The Dirt Diary

by Anna Staniszewski

  “Look,” Angela adds, “I’m just trying to help.”

  “You know what, Angela?” Marisol finally says. “I forgot that I have homework to do. We’ll have to hang out another time.”

  I don’t have a chance to jump away from the door before it opens. I peer up at Marisol, probably looking like a guilty cat. She stares at me, her face totally unreadable.

  “Hi,” I say, straightening up.

  “Hi,” she answers. I can’t tell if she’s glad to see me, or if she’s trying to turn me to stone with her eyes.

  “Hello,” says Angela, but we both ignore her. Finally, she lets out a little huff and trots down the hall toward the stairs.

  “So, I see you’re still spying on people,” says Marisol, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  “Only on you,” I tell her. “I’ve decided the spying business isn’t really for me.”

  “So why do I still get to be spied on?” she asks.

  “It was only temporary, until I figured out the best way to tell you that I’m sorry.” I take a step forward, knowing I need to lay it all out there. If Marisol doesn’t forgive me, at least I’ll know I tried. “I am so, so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you about Steve and Briana and everything else. And I know you were only trying to help by telling me about Angela cheating. I guess I was just…well, it’s hard to have a best friend who’s perfect all the time. It makes it really easy to mess up big-time.”

  I stare at Marisol, waiting for some kind of reaction. Hoping my apology is enough.

  She chews on her lip for a minute. Finally, her face softens, and she shakes her head. “Perfect?” she says. “Are you kidding? I’ve been a total moron the past few weeks. I don’t know what I was thinking!” She smiles. “I’m really sorry too.”

  Relief floods through me. I throw my arms around her and hug her so tight that she actually lets out a little squeak. When I let go, I spot the red dress spread out on Marisol’s bed. “I wasn’t lying when I said I loved that dress. It’s my favorite one. I love all your stuff.”

  “I know,” says Marisol. “Angela’s okay, but I think I’d rather have a friend who doesn’t care if I’m popular or not.”

  “You know she’s the one who spread the rumor about Mr. Hammond, right?”

  Marisol nods and bites her lip. “I’m so sorry I told her. I know you made me promise not to. I was just so mad at you that I wasn’t really thinking.” She sighs. “And I guess I wasn’t thinking when I stayed friends with her after she did that. And after I found out she’d cheated at the bake sale. See what I mean about being a total moron?”

  I laugh. “I think it’s settled. We were both stupid, but we’ve both smartened up.”

  She nods, looking genuinely happy for the first time since our fight. “I hope so.”

  “Good. I’m glad we’re friends again because I have a favor to ask you.” I pause. “Actually, I guess I have two.”

  •••

  Once plans with Andrew and Marisol are sorted out for the Spring Dance, Marisol and I leave the Ivanoffs’ house and go for a walk around the neighborhood. Even though I’m technically supposed to go back to work, I need this time to talk to her about everything that’s happened.

  Marisol clucks her tongue at all the right places when I tell her about Steve and Briana and Caitlin. “I’m going to call Steve tonight and tell him everything,” I say. “Hopefully, he’ll do the right thing and finally break up with Briana.” I can’t believe I’m talking about calling Steve Mueller without hyperventilating about it. Things have really changed the past few weeks.

  When I tell Marisol about my parents’ relationship really being over, she reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. And when I tell her about what had happened with Evan, she stops walking and gives me a long look.

  “You really like him, don’t you?” she asks.

  I laugh, ready to deny it. But then I realize that I can’t. Because I do really like him. He’s smart and funny and sweet, and he doesn’t care about popularity or anything like that. What he does care about is honesty, and I blew it.

  “He even said he was starting to like me,” I admit. “Before I ruined everything. And now I have no idea how to get him to trust me again.”

  “Well, someone has to make the first move,” says Marisol. “Or you two will wind up not speaking to each other for way too long, just like we did.”

  “You’re right. If I’d just baked you something and brought it over the next day, maybe we would’ve made up right away.” Hmm, that’s an idea. It isn’t likely to fix everything, but a guy who loves Pastry Wars can’t say no to a perfectly made dessert, can he?

  Chapter 42

  At the end of school on Monday, everyone involved in the bake sale is allowed to leave class a little early to get ready. I rush to the cafeteria so I can make sure everything is set up just right.

  Once my brownies are spread out on the table, I glare at Angela who’s arranging what look like mocha squares on fancy little plates. I might only have boring old napkins, but I know my brownies are better. I spent hours last night making them, and the house smelled so good that even my mom couldn’t stop drooling.

  I spot Marisol and Andrew walking toward me, both grinning from ear to ear. “These look amazing!” Marisol says as the two of them come up to my table. “What are they?”

  “Banana Nutella swirl brownies,” I say.

  Marisol squeals and does a little seal clap. “That’s perfect!”

  “I think they’re the best thing I’ve ever made.” I chuckle, realizing how conceited that sounds. “If I do say so myself. What are you guys doing here? The sale doesn’t start for another ten minutes.”

  “We came to help you get ready,” says Andrew.

  “I am ready.”

  “Not yet!” Marisol holds up a plastic bag. “I brought an outfit for you to wear. And Andrew has a little surprise for you, something that will bring people over to your table.”

  Before I can object, Marisol whisks me to the girls’ bathroom and herds me into a stall. When I open the plastic bag, I have to laugh as I see the sunny yellow dress from the consignment shop staring back at me.

  “I can’t believe you did this!” I pull out the dress which Marisol has not only stitched up but also personalized. Now there’s a candy pattern embroidered all along the neckline of the dress, though from a distance it just looks like a string of colorful flowers. “It’s beautiful,” I say as I come out and look at myself in the mirror.

  “You’re beautiful,” says Marisol, dabbing a little gloss on my lips.

  I don’t argue with her because for once I actually do feel beautiful. What’s more, I don’t mind the fact that people will notice me. If I want my food to stand out, there’s no reason I can’t let people see me too.

  I glance at myself in the mirror one more time, make sure my hair is covering my widow’s peak, and adjust my earrings.

  “You’re wearing the spoons I made you!” Marisol says.

  I haven’t worn them since our fight, but I dug them out of my jewelry box this morning for good luck. I don’t want to ever take them off again.

  “Look!” Marisol says, pulling back her hair to show me that she has her spoon earrings in too.

  “Did I ever tell you about the challenge I thought up?” I ask. “I think we should have an ice-cream eating contest using nothing but our earrings.”

  “Ha! You’re on, Rachel Lee. Once you win this bake sale, we’re going out for ice cream. Now, are you ready to kick Angela’s butt?”

  “Absolutely.”

  When we get back to my table, Andrew is just finishing setting up a laptop with a movie playing. As I get closer, I see that it’s a silent clip of Marisol in full zombie makeup, ambling toward a plate of brownies. At the bottom of the screen, a caption says: “Brooowwwnies!” And then zombie Marisol
grabs the brownies and smears them all over her zombie face.

  “That’s incredible!” I choke out, laughing so hard my stomach muscles hurt.

  Andrew grins. “I’m glad you like it.”

  The bell rings, meaning the bake sale is about to start. Marisol gives my arm a squeeze before I rush behind the table, my whole body jiggling with nerves.

  Soon people start pouring in, and after that the bake sale passes by in a blur. People seem to love Andrew’s film, and more than that, they love the brownies. They all promise to vote for my recipe. Angela’s table is hopping just like last year, but I can’t help thinking that there seems to be a bigger crowd in front of mine.

  At one point, Steve Mueller comes over, grinning at me. “These look great,” he says as he hands me money for a couple of brownies. It’s nice to take cash from him and not feel slimy about it for once.

  “Where’s Briana?” I ask. Considering that she helped put together the bake sale fund-raiser, it’s strange that I haven’t seen her yet. In fact, I don’t remember seeing her all day.

  Steve swallows a bite of brownie, looking suddenly deflated. “She’s not coming,” he says. “I broke up with her last night. You were right. She’s not the kind of person I want to be with. I didn’t think she’d take it so hard, but I guess she didn’t come to school today.” He gives a little sigh and shrugs before walking away.

  After the sale is over, I can barely breathe while Mr. Hammond and another judge count the votes.

  “And the winner is…” Mr. Hammond smiles out at the crowd. “Rachel Lee!”

  For a second, I think I must have hallucinated him saying my name, but when Marisol shrieks and throws her arms around me, I realize I really am the winner. I did it. I finally did it.

  As I go up to accept my award, I feel like I’ve just been crowned prom queen. Everything is glittery and in slow motion. People are looking at me, but for once they’re not laughing at me or calling me a freak. Even Caitlin is standing in the corner looking at me with an expression that’s almost friendly.

  Once I have a big, fat check in my hands, Marisol pulls me aside. “Now can I turn Angela in for cheating?” she whispers.

  I glance over at Angela who’s throwing her leftover desserts away, clearly furious at how things turned out. I have to admit I feel bad for her.

  “No, that’s okay,” I say.

  After all, Angela and I aren’t so different. We both wanted to be noticed and respected, and we both did despicable things to try to make that happen.

  Chapter 43

  Once I get myself cleaned up after our ice-cream eating contest (which Marisol and I decided was a tie since neither one of us could actually get any ice cream in our mouths), I bike over to the Rileys’ house. As I ring the doorbell, I pray Evan will open the door. So, of course, I’m faced with Briana instead.

  “What do you want?” she practically snarls.

  I swallow, telling myself I won’t be scared of cheating, bra-stuffing Briana Riley anymore. “I’m looking for Evan.”

  “He’s not home.”

  “Oh.”

  I expect her to slam the door in my face, but instead she puts her hands on her hips and takes a step forward. “So Steve says you’re the reason he broke up with me last night.”

  Oh my goldfish. Didn't Steve know better than to tell her I was involved?

  She smiles, her perfect teeth gleaming. “I guess I should thank you. I was going to dump him, but he was so needy. I didn’t want him to go all psycho on me. Thanks to you, he finally got a clue and ended it himself.”

  I can’t believe it. After all of that, I actually helped Briana? Then I realize that’s not true. As much as she’s trying to act like Steve breaking up with her doesn’t matter, I can see the wounded pride in her eyes. After all, she was upset enough to skip school today.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” says Briana, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

  I can’t help glancing at her chest. It might look real, but it’s just as fake as everything else about her. When I look back up, I’m shocked to see her cheeks turning red. I didn’t realize her face even knew how to get flushed.

  “What are you looking at?” she demands.

  “Nothing.” Then I can’t help smiling as I add, “By the way. Nice bra.”

  Briana’s eyes grow wide, and she staggers backward. The look on her face says it all: she’s terrified. Of course, I’ve already decided I won’t say anything to anyone about her secret, but Briana doesn’t know that. My smile grows wider and wider. For once, I feel totally in control.

  “Who’s at the door?” Evan’s voice calls from behind Briana.

  “Your girlfriend,” she spits before storming away.

  Evan appears in the doorway, and his face takes on an uncertain look when he sees me.

  “These are for you.” I hold out the brownies before he can slam the door in my face. “They’re peppermint.”

  He’s clearly surprised, but he takes them anyway. “Thanks.” He looks under the foil, and I see a smile cross his lips as he catches sight of the frowny face I carefully made out of peppermint candies. “Thank you,” he says again.

  “Anytime.”

  “So I heard you won the bake sale competition today,” he says. He lowers his voice. “I don’t think Briana was too happy about that when Angela called to tell her.”

  “Yeah, I still can’t really believe it.”

  “I’m sure you deserved it.” He shuffles his feet. “So look, I asked Briana about the glass in her room, and she ’fessed up about all the crazy stuff she’s been doing to you. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I don’t blame you and your mom for leaving.”

  “You guys would be better off with a housekeeper anyway.”

  Evan nods. “We’ve had a bunch. But they always quit. I wonder why.”

  We stand awkwardly for a minute, but I know I have to say it, even if it’s hard. “I’m really sorry, Evan. I know you think I’m a horrible person for spying on your sister. I only agreed to do it because I was so desperate for money to go visit my dad, but I guess after that it kind of got out of control. I feel really bad about everything. And I swear I’m not a stalker.”

  “Even though you just showed up on my doorstep?” he says, grinning.

  “Good point. The truth is, I’m trying to give stalkers a better name. Don’t you think people would like us a lot more if we came with baked goods?”

  He laughs. “It seems to be working on me.”

  We grin at each other for a long moment, just enough time for butterflies to suddenly hatch in my stomach.

  “So,” says Evan, “there’s no way I can eat all these brownies by myself. What do you say, Booger Crap? Want to come in and help me?” I guess that means I’m forgiven.

  The stomach butterflies do a happy little flutter dance. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  Chapter 44

  At school the next day, all anyone can talk about is how Steve dumped Briana and asked Caitlin to the Spring Dance instead. I don’t hear the word diaper uttered even once. By the time Marisol and I sit down in the cafeteria at lunch, I’m actually starting to feel kind of bad for Briana, especially since she’s stuck sitting all alone with Angela Bareli. Caitlin and Steve moved to a different table, along with everyone else who once worshipped at Briana’s feet.

  “I guess when people had to choose between Briana and Caitlin, they picked the one who isn’t pure evil,” I say.

  “No kidding,” says Marisol.

  As I peer across the cafeteria, I’m surprised to see Caitlin smiling as Steve whispers something into her ear. Maybe Caitlin will never be Miss Congeniality, but I can live with her being our grade’s new queen bee.

  “Are you sure you’re not upset that Steve’s taking Caitlin to the dance?” asks Marisol.

 
I nod. A few weeks ago, I would have been devastated. But now, I’m fine with it. “Steve’s really out of the picture. Trust me.”

  She smiles. “See, I knew Evan was a way better guy for you!”

  “You’ve never even met him,” I say, laughing. Then I catch sight of Andrew Ivanoff walking across the cafeteria. “But maybe we can double date sometime?”

  Marisol suddenly becomes very interested in her sandwich.

  “May I sit here?” Andrew asks, pointing to the seat next to Marisol.

  “Sure!” I answer since Marisol is still acting all embarrassed.

  Andrew sets his zombie lunch box on the table and turns to Marisol. “Did you bring the costume sketches we discussed?”

  “I did some new ones too,” she says, taking out her sketchbook. In a matter of seconds, she and Andrew are having an in-depth discussion that goes over my head.

  But I don’t mind. It’s so great to have Marisol back again. It’s like the past few weeks never happened, and our friendship is as strong as ever. In a way, I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Because of our fight, I actually managed to make a couple new friends, something I didn’t think was possible, especially considering that a few years ago my dad was my only friend on earth.

  Thinking about Dad makes a lump form in my throat. I haven’t heard from him since I screamed at him the other day. He doesn’t even know about the bake sale. Part of me wonders if it would be better to not have him in my life at all. But I know that won’t work. He might have let me down, but he’s still my dad.

  I push aside my half-eaten lunch, grab my phone, and go hide out in the bathroom. My hands are shaking as I dial his number, but I know I can’t hang up.

  “Hello?” he says.

  Even though I’m still upset with him, it’s great to hear his voice. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Rachel, I’m so glad to hear from you. I wanted to call you, but I was afraid you were still mad at me.”

  “I am, but I’m getting over it.”

  “Your mother called me last night. She explained about the plane ticket and everything.”