Pippa Morgan’s Diary

by Annie Kelsey

  Then, after school, she waited for me while I got my lunch box and we walked out of the school gates together. Her mom was waving at her from a big blue car.

  I stopped as Catie walked up the sidewalk to meet her. I didn’t know if she wanted me to follow. But Catie waved me over and asked me if I wanted to go to her house after school on Wednesday so we could work on our project.

  Her mom was smiling at me through the open car window. She said, “It would be lovely if you could come, Pippa. It’s always nice to meet Catie’s friends.”

  Does this mean I’m one of Catie’s friends already? WOOT!

  Perhaps I’ll end up being her best friend and I can help with her lunchtime schedule. (I’ll always sit next to her, of course!) And we can talk on the phone all the time, and she’ll think I’m way cooler than all her other friends. I can just imagine it now…

  Phone rings:

  MUM: (shouting up the stairs) It’s Catie on the phone for you again!

  ME: (racing downstairs) Thanks! (grabbing phone) Hi, Catie!

  CATIE: I’m planning a party and everyone’s coming but I want you to be the guest of honor.

  ME: Wow, Catie! Thanks! I’d love to be your GoH!

  CATIE: Great! I’m so lucky you’re my best friend in the whole world.

  Laterer

  Mom just told me that Dad has found an apartment! Yay! Since he moved out, he’s been staying with Uncle Pete, but now he’s going to have his own place! This means I can stay with him. I like living with Mom but it doesn’t seem fair to Dad if I just stay with her all the time. Plus, I miss Dad’s cooking. Mom tries her best but she doesn’t love cooking like Dad does. We’ve been eating Fridge Surprise a lot since Dad left. (Fridge Surprise is whatever Mom can find in the fridge served with rice or pasta. Yesterday we had sausage curry. Today it was cheese and beet macaroni. I peeked in the fridge while Mom was washing up. I hope she goes shopping tomorrow because I’m scared what she’ll make with yogurt and cauliflower.)

  After dinner, Mom looked tired, so I tried to cheer her up by performing my best magic trick.

  I got the TV remote so I could make it disappear then reappear behind Mom’s head. But I had my floppy sweater on (the one Gran knitted for me to “grow into”) so, when I snuck the remote control up my sleeve, it slid right up and flopped over the armpit part, and when I leaned forward to jiggle it out behind Mom’s head, it skied down my back and plopped on to the floor. It was like I’d laid an egg.

  Mom laughed. So did I. I like doing magic, but I’m glad I’ve switched to singing. I never got very good at magic. Singing is way more fun.

  Wednesday

  Ms. Allen has ordered me to wait in the locker room. My writing is wobbly because it’s difficult balancing my diary on my lap while I’m holding my nose. But if I let go (of my nose), I’ll choke. It smells like feet come here to die.

  I forgot my PE uniform. There’s no way I’m going to wear someone else’s icky uniform from lost and found, so I told Ms. Allen I’d hurt my foot (which was sort of true because I stubbed my toe on the stairs this morning and it REALLY hurt). But then Ms. Allen wanted to know how I’d hurt my foot, and I didn’t think she’d count a stubbed toe as a real injury (even though I bet a real athlete would—no one could win the Olympics with a toe as badly stubbed as mine) so I told her I’d fallen off the tightrope while I’d been practicing my circus skills.

  I know!

  DUMB!

  Why did the circus have to be the first thing that popped into my head? There are some BIG downsides to having my imagination.

  Ms. Allen looked like she didn’t believe me.

  And Mandy Harrison was listening. She said “Circus skills?” like it couldn’t be true. (I bet I could have tightrope lessons if I wanted.)

  Then Catie stepped forward and said, “My cousin learns circus skills after school at the community center.”

  I LOVE YOU, CATIE BROWN!

  I nodded like crazy, and Ms. Allen smiled and told me to stay in the locker room. I would have died if she’d found out I was lying. But maybe I will start learning circus skills one day and maybe I will hurt my foot falling off a tightrope. Then it won’t be a lie any more.

  Oops! Something heavy just hit the gym floor. Jane Harding probably fell off the pommel horse again.

  I can’t believe that I’m going to Catie’s house after school. I’m staying for dinner too. Her mom called my mom. Real food! Mom’s yogurt and cauliflower risotto wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

  Dad’s Dinners I Miss Most

  Spaghetti Tangle

  Torched Chicken

  Tuna Bomb (Dad calls this his “signature dish” and writes his name in cheese on the top)

  Mausage and Sash (that’s what Dad calls Sausage and Mash)

  Pizza Faces (I always choose pepperoni for the eyes and a big tomato mouth)

  I’ve just got one problem. Catie wants to hear my audition song for the Voice Factor.

  Okay, I’m going to confess something, so if you’ve found this diary and are having a snoop, STOP READING RIGHT NOW, because this part is REALLY PRIVATE:

  I can’t sing as well as Tiffany J. In fact, I can’t sing at all!

  I was the only person last year not allowed to join the fourth-grade choir. I told everyone that I was resting my voice for when I start real singing lessons (which I’m definitely going to do when Mom can afford it). But really it was because Mr. Thompson said I was so out of tune that I was distracting the other singers. He put me in charge of props at our end-of-year show. It was my job to guard the technicolor dreamcoat while everyone else was rocking the hall with “Go, Go, Go, Joseph!”

  I refuse to speak to Mr. Thompson now. I don’t think he’s noticed but I always give him a hard stare when I see him. I could be brilliant by now if I’d spent a year in the choir. Instead I just scare the neighbors. *sighs*

  I don’t want to scare Catie too. I’m going to have to think up an excuse when she asks me to sing.

  Excuses for Not Singing

  1. Tonsillitis (her mom might send me home).

  2. I’m saving my voice for the next audition (might work?).

  3. I’ve forgotten the words (Catie might google the lyrics).

  4. I bit my tongue at lunchtime and it’s too swollen to sing properly (would Catie ask to look at my tongue?).

  5. I ate chili for dinner last night and it burned my vocal cords (she definitely wouldn’t be able to see my vocal cords—I don’t have a clue where they are).

  6. Steven Fowl made me sign a contract promising not to sing for anyone outside the Voice Factor in case I’m discovered by another music producer (that would be so cool).

  Later

  I cannot believe what has happened!!

  By the time we got to Catie’s house, I was so nervous my heart was beating like a drum machine. I felt like I was going to the Queen’s house for tea. It didn’t help that, when we got there, Catie’s house looked like something from a movie. The front lawn was practically a carpet. The house was perfectly white with a shiny blue front door. The letter box shone like gold. There were no weeds in the yard like our house. And no chipped paint around the windows.

  Inside was even more like a movie house.

  There were wide wooden floors everywhere. They were so gleamy that I kept expecting a Disney princess to waltz through a doorway.

  Catie’s mom was really sweet and smiley, but as I walked in, I could see her staring nervously at my shoes. I thought she must have a Fear of Shoes like my mom has a Fear of Heights. Then I saw the gleamy floors and guessed she had a fear of footprints. Catie was already slipping her shoes off, so I did the same, and Catie’s mom snatched them up like she was catching mice. She hid them in the hall closet with our school bags and the hall was suddenly neat again.

  Our hall is never neat. Catie’s mom would prob
ably faint if she saw it. There are rain boots and coats and bags everywhere (although there’s a bit of space now, where Dad’s bike had been). Mom used to joke that our mess hid the stains on the carpet.

  ANYWAY.

  Catie’s mom gave us juice and cookies. I thought we’d take them up to Catie’s room but we had to eat at the kitchen table. Catie whispered that it was “because of crumbs” and rolled her eyes when her mom wasn’t looking. Her mom must be scared of footprints and crumbs. (She’d definitely faint in our house.)

  As soon as we’d finished, Catie took me up to her room. It was HUGE. The size of a basketball court with pink and white rugs. And the rugs were so fluffy! I had to take my socks off to feel them properly.

  I hopped from one rug to the next. It was like jumping across marshmallow stepping-stones.

  Then I saw Catie staring at me with big panicky eyes. She looked a little like her mom.

  I froze. Was it against the law to take your socks off in her house?

  ME: Sorry. I just wanted to feel the rugs.

  CATIE: Really?

  ME: They’re so soft.

  I started to reach for my socks but Catie suddenly grinned and took off her own socks.

  CATIE: You’re right! They’re as soft as kittens.

  ME: They’re as soft as a rabbit’s tummy.

  CATIE: They’re as soft as the inside of a puppy’s ear.

  ME: They’re as soft as strawberry mousse.

  We danced from rug to rug until we were out of breath, and then we collapsed on Catie’s bed.

  And then she said the thing I was dreading. “Do your audition piece, Pippa. Pleaaasssee!” She looked at me like a desperate puppy. I felt hot. I got up and walked to the window and looked out. There was no way I could lie to Catie while I was looking in those eyes. I was just about to explain about Steven Fowl making me sign a contract promising not to sing to ANYONE, when I saw a burglar.

  A REAL-LIFE BURGLAR.

  In the next-door neighbor’s yard, a big man was carrying a sack down the garden path. He kept glancing back at the house like he was scared he was being watched.

  I ducked and flapped at Catie. “Look!”

  She came over and looked out.

  CATIE: That’s just Mr. Briggs. He lives next door.

  I peeked out of the window. There was a tall wooden fence between Catie’s yard and next door’s. Beyond it, I could see Mr. Briggs heave the lid off a turtle-shaped sandbox. He started scraping at the sand to make a hole in the middle.

  ME: Why is he burying a sack in his yard?

  Then I remembered an episode of Spies Next Door where one of the secret agents buried a load of top-secret files in a community garden. What if Mr. Briggs was collecting secrets for foreign governments and hiding them in his yard?

  I had to find out!

  I rushed out of Catie’s room and ran downstairs. Catie was right behind me. As we crossed the hall, she steered me past the kitchen and through the laundry room. We charged out of the back door in our bare feet and raced up the lawn.

  Catie giggled. “The grass tickles!”

  I don’t think she’d been on the lawn in her bare feet before.

  I told her to shhhhh! Mr. Briggs mustn’t hear us through the fence.

  I could hear him scraping away at the sand.

  But how could we see over the fence?

  I spotted an apple tree and pointed into the branches. “Let’s climb it.”

  Catie glanced back at the house. “Climb a tree?” Then she looked at her school skirt. “I’ll get dirty. Mom’ll be mad.”

  “No you won’t!” I pulled her toward the tree. We scrambled on to the first low branch, then the next and the next, until we were peering over Mr. Briggs’s fence.

  Just in time!

  The sack was in the turtle and he was covering it with sand.

  My brain was whirring. What should I do?

  I was so busy thinking, my hand slipped and I tumbled around the branch and slid out of the tree. I landed with a thump in Mr. Briggs’s flower bed. Catie gasped and stared down at me with big owl eyes. Mr. Briggs spun around. He stared at me as I sat among the flowers. Then he looked up at owl-eyed Catie and burst out laughing.

  That surprised me.

  The secret agents on Spies Next Door never laugh.

  I decided that he must be pretending and jumped to my feet. “What are you burying?” I asked, trying to sound calm and strong.

  Mr. Briggs didn’t answer. He just waved Catie down from the tree. “Get down from there before your mother spots you,” he told her. He caught her as she jumped and swung her down on to the lawn. “Now what are you doing?” His eyes were smiley.

  I gave him a fierce look. “What are you doing?” I glared meaningfully at the half-buried sack.

  He laughed again.

  “Are you working for a foreign government?” I demanded.

  Catie stared at me in horror.

  But Mr. Briggs just laughed again. “I’m hiding birthday presents!” He dragged the sack out of the sand. “For Harry.”

  Was that a code name for his boss?

  ME: Who’s Harry?

  CATIE: His son.

  MR. BRIGGS: Harry always finds his birthday presents when I hide them in the house, so I thought I’d hide them out here. Harry hasn’t played in his sandbox since he was six.

  ME: Why should I believe you?

  Mr. Briggs reached into the bag.

  ME: Watch out!

  I leapt and grabbed Catie with a squeal. I’d seen something exactly like this on Spies Next Door. He was going to pull out a gun and shoot us! I just knew it!

  But he didn’t. He pulled out a soccer ball. And then a brand-new Lego Mindstorms box.

  He really was hiding presents!

  I started blushing. I stared at my dirty feet.

  “I’ll get a ladder.” Mr. Briggs chuckled. “You’ll need some help getting back over that fence.” He put the gifts back in the sack and headed for the big shed across the lawn.

  Catie looked down at her clothes, and I felt a prickly worried feeling in my stomach. Her shirt was smeared with green moss and twigs were sticking out of her hair. If her mom didn’t like footprints or crumbs, she’d probably hate moss smears and twigs. What if Catie got in trouble because of me?

  As we climbed to the top of the fence on Mr. Briggs’s ladder, I felt sick. Catie wouldn’t want to be my friend now.

  Mr. Briggs called good-bye as we used the apple tree to scramble back down into Catie’s yard.

  “I’m really sorry,” I told Catie. Her mom was staring angrily out of the kitchen window.

  I thought I was going to die when Mrs. Brown came out of the back door looking like a thundercloud in an apron.

  MRS. BROWN: (frowning) Catie Brown! What have you been doing? (staring hard at the moss stains on Catie’s shirt) That shirt was clean this morning!

  CATIE: (staring at her feet) Sorry, Mom. We were just playing.

  ME: (stepping forward) I’m sorry, Mrs. Brown. It was my idea to climb the apple tree.

  MRS. BROWN: (eyebrows shooting up) Climb the apple tree?

  ME: I thought Mr. Briggs was a spy.

  Mrs. Brown opened her mouth but nothing came out.

  ME: It’s okay. He’s not a spy. He was just hiding presents and I promise I’ll never make Catie get her uniform dirty again. I’m very good at learning from my mistakes.

  (This is actually true. Last year I persuaded Rachel to go to the park, and when we got home, Rachel’s mom was all pale and shaky and thought we’d been kidnapped and was about to call the police. We’d been playing Poop Bag and lost track of the time. Poop Bag is a brilliant game where you have to say “Poop Bag!” every time you see a dog walker carrying a bag with poop in. Then you score a point. Rachel and me used to
play it all the time. When she moved away the score was:

  Me: 38

  Rachel: 32

  I wonder what her score is now? Mine’s 45.

  ANYWAY.

  Rachel’s mom nearly died of fright, so after that, every time me and Rachel went out, I always went and told Rachel’s mom first.)

  Mrs. Brown was still staring with her mouth open, so I said very solemnly, “I absolutely promise that it will never happen again.”

  This seemed to make Mrs. Brown’s eyebrows go back into their proper place. She said, “Well, I suppose it’ll all come out in the wash” and went back into the kitchen.

  I looked at Catie.

  She had her lips pressed together. I thought she was really angry with me, but as soon as her mom had gone, she smiled. “That was fun!” That’s actually what she said. “That’s the best fun I’ve had in AGES!”

  Then she hugged me!

  I can’t believe it!

  I’ve made a new friend.

  Thursday

  Terrible news!

  (I’m squashed in a stall in the girls’ bathroom. It’s not easy writing in here. I keep banging my elbow on the toilet-paper holder.)

  The school principal, Mr. Badger, just announced at an assembly that there’s going to be a charity talent show at school NEXT WEEK and anyone can enter.

  Normally a show would be fun. And I’d get to watch Matilda Sweet from fifth grade try to sing harmony with her best friend Jasmine. I’ve heard cats in the yard with better voices. (They sang “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day” at the Christmas show. By the time they’d finished, everyone was glad it was only once a year.) Some of the fifth-grade boys always try to be the next big boy band. And the third graders are so cute when they sing. (In the school assembly last term, they dressed up as fruit to teach us about vitamins and one of the strawberries tripped over and couldn’t get up again, so the bananas tried to help him and one of them fell over too and knocked the rhubarb into the scenery. And everyone kept singing the vitamin song even though it looked like someone had spilled fruit cocktail on the stage.)