so I said, “Pip, c’mon, tell me the thing you were going to tell me.”
“It’s not a thing,” she said. “It’s a person.” Then she said she was going to bed, but that tomorrow we could do some more Word Scrambles.
AVA IN MYSTERY
9/27
MORNING
DEAR DIARY,
Not only have I not found my voice, I’ve lost my pen!! The silver one Dad brought me back from Ireland!
Last night when we were running errands, Dad said that even though Ireland is not a big country, four Irish writers got the biggest prize a writer can get: the Nobel Prize.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I lost his—my—prize pen.
Until now, I hadn’t even told you, my diary. I just stopped writing for a week. But not writing did not make me feel better.
Well, here I am, back again. I’m using a plain pen with the name of a boring bank on it. And I’m worried that I’ll never be able to write anything good again—let alone anything prize-worthy.
AVA, AVERAGE
9/29
ALMOST DINNERTIME
DEAR DIARY,
I barged into Pip’s room and said, “I know two transportation palindromes.”
Pip said, “You have to learn to knock!”
I went back out and knocked, and Pip said, “Who’s there?” so I said, “Ava,” and then barged in and said, “I know two transportation palindromes.”
She looked up and said, “K-A-Y-A-K and R-A-C-E-C-A-R. Duh.”
I sighed and sat on her bed. “What are you doing?” I asked. The answer was pretty obvious because there were pants and tops everywhere.
“Trying on clothes.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me your secret?”
“No.”
“Pleeeease.” She didn’t answer, so I said, “Just answer me this: is the ‘person’ a boy?” Pip blushed a little, so I said, “I knew it!”
She got pinker and said, “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Not a word!” she said.
“Not a P-E-E-P!” I agreed. “But, Pip, if you have a crush, you have to tell me who it is.”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “That stays secret.”
AVA AGAIN
10/01 (1-0-0-1)
BEDTIME
DEAR DIARY,
What if I’m stuck? What if I have writer’s block? I have no pen, no voice, no words, no nothing! And my story is due in eleven days.
Dad says I’m too young to have writer’s block. He got it once after a theater critic wrote a bad review of one of his plays. Dad had worked hard, and the actors had worked hard, and the director and stage manager and costume and set and lighting designers had all worked hard, and then a reporter sat down and didn’t like the show and said so. People stopped coming, and the show closed early, and it was sad for Dad.
For a while, he started moping instead of writing.
That was no fun for him—or for us, either!
It helped a little when Dad’s brother, Uncle Patrick, sent a note that said,
“The play was a great success but the audience was a disaster.”
Oscar Wilde
Dad taped it on the wall by his desk, and it’s still there.
I wish someone would write me an encouraging note.
Today, Mom and Pip started planning Pip’s birthday. She invited six seventh-graders to a slumber party. I think Mom’s hoping the party will fix Pip’s “social issues.”
Here’s what I love about slumber parties:
1.Staying up late
2.Raiding the refrigerator
3.Sleeping in sleeping bags
4.Doing Mad Libs
This will be Pip’s first real slumber party ever! She usually tries hard to stay off everyone’s radar (R-A-D-A-R). I mean, if someone next to her sneezes, I bet she doesn’t even say, “Bless you.”
It’s as if Pip thinks people will bite—like the mean dogs Dr. Gross sometimes has to take care of. The ones that when they’re hungry, the assistants open the cage door just a crack, put in the food really fast, and shut the door again before they snarl or nip or worse.
For Pip’s party, Mom offered to bring party pets, including a one-eyed owl from the wildlife refuge center.
Pip said, “Mom, I’m not in second grade!”
I think Mom forgets how old Pip is because Pip doesn’t act her age and I’m two and a half inches taller. (We just got checkups.)
Unlike me, Pip never keeps a diary. She’s not a writer; she’s a drawer.
Wait, that makes her sound like a piece of furniture! I mean, she’s an artist—she likes to draw and sketch.
Questions:
Do artists ever get artist’s block?
And do I have writer’s block?
At least I have you. When I write in you, it’s not for a prize or review or grade or anything.
I’ve decided to stop thinking about the dumb contest.
Who cares about it anyway? Even if I entered, I’d probably lose. I’m excellent at losing things.
AVA, BLOCKED
10/02
AFTER SCHOOL
DEAR DIARY,
I got a 100 on a spelling test but didn’t even mention it.
AVA AGAIN (AGAIN)
10/03
BEDTIME
DEAR DIARY,
Yesterday, I asked Maybelle if she ever noticed that her name starts with Maybe.
“Maybe,” Maybelle said and laughed. I think she must have, but then I’d never noticed that my family’s names are all palindromic.
Last night, Maybelle slept over, and this morning we overslept. She was supposed to be at a soccer game at ten sharp, but she forgot!
She’s lucky—her mom didn’t even get mad.
Today I wanted to ask my mom to help me think up story ideas, but she was busy with Pip. They were ordering helium balloons and a gigantic strawberry cake that says “Happy Birthday, Pip.” Now they’re talking about what to put in the goody bags and what kind of pancakes to make on Sunday—blueberry or chocolate chip.
To tell you the truth, I’m getting sick of the whole subject. I know they don’t want Pip’s party to be a dud (D-U-D) and they want it to be really fun, or at least fun enuf (F-U-N-E-N-U-F). But Mom never makes a big deal about my birthdays.
And that’s not fair. She’s my mom too!
AVA, AN AFTERTHOUGHT?
10/5
AFTER SCHOOL
DEAR DIARY,
Pip came home from school sobbing. During first period, a girl told her that something came up and she couldn’t go to Pip’s party. During second period, a second girl told her the same thing. During third period, a third girl also said her plans had changed. In gym, when even Isabel, who lives three houses away, offered a lame excuse, Pip made her tell her what was going on. Isabel did, but that got Pip even more upset.
What she found out is that this new kid, Bea, who has long straight blond hair, is having a boy-girl party on Saturday—the first boy-girl party of seventh grade!
Pip said it wasn’t fair that everyone was going to Bea’s party when she’d known them longer and invited them first. Then she ran to the girls’ room and hid out and ended up being late to science, and her teacher was giving a pop (P-O-P) quiz, so he gave her a zero.
Poor Pip! She’s never gotten a zero before. She usually gets nothing but straight As because she’s so smart and hardworking (even though she never participates).
Now she’s in her bedroom doing an extra-credit science project to make up for the zero. She just came out with puffy eyes and said she hates the new girl’s guts.
<
br /> I said, “Me too.”
Pip called Mom at work, and Mom offered to call Isabel’s parents or the new girl’s parents, but Pip begged her not to and said it would only make everything worse.
I feel so bad for Pip. Even though I was getting sick of hearing about her party, I never thought she’d have to cancel it!
I wish I could help.
AVA THE ANGRY
10/06
I don’t know what to write!
10/07
I still don’t know what to write!!
10/08
I STILL don’t know what to write!!!
10/09
LUNCH PERIOD
DEAR DIARY,
I told Mrs. Lemons I have writer’s block and asked if it’s curable. She said, “Ava, sometimes you just have to get out of your own way. I know you can write a wonderful story—no—lots of wonderful stories!”
I mumbled, “Thank you.”
Chuck, the boy who wants to be a boxer and who gets bus sick, added, “Ava, you stress out too much. Who even cares if you submit a dumb story or not?”
I mumbled, “I do.”
AVA, IN HER OWN WAY
10/9
AFTER DINNER
DEAR DIARY,
Yippee! I have a story idea! And it might help Pip feel better too!
Wish me luck. I have only three days.
Dad and I went to the copy shop to buy paper, and I confessed to him that I lost my pen. Dad didn’t get mad at me because he could tell I was already mad at myself. He said that even great writers lose their pens from time to time and offered to buy me a new one.
I went up to the display and tried out scented pens and glittery pens and fountain pens and pens with feather tops and pens with gold ink and pens with erasable ink. Finally I picked out a pen with turquoise ink. It’s cool, but it does not feel magical and obviously does not have “the luck of the Irish.”