by R. L. Stine
Mom shook her head. “No way, Alex. And stop betting every second. That’s such a bad habit. Is that why you’re broke all the time?”
I didn’t answer that question. “What’s the surprise?” I asked.
“Come on. I’ll show you.” Mom pulled me upstairs to my bedroom. I could see she was excited.
She moved behind me and pushed me into the room. “Check it out, Alex!”
I stared at the big desk against the wall. It was made of dark wood and it had two rows of drawers on the sides.
I stepped up to it. The desktop had a million little scratches and cracks in it.
“It’s … it’s old!” I said.
“Yes, it’s an antique,” Mom replied. “Your dad and I found it at that little antiques store on Montrose near the library.”
I ran my hand over the old wood. Then I sniffed a couple of times. “It’s kind of smelly,” I murmured.
“It won’t be smelly after we polish it up,” Mom said. “It will be like new. It’s a beautiful old desk. So big and roomy. You’ll have space for your computer and your PlayStation, and all your homework supplies.”
“I guess,” I said.
Mom gave me a playful shove. “Just say ‘Thank you, Mom. It’s a nice surprise. I really needed a desk like this.’ ”
“Thank you, Mom,” I repeated. “It’s a nice surprise. I really needed a desk like this.”
She laughed. “Go ahead. Sit down. Try it out.” She wheeled a new desk chair over to the desk. It was chrome with red leather.
“What an awesome chair!” I said. “Does it tilt back? Does it go up and down?”
“Yes, it does everything,” Mom said. “It’s a thrill ride!”
“Cool!” I dropped into the chair and wheeled it up to the old desk.
The phone rang downstairs. Mom hurried to answer it.
I tilted the chair back. Then I leaned forward, smoothing my hands over the desk’s dark wood. I wonder who owned it before me, I thought.
I pulled open the top desk drawer. It jammed at first. I had to tug hard to slide it open. The drawer was empty.
I slid open the next drawer. The next. Both empty. The air inside the drawers was kind of sour smelling.
I leaned down and pulled open the bottom drawer.
“Hey—what’s that?”
Something hidden at the back of the drawer. A small, square black book.
I reached in and lifted it from the drawer.
Then I blew the thick layer of dust off the cover and raised it close to see what it was.
A diary!
I stared at the dusty book, turning it over in my hands. What a strange coincidence!
I rubbed my hand over the black leather cover. Then I opened the book and flipped quickly through the pages.
They were completely blank.
I’ll use this to write my diary for Miss Gold, I decided. I’ll write my first entry tonight. And I’ll write it in ink. Miss Gold will like that.
I set the diary down on the desk and thought about what I would write.
First, I’ll describe my friends, I decided. Miss Gold said I needed more description, more details. I stared at the old diary and planned what I would say.
I’ll start with me. How would I describe myself?
Well, I’m tall and kind of wiry. I have wild brown hair that I hate because it won’t stay down. My mom says I’m always fidgeting. I can’t sit still. My dad says I talk too fast and too much.
What else? Hmmm … I’m kind of smart. I like to hang out with my friends and make them laugh. I’m a pretty good guitar player. I’d like to make a lot of money and get really rich because I’m always broke, and I hate it.
That’s enough about me. What about Chip? How would I describe Chip?
Well … he’s short. He’s chubby. He has really short brown hair and a round baby face. He looks about six, even though he’s twelve like me.
Chip wears baggy clothes. He likes to wrestle around and pretend to fight. He’s always in a good mood, always ready to laugh. He’s a terrible guitar player, but he thinks he’s Jimi Hendrix.
Shawn is very different from Chip. He’s very intense, very serious. He worries a lot. He’s not a wimp or anything. He just worries.
Shawn has brown eyes, orangy hair that’s almost carrot colored, and lots of freckles. He gets better grades in school than Chip and me because he works a lot harder.
Who else should I describe? Do I have to describe Tessa? Yes, I guess I should. She’ll probably pop up in the diary from time to time.
I guess Tessa is kind of cute. But she’s so stuck-up, who cares?
She has straight blond hair, green eyes, a turned-up nose like an elf nose, and a little red heart-shaped mouth. She’s very preppy and perfect-looking.
Yes. That’s good. Tessa wants to be perfect all the time. And she hangs out only with girls who are just like her.
I flipped through the empty diary one more time. I’m pretty good at description, I decided. I couldn’t wait to write this stuff down.
And what else should I write about? I’ll write about how my parents bought me a new desk, and how I found a blank diary in the bottom drawer just when I needed a diary. Very cool!
I leaned back in the new desk chair, very pleased with myself. I tilted the chair back a few times. Then I raised and lowered the seat, just to see how it worked.
I heard Dad come home. Then I heard Mom calling me to dinner. I tucked the diary into the top desk drawer and hurried down to the dining room.
“How’s the new desk?” Dad asked.
“Excellent,” I told him. “Thanks, Dad.”
He passed the bowl of spaghetti. “Did you have band practice this afternoon?”
“Yes, kind of,” I replied. “We blew the fuses again. We really need a better place to rehearse.”
Mom chuckled. “Your band needs a lot of things. Like a singer, for example. None of you guys can sing a note. And how about someone who doesn’t play guitar?”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the encouragement, Mom.”
Dad laughed too. “What do you call your band? Strings and More Strings?”
“Ha-ha,” I said. Dad has such a lame sense of humor. He’s not even as funny as Shawn, who is never funny!
“Bet you ten dollars that we get good enough to win the junior high talent contest,” I said.
“Alex, no betting,” Mom said sternly.
They started talking to each other, and I concentrated on my spaghetti and turkey meatballs. We used to have real meatballs. But Mom became a health freak. And now all of our meat is made out of turkey.
After dinner, I practically flew upstairs to get started on my diary. I found a black marker pen to write with. Then I sat down in the new desk chair and pulled the diary out of the drawer.
I’ll start with an introduction about how I found the diary, I decided. Then I’ll describe my friends and me.
I opened the diary to the first page. And let out a gasp.
The page had been completely blank when I found the book this afternoon. But now it was covered with writing. There was already a diary entry there!
At the top of the page, a date was written: Tuesday, January 16.
“Huh?” I squinted hard at it. Today’s date was Monday the fifteenth.
“This is too weird!” I said out loud.
A diary entry for tomorrow?
My eyes ran over the handwritten words. I couldn’t focus. I was too surprised and confused.
And then I uttered another gasp when I made another impossible discovery.
The diary entry was written in my handwriting!
A diary entry for tomorrow in my handwriting? How can that be? I wondered.
My hands were shaking. So I set the open book down on the desktop. Then I leaned over it and eagerly started to read.
DEAR DIARY,
The diary war has started, and I know I’m going to win. I can’t wait to see the look on Tessa’s face when she has
to hand over one hundred big ones to me.
I ran into Tessa in the hall at school, and I started teasing her about our diaries. I said that she and I should share what we’re writing—just for fun. I’ll read hers, and she could read mine.
Tessa said no way. She said she doesn’t want me stealing her ideas. I said, “Whatever.” I was just trying to give her a break and let her see how much better my diary is going to be than hers.
Then I went into geography class, and Mrs. Hoff horrified everyone by giving a surprise test on chapter eight. No one had studied chapter eight. And the test was really hard—two essay questions and twenty multiple choice.
Why does Mrs. Hoff think it’s so much fun to surprise us like that?
The diary entry ended there. I stared at the words until they became a blur.
My hands were still shaking. My forehead was chilled by a cold sweat.
My handwriting. And it sounded like the way I wrote.
But how could that be? How did an entry for tomorrow get in there?
I read it again. Then I flipped through the book, turning the pages carefully, scanning each one.
Blank. All blank. The rest of the pages were blank.
I turned back to tomorrow’s entry and read it for a third time.
Was it true? It couldn’t be—could it?
What if it is? I asked myself. What if Mrs. Hoff does spring a surprise test on us? Then, I’d be the only one who knew about it.
I’d be the only one to pass the test.
I closed the diary and shoved it into the desk drawer. Then I found my geography textbook, opened it to chapter eight, and studied it for the next two hours.
The next morning, I ran into Tessa in the hall outside Mrs. Hoff’s room. “Nice shirt, Alex,” she sneered, turning up her already-turned-up nose. “Did you puke on it this morning, or is that just the color?”
“I borrowed it from you—remember?” I shot back. Pretty good reply, huh?
“How is your diary coming?” Tessa asked. “Or do you want to give up and just pay me the hundred dollars now?” She waved to two of her friends across the hall, two girls who look just like her.
“My diary is going to be awesome,” I said. “I wrote twelve pages in it last night.”
I know, I know. That was a lie. I just wanted to see Tessa react.
She sneered at me. “Twelve pages? You don’t know that many words!” She laughed at her own joke.
“I have an idea,” I said. “Why don’t we share each other’s diaries?”
She frowned at me. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll read your diary, and you can read mine,” I said. “You know. Just for fun.”
“Fun?” She made a disgusted face at me, puckering up that tiny heart-shaped mouth. “No way, Alex. I’m not showing you my diary. I don’t want you stealing my ideas!”
Oh wow.
Oh wow!
That’s just what Tessa said in the diary entry.
Was the diary entry coming true? Was it all really going to happen?
I suddenly felt dizzy, weak. How could a book predict the future?
I shook my head hard, trying to shake the dizziness away.
“Alex? Are you okay?” Tessa asked. “You look so weird all of a sudden. What’s wrong with you?”
“Uh … nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.”
The bell was about to ring. I gazed into Mrs. Hoff’s classroom. It was filling up with kids.
I turned back to Tessa. “Uh … you haven’t read chapter eight yet, have you?” I asked.
“No. Not yet,” Tessa replied. “Why?”
“No reason,” I said, trying to hide my grin.
I followed her into the room. I waved to Chip and Shawn. Then I dropped my backpack to the floor and slid into my seat at the back of the room.
Mrs. Hoff was leaning over her desk, shuffling through a pile of folders. She has straight black hair and flour-white skin, and she always wears black.
Some kids call her Hoff the Goth. But that doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t even rhyme.
I sat stiffly in my seat, watching her, tapping my fingers tensely on the desktop. My heart started to race.
Is she going to give the test? I wondered.
Is the rest of the diary entry going to come true?
My heart thudded in my chest. I leaned forward so far, I nearly fell off my seat.
Is she going to announce the test? Is she?
Gripping the desktop with both hands, I held my breath and watched her.
“Let’s all settle down now,” Mrs. Hoff said, straightening one sleeve of her black sweater. “We are going to have a busy morning.”
A busy morning? What did that mean?
A test?
I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I let it out in a long whoosh.
“Please clear your desks,” Mrs. Hoff said. “Take out paper and pencils, everyone. We’re having a surprise test on chapter eight.”
“YESSSS!” I cried.
My shout rose up over the groans and moans of all the other kids.
Everyone turned to gape at me.
I could feel my face growing hot. I knew that I was blushing.
Mrs. Hoff tossed back her black hair and snickered. “Since when do you like tests, Alex?”
“I … uh … didn’t hear you right,” I answered, thinking fast. “I thought you said we were going to have a rest!”
The whole class burst out laughing.
I like making people laugh—but I hate being laughed at. At least it got me off the hook.
Mrs. Hoff handed around the test papers. I checked mine out carefully. Two essay questions and twenty multiple choice.
Yes! Just like in the diary entry.
It was all true. All of it!
The diary predicted the future.
Several times I had to stop myself from humming as I took the test. This was sweet, so sweet! I knew everything! It was going to be my best geography score ever.
I could hear the other kids moaning unhappily. Across the room, Shawn was slapping his forehead, frowning down at his test paper.
I finished ten minutes before the bell rang. The other kids were still writing like crazy, groaning in misery, scratching their heads.
When the bell rang, the room was silent. Kids slowly handed in their test papers. Their faces were green, sick looking.
“I flunked it,” Chip sighed out in the hall. “I totally flunked it.”
Shawn slumped behind him. “I didn’t know enough to flunk it!” he declared.
A pretty good joke for Shawn. Only I don’t think he was joking.
“How did you do, Alex?” he asked.
“Not bad,” I said. “I might have aced it.”
I turned away from their shocked stares to greet Tessa.
She slunk into the hall, defeated, wrung out. Even her hair looked wilted.
“That was rough,” she groaned. “Why didn’t she tell us to study that chapter?”
I couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across my face. “Tessa, bet you five dollars I aced it,” I said.
Her mouth dropped open.
“Alex, save your money!” Shawn warned. “That’s crazy. You know you never win a bet against Tessa.”
“You can’t win that bet!” Chip chimed in.
“Five bucks,” I repeated, ignoring them. “Want to bet, Tessa?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. She studied me hard. “You want to bet me that you aced that surprise test?”
My grin grew wider. I tried to keep a straight face. But I just couldn’t.
“I don’t like that grin,” Tessa said. “No bet.”
“But, Tessa—” I started.
She spun away and trotted around the corner, her blond hair sagging limply behind her.
“Alex, you can’t win against her,” Shawn said. “Why do you keep trying?”
“Maybe I can win,” I told him. “Maybe I’m going to start winning big-time.”
“A
re we going to practice after school?” Chip asked. “I found a better extension cord for the garage. Maybe it won’t blow the fuses.”
“We need to learn some new songs,” Shawn said. “I downloaded the chords for ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ”
“Cool,” Chip said. He began strumming his stomach, humming the melody, doing a loud air-guitar version of the old Led Zeppelin song.
“Uh … I can’t do it after school,” I said. “I have to get home.”
They both groaned with disappointment. But I didn’t care.
I had to get home to check the diary. I had to see if another entry had appeared.
Would it be there, waiting for me? Waiting to tell me about tomorrow?
I saw Tessa watching me as I left school that afternoon. She was talking to another girl, but she had her eyes on me.
I didn’t stop to talk to her.
I ran out the front doors and leaped down the front steps. It was a blustery, wintry day. Heavy, dark clouds covered the sky.
I was so eager to get home, I hadn’t zipped my parka. As I ran, it billowed up behind me like a cape.
I’m a superhero! I thought. And what is my superpower? The ability to know the future!
The gusting wind helped to carry me the four blocks to my house. I felt as if I were flying.
I was half a block from home when I saw the little orange kitten dart into the street.
“Help! Get him! Get him!” a little red-faced boy came running frantically to the curb. I recognized him. Billy Miller, a kid I baby-sat for sometimes.
Billy’s kitten was always running away.
Alex to the rescue! I thought. I was feeling like a superhero. I flew into the street, scooped up the kitten easily, spun around, and ran it back to Billy.
Billy was so happy to have the kitten back in his hands, he nearly squeezed it to death! He thanked me a hundred times and went running back to his house.
A few seconds later, I trotted up our gravel driveway. I stopped at the kitchen door. I swallowed hard, trying to catch my breath.
I had been feeling like a superhero. But now unpleasant thoughts forced their way into my mind.
The wind died, and my coat drooped around me. I suddenly felt as heavy as a rock.
Will the diary have an entry about tomorrow? I wondered.