Dear Dumb Diary #8: It's Not My Fault I Know Everything

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by Jim Benton

Mr. Evans wanted us to talk about the

  diaries today in class. But, of course, nobody really

  wanted to talk about them, because talking about

  homework is like doing it twice. And now I’m writing

  about not talking about it, so now it’s like I’m doing

  it three times. I wonder if doing my homework three

  times like this is part of why I’m such a genius.

  Isabella did not forget that I had blown

  off her quiz yesterday. Isabella has an excellent

  memory and remembers almost everything.

  46

  In English class, she waved the magazine

  quiz at me in as threatening a manner as a quiz can

  be waved. Mr. Evans saw Isabella shaking it at me,

  and me trying to tell her to put it away with just my

  facial expressions, and of course he just HAD to

  say something. Teachers are very nosy about things

  you do while they are teaching.

  “Jamie,” he baldly began, “is there something

  that you and Isabella want to say before I give you

  both detention?”

  I had to think fast.

  “Mr. Evans,” I prettily answered, “I have a

  question about magazine quizzes.”

  47

  I braced myself to look at his face and

  the throbbing veins within, and it didn’t really

  look angry.

  If anything, it looked a little confused.

  It wasn’t the confused look he sometimes has, like

  when Isabella asks him language questions. Like a

  few weeks ago, when she asked him who makes up

  swear words and is that something that anybody

  can get a job doing because she has some good

  ideas for new ones.

  It was more of a stunned kind of confused,

  like the look on somebody’s face when you walk

  in on her and her ointment when she thought the

  bathroom door was locked.

  48

  “What’s the question?” Mr. Evans asked, his

  voice squeaking a bit.

  “Have you ever seen those quizzes?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’ve seen them.”

  “Well, do you think it would be a good idea

  to answer some of the questions from those things

  in our diary entries? I mean, it seems like they are

  supersmart and might be a good place to get ideas

  for things to write about,” I said.

  Isabella kind of deflated, because she is an

  expert on knowing how adults and apes will react

  to things. And she could see how this was going to

  go down.

  49

  Mr. Evans stood up and smiled, which made

  me swallow my gum.

  “That’s a great idea, Jamie,” he said. “And I

  think you’re right: Those quizzes do have really good

  questions.”

  Later on, I explained to Isabella that now

  I’m saving my quiz answer for homework because

  it’s easier to do that than to think up something

  new, and besides, it was her fault that I had to

  cleverly ask Evans the question in the first place.

  Isabella didn’t like it, but working less on homework

  is so deeply rooted in her soul that she was unable

  to argue about it.

  Oh, hang on. I almost forgot my fake entry.

  50

  My Dearest Diary:

  My friend says she started pooping gum at eight

  years old because she’s more mature than most girls her age,

  but that might just be bragging.

  You see, scary teachers can be even scarier when

  they are unexpectedly unscary, and this can make you

  swallow your gum. According to my friend, Science says

  most people don’t start pooping gum until they are at least

  nine years old because it takes seven years to pass through

  your system, and most parents don’t give gum to anybody

  under two years old.

  Sincerely,

  Anonymous and I’ll have to get back to you about the gum

  51

  Wednesday 11

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Isabella asked me to take a look at a few of

  her diary entries for Mr. Evans’s class. Diareering —

  or would it be “diarating”? — anyway, the keeping

  of a diary is one of the few areas where Isabella will

  admit that I am better than she is.

  52

  She said that she thought using ideas from

  magazines was a good way to make the project

  easier. So this was one of her entries:

  53

  I chose this entry because it was one of

  the entries that used the word “want” the least.

  There was one that used it less, but it used the

  word “demand” a lot, and it didn’t really reflect

  Isabella’s best qualities. Best quality. Whatever.

  I told her I really liked how she described the

  way she felt about Magazine- Card Guy, throatwise.

  And I reminded her NOT to use her real name

  because they’re going to put these in the library

  for anybody to read. Including Magazine-Card Guy,

  whoever he is.

  She said she didn’t care because she wants

  people to know how she feels about them.

  And then Isabella asked to see that entry

  about how I think people feel about me. You know,

  that question I never got around to answering

  because I just don’t feel like it.

  To be fair, she HAD shown me one of her

  entries, and she IS my best friend and everything,

  so I figured I should do the right thing and distract

  her by telling her that her puppy would be ready

  tomorrow.

  54

  Okay, maybe that was not totally completely

  100 percent true. But at least it should have

  been true.

  And when you think about it, SHOULD

  HAVE BEEN TRUE BUT ISN’T is wayway

  better than SHOULD NOT BE TRUE BUT IS.

  Also I think wayway should be a word, as in the

  sentence: Isabella was so wayway excited that

  she totally forgot about proving to me that I am not

  a magazine genius.

  Tomorrow I’m going to have to talk to

  Angeline and see if I can make her understand

  that this is her fault, or the fault of her dog for not

  getting these puppies ready in time for my lie to be

  true. Maybe they can let one go early. Otherwise, I

  am going to be wayway in trouble with Isabella.

  Oh, I almost forgot the fake diary entry.

  Here goes:

  55

  My Dearest Diary:

  Lies are something that people should not make you

  tell, because there is a chance that somebody could actually

  blame you for a lie that others put into your mouth.

  This makes them Doubly Responsible: once

  for making you lie, and again for getting you blamed for

  it. Honestly, I don’t know how some people live with

  themselves.

  Sincerely,

  Wayway Anonymous

  56

  Thursday 12

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  I managed to find Angeline before school

  started. It’s not hard, really. You just look around

  for an emanation of golden light beaming up from

  a crowd of normal people, and in the cent
er you will

  find Angeline, emanating all over everybody.

  I explained to her that I didn’t know how, but

  Isabella may have gotten the impression that her

  puppy might be ready to go home with her, and did

  Angeline think maybe we could just hurry things up

  a bit? I said that maybe some puppies are ready to

  leave home earlier than others. Like my grandpa,

  who always tells me how he left home when he was

  only seventeen and headed out into the world to

  seek his fame and fortune. And how kids today are

  no good and he needs an operation to get a new

  skeleton or something.

  57

  Angeline said she doubted the puppies were

  ready to be separated from their mother. But then

  she said I should come over after school tomorrow

  and we’ll have a look at them. And while I’m there,

  SHE’LL TRY TO DO SOMETHING WITH

  MY HAIR.

  58

  It was just like if you spotted a unicorn in

  your yard and didn’t want to scare it away, so you

  lured it closer by offering it raspberry milk shakes

  and sequins or whatever it is unicorns eat.

  “Sure, okay,” I said, doing my best not

  to commit sudden, violent pee. “Let’s not talk to

  Isabella about this little puppy review, though —

  let’s make it a surprise.”

  Of course I knew that she’d find out sooner or

  later. Now that I think about it, adults are always

  saying that. “I’ll have to do something sooner or

  later.” Why would anybody ever pick sooner?

  “Sooner or later, you’re going to break your

  neck if you keep that up.”

  “Okay. I think that later is going to work

  better for me, then.”

  59

  I saw Isabella at lunch and told her that I

  had to check with Angeline about how we could get

  her the puppy. Even though my dog, Stinker, was

  their father, Angeline’s dog was their mother, which

  made Angeline a mother- in- law, and you do not

  want to get one of

  those

  bent out of shape.

  This was enough to make Isabella wait a little

  longer, since dads fear almost nothing on earth

  except their mothers-in-law.

  60

  FRIDAY 13

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  OhmygoshabunchofstuffhappenedtodaybutI

  can’treallyrememberanyofitbecauseIwentoverto

  Angeline’shouseandshefixedmyhair. Idon’tknowwhy

  shedidbutshedidandnowit’sbeautiful.

  Wait a second. Wait a second. I have to

  breathe. Oh my gosh when I breathe my nose is

  filled with this delicious shampoo fragrance and

  I’m having a hardtimebreathingnormallyI’mso

  excitedStinkerisbarkingandIhavetocalmdownfora

  minutebeforeIwriteanymoreIfeelalittledizzy.

  61

  Okay. I’m okay now. I laid down for a while

  and Stinker finally stopped barking at me. But I

  think I know why he was barking — he hardly even

  recognized me with My Gorgeous New Hair. I look

  like an entirely different person. Also, I think I

  might have been standing on his foot.

  So, I went over to Angeline’s house earlier

  and we talked about the puppies. Whatever, blah

  blah blah.

  62

  The main thing of all MAIN THINGS is

  that ANGELINE FIXED MY HAIR. She did a

  little shampooing, some conditioning, combing,

  trimming, a spritz of this and a spray of that,

  and now my hair looks exactly like hers, except

  for instead of being golden-blond, mine is this

  shimmering-toasted-auburn-brunette color that

  is the exact same color as the most delicious things

  on earth’s menus.

  My head looks like this ridiculously expensive

  teddy bear that first you fall in love with, and then

  you can’t resist the impulse to eat.

  63

  Angeline gave me a bottle of something that

  I have to spray it with every hour or so, and some

  little bottles of a special shampoo she mixed up.

  My hair and I will be making some serious

  plans for our future. I think that things are going

  to be very different for us now. I wonder if I should

  name my hair.

  64

  Saturday 14

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  My hair and I got up a little early today.

  I slept with it in a protective pillowcase and

  immediately gave it a big breakfast of shampoo

  and this spray that it likes so much. While I was

  brushing it, I looked out my window and thought of

  all the people with ugly hair. I nearly cried a real

  tear, except that Angeline said salt water isn’t good

  for my hair so I laughed at them instead.

  At breakfast, my mom said she loved my

  hair, but my dad was all “Why did you do that to

  yourself?” and “I liked it better before.”

  Sometimes it’s very clear to me that I didn’t

  just come from my dad. I actually evolved

  from him.

  65

  It was extra-good that I didn’t have school

  today. That way I could spend some quality time

  with my quality hair before it has to be exposed to

  the foulness of the world. I wonder if I can make it a

  requirement that icky kids aren’t allowed to look at

  it. My uncle is the assistant principal. May be he can

  hook me up.

  I wonder why Angeline never thought of

  making that rule before? I guess this is what comes

  from being smart

  and

  beautiful.

  Isabella called today (like, eleven times) to

  find out about her puppy, and I had to keep telling

  her that Angeline said it wasn’t ready and she’d just

  have to be patient. Isabella started yelling that she

  wanted it before all the cuteness wore off. (Or is

  that cutenicity?)

  I think I hear my hair getting up from its nap,

  so I gotta go.

  66

  Sunday 15

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Sunday is homework day, the day Isabella

  usually comes over, but I really didn’t want to hear

  her complain about the puppy, so I didn’t invite her.

  I was kind of surprised when my mom called

  up to me that “my friend” had arrived to do

  homework, even though Isabella is not a person

  that lets a lack of an invitation get in the way of her

  showing up.

  67

  But it wasn’t Isabella. It was Angeline. And

  she had her backpack, full of homework.

  “Thanks for inviting me over, Jamie,” she

  said. “I do my homework throughout the week so

  it doesn’t all back up on Sunday, but I can double-

  check my work while you do yours.”

  I can’t tell you how many things were wrong

  with this:

  • Angeline at my house.

  • Somebody who does their homework

  throughout the week.

  • Double-checking. (I mean, how do you

  even do that? If you’re too dumb to get

  it right the first time,
you’re too dumb the

  second time, too, right?)

  68

  I asked Angeline if we had planned this little

  homework date earlier and it had just slipped

  my mind.

  She said she came over because I had called

  her house and invited her.

  Then I nearly knocked Angeline over as I blew

  out the door past her.

  69

  I ran all the way to Angeline’s house, my

  exquisite hair trailing behind me like ribbons of

  caramel silk. I know this because every time I

  passed a parked car I checked out my reflection

  in the windows. Plus, I pay very close attention to

  candy commercials that feature caramel.

  By the time I got to Angeline’s house,

  Angeline had caught up to me. We were both

  wheezing and holding our guts and trying to talk

  in that broken way that you do when you’ve been

  running.

  “What’s. The. Deal. Jamie?” Angeline huffed.

  “Check. The. Puppies. That. Wasn’t. Me. That.

  Called,” I puffed back.

  70

  Angeline went inside for a minute, then came

  back out and sat down on the porch.

  “My mom says that a girl was just here

  claiming to be you, saying that she needed to pick

  up one of the puppies because Stinker was getting

  sick from missing his children and would probably

  die within the hour if he didn’t get to see one

  of them.”

  “Claiming to be me?”

  “My mom says that she either had a really

  ugly wig or a gopher on her head,” Angeline said.

  “But my mom knows I fixed your hair, so she knew

  that the girl wasn’t you. When she said she knew it

  wasn’t you, the girl just ran away.”

  71

  I told Angeline that it was Isabella. She

  hadn’t seen me with my gorgeous new hair yet. And

  it was Isabella who had called, pretending to be me

  and inviting Angeline over to do homework.

  “Really? She sounded exactly like you. But

 

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