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

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Dear Dumb Diary #8: It's Not My Fault I Know Everything Page 5

by Jim Benton


  100

  OKAY DIARY. IF ONLY SHE COULD JUST BE

  HERSELF AND STOP WORRYING ABOUT HER

  LOOKS SHE WOULD BE PERFECT. I INVENTED

  A NEW KIND OF SLOPPY JOE AT LUNCH.

  IT HAS NO BUN AND IT’S JUST CALLED A

  SLOPPY. BYE.

  Did you catch it, Dumb Diary? It was that

  part about “cool and funny.” I’m sure this is

  Hudson’s diary, and I’m sure this was about me.

  Hudson is right. Completely Right. This hair

  thing isn’t me. I’m not the beautiful-hair girl. I’m

  cool and funny. Oh Hudson, thou art so wise. Wise

  enough even to be Thou Arted.

  Now it’s so clear. Angeline gave me this hair

  to make Hudson reject me. I should have guessed.

  It’s just like her to kill me with beautifulness, her

  obvious weapon of choice. And now that I think

  about it, she got me over to her house on the made-

  up reason of needing help to name the puppies.

  101

  Her dog is named STICKYBUNS — only the

  third or fourth cutest name I’ve heard of for a dog.

  She has no problem coming up with names. The

  whole scam was all to get my guard down, to fill my

  head with puppy fumes, then to spring her trap.

  I’m just thankful I found out in time — before

  I became so gorgeous that there was no turning back.

  I called Isabella and told her everything.

  She said that none of it made any sense, but that

  I should not bring it up with Angeline until she gets

  her puppy, and to keep working on the diaries.

  102

  Sunday 22

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Isabella came over today because it’s

  homework day. (I’ll bet it’s always been like this. I’ll

  bet the pyramids were due on a Monday, but they

  didn’t start making them until Sunday afternoon.)

  I stopped brushing and spraying my hair last

  night, of course. It is in a state of decay, but I am

  still partially breathtaking. (I’m thinking about

  having a funeral for the beautiful hair wad I pulled

  out of my brush.)

  103

  In the middle of our homework, Angeline

  called. After what she did. Can you believe the

  nerve? Here is our conversation:

  Angeline: Hi, Jamie. How’s the diary

  project coming?

  Me: (coldly) Just fine. How are the puppies?

  Angeline: They’re great.

  Me: Wait. I didn’t hear what you said.

  Isabella lunged at the phone.

  Angeline: I said they’re great. Want me to

  bring one over for Isabella?

  Me: I thought your ankle was messed up.

  Angeline: Oh, yeah. I guess I can’t do that.

  You guys could come over here.

  Me: I could send Isabella over to pick one.

  Angeline: No. No. Don’t do that. I mean,

  my ankle hurts again. I have to go. Bye.

  It was all I could do to keep myself from

  calling her a big fat faker liar.

  104

  There was no way to finish typing up all the

  diaries today. Isabella spent too much time on

  non-homework stuff. And now that I think about

  it, Isabella wasn’t even on my neck about the

  magazine quiz that I never finished. Mostly all she

  wanted to do was talk about stuff we had done

  together, which was weird.

  105

  Monday 23

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  I threw away the stuff Angeline gave me

  for my hair, and it’s back to its former mutation.

  I miss my gorgeous mane, but I had no idea how

  long people spend on their beautiful hair. Add the

  makeup and outfits and it’s anybody’s guess who

  spends more time on their looks: models or clowns.

  106

  When Angeline saw me at school she sucked

  in a breath, probably because she knew that all of

  her wicked sorcery on my head had come undone.

  Her ankle seemed like it was all better and she

  just stood in front of me, not saying anything, like

  she was waiting for me to say something. Finally, I

  couldn’t help myself.

  “I know what you did.”

  107

  Angeline looked like she might cry.

  “Awful, right?” she said, which of course

  she is.

  “Yes, you are,” I said, because she is.

  (Remember, Diary? I just told you that.)

  “But you know that my heart is in the right

  place,” she said.

  I must have looked like I didn’t know anything

  about her heart or where she had it, because she

  narrowed her eyes and said, “Did you finish working

  on the diaries?”

  108

  I told her I hadn’t and she asked where they

  were. I told her that Isabella was going to drop

  them off with Old Mrs. Penney.

  Angeline turned around and RAN toward the

  library.

  109

  By the time I had caught up, Isabella was

  sitting at a table with the neat stack of diaries in

  front of her. Angeline was standing there, puffing.

  “Are those all the diaries?” Angeline asked.

  “All the ones Jamie had.” Isabella grinned.

  “Every single one.”

  “Including Hudson’s,” I said meanly, like

  a mean person pointing out something a meaner

  person had done.

  Isabella laughed a little. “I know which one

  you’re thinking of, Jamie. That wasn’t Hudson’s,”

  she said.

  110

  I grabbed it out of the pile and shoved it at

  Angeline. “It is so. Read it, Angeline. I know what

  you did to me.”

  Angeline read it and said, “Isabella’s right.

  This isn’t Hudson’s. It’s written too well. Plus,

  Hudson is pretty much oblivious to you, Jamie. He

  doesn’t notice me anymore, either.”

  Angeline shuffled through the stack and

  found a dirty, poorly written diary that looked like

  it had been dirtily folded and kept in a dirty pocket

  for a dirty while.

  “This is Hudson’s. Read it. I’ll bet I can

  already tell you what it says.”

  I read a couple entries — enough to make

  things clear to me. The most telling entry said:

  Dear Diary:

  I saw a video game in a magazine

  and I want to get it.

  On TV I saw a car I want someday.

  I like pizza and I want to have

  some for dinner.

  Isabella is the coolest girl that

  ever lived.

  Bye.

  111

  “Isabella?” I said. “Hudson and Isabella?”

  “Jamie, you could tell, couldn’t you? I mean,

  anybody could tell,” Angeline said.

  “Anybody could tell,” Isabella echoed. “Not

  like I care. He’s a dope. If you had read my diary,

  you would have known that.”

  It was like my brain was playing clips from

  old tapes. In one, I saw Hudson smiling at Isabella.

  In another, I heard him asking her to go for tacos

  after the dance. In another, I saw Stinker choking

  on a pair of my mom’s p
antyhose. Guess I had that

  tape misfiled.

  “But, Angeline, you lied about not being able

  to name the puppies. It was part of your scheme.

  You came up with the name ‘Stickybuns,’ only

  about the third cutest name ever,” I said.

  “Stickybuns was a rescue dog, Jamie.

  Remember? She had a name when I got her. You

  can’t change that. It’s Puppylaw, and everybody

  knows that.”

  112

  But OH- HO! I found a flaw in Angeline’s

  little alibi.

  “Then why did you fix my hair?” I said

  triumphantly.

  “Because I thought you’d like it,” Angeline

  said. Isabella shrugged her shoulders and tilted her

  head, which is Isabella -language for “and there you

  have it.”

  Then Isabella handed Angeline her own diary

  assignment back.

  “Bet you’re looking for this,” Isabella said.

  “Did you read it?” Angeline asked.

  “Some of it,” Isabella said. “Enough, I think.”

  She started to laugh.

  113

  Old Mrs. Penney finally came over, scooped

  up all the diaries, and said she’d finish typing the

  ones that I hadn’t.

  We all walked out of the library. I’m still not

  sure exactly what happened. I didn’t understand

  Isabella’s exchange with Angeline about Angeline’s

  fake diary, and I was too stunned to quiz them

  about it.

  I don’t think anything will ever ever ever ever

  top THE ISABELLA AND HUDSON THING.

  I’m considering flushing all of this down my brain

  hole anyway.

  114

  Tuesday 24

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  I sat with Isabella at lunch today, like

  always, and I saw Hudson looking over at us, even

  though now I realize that he’s actually looking at

  Isabella. I should have seen this coming. They have

  so much in common, like, um, masculinity.

  But sort of like how being famous made those

  ugly boy-girls in the magazine more handsome,

  seeing Isabella crushed on makes her seem prettier.

  And since it’s Isabella and not Angeline, I really

  don’t mind at all that Hudson isn’t focused on me.

  At all. Even a little. Like a jerk.

  115

  Angeline walked by and said hi, but clearly

  had no intention of slowing down. And then Isabella

  Spilled It.

  “That was Angeline’s REAL diary,”

  she said. “You know how both you and Angeline

  made a fake one just for the assignment? Her mom

  dropped off the real one by accident. That’s why

  Angeline was in such a panic. She thought you had

  already read it.”

  “And you read it??” I asked, hoping that

  Isabella had violated the Sacred Secrecy of

  the Diary.

  116

  “I didn’t have time to read all of it. But I

  read some.”

  I begged Isabella to tell me what it said, and

  she threw that dumb Sacred Secrecy of the

  Diary thing in my face.

  I explained that privacy and sacredness are

  really more guidelines than rules. They’re really

  meant to be sacred suggestions.

  Then Isabella said, “There’s stuff about

  Angeline you would never have guessed. But I don’t

  want to violate your whole big sacred thing.”

  117

  “Violate it,” I said, loud enough for Bruntford

  to walk over and tell me to be quiet through that

  giant hole in the front of her face.

  “Violate it,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” Isabella said, and she began to tell

  me what she read in Angeline’s diary. For starters,

  Angeline didn’t hurt her ankle that day with the

  puppies. She faked that. And she learned how to

  do it by watching Isabella fake injuries. Isabella

  and I both had to stop and give some respect to the

  fakery. Isabella especially liked how Angeline bit

  her lower lip in agony.

  “Nice touch,” she said. “She fooled me.” And

  I nodded. I think now we know how teachers feel

  when they see real progress in a student.

  118

  “But why would she do that?” I asked.

  “Because she knew which puppy I was about

  to choose, and that was the one she wanted.”

  They were all adorable, except Stinkette.

  What difference could it make?

  “Angeline likes us, Jamie,” Isabella said.

  “She thinks of us as friends. But you knew that

  already, because you know how everybody feels

  about you, right?”

  “Yes,” I totally lied. “I totally do.”

  And then Isabella explained that Angeline

  wrote about how she was really happy that the

  puppies connected her to me, and that they

  connected her to Isabella, too, and how we would

  all be one big happy family. But she thought that

  one puppy, in particular, would do that better than

  the rest. Angeline and Isabella wanted the same

  puppy.

  “She wrote that we’d be like sisters,”

  Isabella said.

  The word really hit me. I don’t have any

  siblings. Neither does Angeline. Isabella has

  brothers, but those are really more like enemies

  that live at her house.

  119

  Sisters. Like my mom and Aunt Carol.

  And then Isabella said something I never

  thought I would ever hear her say.

  “I think maybe Angeline isn’t a total turd,

  Jamie. Anybody that fakes an injury like that can’t

  be all bad.”

  That’s high praise from Isabella. That’s

  friend- talk. It’s almost exactly what Isabella wrote

  to me in the first birthday card she ever gave me.

  I thought that Hudson and Isabella was tough to

  swallow, but now Angeline and Isabella? Friends?

  Sisters?

  I looked out the window to see if it was the

  end of the world, like if it was raining lizards or a

  big earthquake was tearing a huge crater in the

  earth that would swallow all of humanity. Then I

  wondered for a moment — if that happened, would

  the news anchors get to report it, or would it be

  more of a weathergirl thing?

  120

  There was one more question I needed

  answered, and only Old Mrs. Penney could do that. I

  went to the library and asked her why she told me to

  look at that one diary in particular.

  “I’ve been here a long time, Jamie,” she said.

  “Like since right after the earth started

  cooling,” I offered quietly, counting on her old ears

  not being able to hear it.

  “That diary was from another student. One

  from a long time ago, when I first started here.”

  “Who?”

  She looked at me very seriously and said,

  “George Washington.”

  121

  And then she started to laugh. I guess maybe

  she had heard my little joke.

  “That diary was your dad’s, Jamie. He did

  the exact
same assignment when he was your age. I

  thought you’d like to read it.”

  Uck. I can’t believe that this assignment

  actually made me call my dad wise. Further proof

  that assignments of any kind are bad for people.

  And to double the uck- factor, he was writing about

  some girl who was not my mom. (He met my mom in

  college.)

  I told Mrs. Penney that the next assignment

  will probably be worse and that it’s my fault. I told

  her it was going to be writing a magazine quiz.

  “I’m not surprised Mr. Evans is doing

  that,” she said, and my guts tensed up waiting to

  hear why.

  122

  “Teachers don’t make a lot of money, Jamie.

  Mr. Evans does some freelance writing. He writes a

  ton of those quizzes for magazines. I’m sure you’ve

  done them.”

  And now the very assignment I gave birth to

  has turned around and made me refer to Mr. Evans

  as smart and a Genius and supercool. This has been

  a long day, Dumb Diary. I have to go to bed. I’ve

  said a lot of things I wish I hadn’t meant.

  123

  Wednesday 25

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  It was a half day at school today. I don’t

  know why. Sometimes teachers say that they use

  half days to work on grades or something. I think

  they might just be hosing the coffee odor off each

  other in the parking lot.

  Isabella was sort of smiley all morning, so I

  kept waiting for something terrible to happen, but

  it never did.

  124

  When I got home, Mom was in a strange

  mood — sort of angry but also sort of happy. Would

  you call that Hangry? I don’t even know where

  that emotion comes from.

  But I had a better idea when Aunt Carol

  showed up with Angeline, Isabella, and a basket.

  125

  “We have puppies!” Aunt Carol sang, and

  Stinker started barking like crazy. Mom tried to look

  all angry and upset but it is scientifically impossible

 

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