by Jim Benton
I was pretty psyched about this, since, if it’s
somebody’s job to be an ON-CALL BARRETTE
CONSULTANT, they’re going to know techniques
that even Angeline hasn’t heard of!
When Collette returned, she said that
she couldn’t get a hold of the consultant. The
consultant’s mom said that the consultant was out
getting sponsors for a Walk-A-Thon tomorrow, but
we could try back later if we wanted to.
That means the mystery consultant could be
only one person . . . Like I was going to give Angeline
the satisfaction!
I told Collette that I had just remembered
that our school had a policy against barrettes
because a month ago a girl was innocently nodding
her head and her barrette flew across the room and
clamped around the neck vein of some nasty blond
girl and she went unconscious and now barrettes
are illegal and they’re considering putting some
limits on scrunchies as well.
I know. I know. It was a pretty stupid lie. But
I don’t have the deception abilities Isabella has
in moments like this. I’m just not in touch with my
Inner evil the way Isabella is, and I know that I
am probably a huge disappointment to her because
of it.
Sunday 08
Dear Dumb Diary,
I discovered Mom’s latest sinister plan. She
wasn’t donating my old clothes. She was having
a GARAGE SALE. When I woke up this morning,
Mom had put mountains of our junk out in the
driveway.
Have you ever seen a mom preparing a garage
sale? Fussing and figuring if she should ask two
cents or three cents for the warped Tupperware lid?
Mom! Please! Say three cents and then we
can buy that yacht we’ve always wanted.
Isn’t it better to just let people suspect that
you have crappy junk than to haul it all out in the
driveway and prove it to them?
Our garage sale, however, featured an even
bigger, uglier surprise: This huge group of people
started parading past our house. When I got up to
see what was going on, I realized it was that stupid
Walk-A-Thon. I even saw Angeline and a bunch of
other kids and parents from my school walk right
past my actual house. I’ll bet she was the one
who chose this route. I was so mortified that they
were going to see my old gross stuff for sale in
the driveway that I locked myself in my room and
refused to come out For as Long as I Lived.
If you ever decide to do something For As
Long As You Live, you’re going to find out that
this takes a lot longer than you thought it would
when you said it. And by dinner, I was ready to put
aside my mortification for the fragrance of pizza
that was wafting in from downstairs.
And get this: Mom gave me 45 bucks from the
sale of my old junk! At least, something good came
from the PUBLIC SALE OF SHAME. I guess I
have to give her credit for scheduling our garage
sale for when the Walk-A-Thon was going by. And.
maybe Angeline didn’t even notice my gross stuff.
Monday 09
Dear Dumb Diary,
Angeline had her picture in the town paper
today, and the whole school saw it because they
put the article up inside the lobby. It would be bad
enough if she was just looking adorable and non-
sweaty, but they happened to take the photo in
front of my house and you could actually see my
Big Ol’ Pudding Stain in the background.
Amazingly, nobody said anything. Evidently,
Angeline had forgotten I lived there.
Isabella and I gave Angeline the money we
had pledged the other day. Angeline walked ten
miles, so it only came out to a buck apiece. How
much could she possibly have raised?
Five bucks? Six?
Angeline asked us if we wanted to pledge her
next charity walk, and we said that we had already
committed to a different charity.
Pretty fast thinking, huh? It’s only because
I’ve heard my dad use it about a jillion times when
people call us at home for donations. He’s got a
bunch of great excuses to not fork over money.
Tuesday 10
Dear Dumb Diary,
Angeline is on to yet another charity.
This one donates old clothes to people. She asked
Anika and Hudson for a contribution, and I was
just about to contribute what a huge dipwad she
is, when Hudson said he thought it was pretty cool
of Angeline to work so hard for needy people. And
so did Anika, which made Isabella’s head nod
involuntarily, because that’s what her head does
when several other people agree on something.
(Also Angeline was wearing the barrette again,
which may have had some persuasive powers.)
Then Angeline turned to me and said, “You
probably got rid of all your old stuff at your garage
sale on Sunday, Jamie, so I doubt you have anything
to donate.”
“Shucks!” I thought. (Actually I thought
something much worse, but I will get in huge trouble
for writing it, so I’m going to stick with Shucks.)
“Shucks! Angeline did know it was my house.
But she can’t be sure it was my stuff!” I thought
cleverly. Make that VERY cleverly.
So I said, “No. No. That garage sale was
something my mom was doing. None of that stuff
was mine. I always selflessly donate my old junk
to charities. I’ll have a big bag of clothes for you.
Right away. Yup, a huge bag.”
Pretty good thinking, huh? Except for not
having a big bag of clothes. Or even a little bag.
Other than that, pretty good thinking.
The teamwork exercise in gym class today
was this: The little groups race one another in an
exercise called Sled Dogs. One person sits on
the floor on a towel and grabs on to a broom while
the other members of the team drag him or her
across the gym. Each person takes a turn on the
towel. I guess this is to determine who is good at
thinking up an excuse to not have to participate in
gym that day.
Anyway, Angeline must really be mad at
Pinsetti’s head, because she distracted me again,
which caused me to accidentally hit him in the
noggin with the broomstick when I turned to see
what Blondwad and Hudson were giggling about
this time.
Pinsetti was sort of dazed and spoke a little
Egyptian or French or something. Dover yelled at me
to be more careful, but I think Pinsetti was faking
it, because broomsticks probably break over heads
easier than you think.
I also think it didn’t help that Isabella was
shouting, “Again! Again!” over and over.
Wednesday 11
Dear Dumb Diary,
Today at lunch, Isabella said she’d heard
that Angeline had raised 300 dollars for her Walk-
A-Thon. They put a sign up by the office. I couldn’t
believe how much more famous that made her. How
famous does she need to be? If it was me, I would
be totally satisfied with being partly famous and not
have to go making myself famouser all the time.
And all day, Isabella couldn’t stop talking
about the money. She was like: “Three HUNDRED
bucks. For a charity. Nobody even knows who
these people are or anything, and they coughed up
three HUNDRED buckaroos.”
Then she took a bite out of her hot dog and
it scared me a little. I don’t know why, but to me
it looked like she was pretending that the hot dog
was the throat of the entire human race.
Isabella came over tonight, and she brought
a movie to watch: Beauty and the Beast As
it turns out, there is more than one version of this
movie, and Isabella did NOT bring the excellent
cartoon version with the singing teapot and dancing
candlestick. She brought some old one with the
people speaking French (sounding a lot like head-
injury Pinsetti) and you had to read what they were
saying at the bottom of the screen.
These are called subtitles, and they are
designed to make an irritating movie more irritating.
These subtitles stayed on the screen way too long,
so I kept reading them over and over, which made
it seem like all the characters were repeating
themselves like my grandma does — except that at
least they didn’t go on and on about how they could
buy a root beer for a dime when they were kids,
which was good I guess, because I’ll bet you can
really work up a thirst running from dinosaurs.
Anyway, the message of the movie was
about the same, I guess: Real Beauty comes
from within. Blah, blah, blah. But if this was
true, instead of bathing suits and nine-inch heels,
wouldn’t they make the contestants bring their
X-rays to the Miss America Pageant?
Thursday 12
Dear Dumb Diary,
We got a HUGE assignment in Phys Ed today.
HUGE! I can’t believe that I ever suggested to
Mr. Dover that he change the routine. If I had never
done that, I would be enjoying my many assorted
cramps right now instead of teamwork.
Here’s our big assignment. This is so big that
Dover is basing HALF of our grade on it. Each little
group of four gets divided up. One person stands
on one side of the gym, and the other three line up
across from him or her. Using only a soup pot, a
rubber snake, and a high-heeled shoe, we
have to get a baby doll across the gym floor to
that fourth member.
But we can’t just walk across the gym floor.
And the baby can’t touch it at all. We have to
pretend the floor is full of crocodiles. And we
may not simply hurl the baby across, because we’re
supposed to pretend it’s our precious baby, and
if the fourth member fails to catch it, that would
be curtains for baby. Other than that, Dover said
anything goes.
We have four whole weeks to figure this out,
but if we accomplish the task sooner, and prove to
Dover we can do it, we can just sit around during
gym and watch everybody else work it through.
So Dover lined us up in our group formations.
He said he could walk anywhere in the gym because
he has some sort of special resistance to the
crocodiles. Then he handed the dolls to the people
who are going to be on the left side of the gym.
Angeline took one look at her baby and said,
“Mr. Dover, something is wrong with our doll.”
Dover walked over and looked at the doll
and said, “Angeline, I don’t see anything wrong
with this.”
“Well, could you see what Hudson thinks?”
she said, and Dover walked over and handed it
to Hudson, who was standing on the other side of
the gym.
Angeline smiled, looked at Mr. Dover, and
said, “We’re done.”
There was this moment of silence when our
normal, innocent brains had to get up to speed and
realize what Angeline had done. She had gotten the
baby across the gym according to the rules, and
she had done in twenty seconds what the rest of us
were going to need four weeks to do. Plus, she had
tricked a teacher to accomplish it, right there in
front of everybody.
The applause was deafening. Mr. Dover, in
the interest of sportsmanship, HAD to accept the
solution, but then he set a new rule: that none of
the rest of us could trick a person to accomplish
the task.
I spent the rest of the class watching smugly
barretted Angeline and Hudson sit over in a corner
of the gym laughing and talking while my little
group dumbly scratched our dumb butts like dumb
apes and came up with nothing.
When class was over and it was time to
clean up, I tossed the pot to Pinsetti, who, it turns
out, wasn’t looking (which was kind of his fault,
according to Isabella), and I accidentally hit him
right in the exact spot where I had dropped him in
Trust Falls, and where I’d broken the broomstick.
He started yelling at me, but Isabella jumped
in and said if his head is so sensitive to injury,
then maybe he should just suck it up and wear a
helmet when I’m around. I’m so glad that I have a
friend like Isabella, who grew up with terrible mean
brothers who made her so cruel and quick to lash
out. It really is a blessing.
I know. I know. Why didn’t Pinsetti go nuclear
on me? I mean, one time he got in a fight with a
kid and messed him up so bad the kid had to eat
prescription soup for a month.
I think it’s because he had a crush on me
once, and the lingering effect of the crush kept his
anger subdued.
It’s a known science fact that Crush
enzymes can stay in your system for up to six
years. Love is so powerful that only swallowed gum
endures longer.
Friday 13
Dear Dumb Diary,
Angeline came around at lunch today and
asked for that big bag of clothes that I lied about
and she so rudely believed. I thought about just
admitting that I didn’t have any clothes for her, and
besides, I really don’t care that much if the people
in Wheretheheckistan want my old junk. But then
Hudson walked up with a paper bag and handed it
to her.
“I have some stuff for that clothing charity,”
he said. And then he said, “I think it’s really great
what you’re doing.” And I realized ANGELINE
WAS NOT WEARING THE BARRETTE! He
was looking at her differently than when she was
merely beautiful. Hudson was impressed by
her generosity. Hudson was seeing the inner
Angeline.
Oh, my gosh. It’s like Beauty and the<
br />
Beast Except Angeline is some sort of Beast
that has Inner Beauty and Outer Beauty, so it’s
Beauty and The Beauty. There is no Beast.
Angeline is like one of those candies that’s
chocolate on the outside, and when you bite into
it, there’s even better chocolate on the inside. And
there’s only one of those in the box. And you can’t
help it if you’re born one of those brittle, maple-
toffee, old- people flavors.
If you think Angeline made me crazy before
this, Dumb Diary, that was nothing. Angeline isn’t
just beautiful on the outside, she may also be
beautiful ON THE INSIDE, which means she
is much much much MUCH MUCH MUCH
MUCH worse.
Beauty is only skin-deep, but hate
goes all the way to the bone.
So I told Angeline that I had forgotten
the bag this morning because I was so busy
making posters for my new charity,Take an
Underprivileged Koala To Lunch Day,
that I forgot. Of course, she was interested in the
charity, but I told her we were still working out some
of the details, like making sure the restaurant had
enough booster seats for the koalas.
I know. I know. Another lame lie. But it was
all I could think of, and I wouldn’t even look at
Isabella, who I’m sure was deeply disappointed —
yet again — in my lack of inner wickedness.
Saturday 14
Dear Dumb Diary,
I tore up the house this morning. We had NO
old clothes. Mom’s brilliant garage sale strategy
had wiped us out. Even Dad’s old way-too-
short shorts were gone.
Isabella wouldn’t give me any of her old
clothes, because she said that if her clothes went
to some mysterious country, they could use them to