by Jim Benton
It wasn’t. It just tasted couchy . Maybe a little bit
chairy.
Today, I asked her mom for ideas on how we
could make money for Screamotopia.
106
She thought for a minute, and said she’d give
us the full three hundred dollars if we’d go upstairs
and clean Isabella’s brothers’ room. Isabella
immediately said no, but Angeline and I thought it
sounded like easy money. I’ve cleaned my room
before. I couldn’t imagine that anybody’s room
could be any worse.
Isabella’s mom handed me a garbage bag and
gave Angeline a snow shovel. Then she and Isabella
took us upstairs, down the hall, and stopped ten
feet from the door. Even Isabella’s dog, Bubs,
stopped.
“It’s right there,” her mom said. “First door
on the left.”
“Is anybody in there?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Isabella said. “I think I
heard them leave this morning. Knock first, just to
make sure.”
I knocked and knocked. No answer.
Angeline knocked. No answer. So I opened the door
and looked inside.
107
And here’s the thing about iPods: iPods
are LOUD. Really loud. So loud, in fact, that
sometimes you can’t hear somebody knocking on
your bedroom door. And if your bedroom is gross,
and you’re gross , and you happen to be engaged
in one of your main gross hobbies (seriously,
who would even guess you could bite your own
toenails?), you really don’t expect to look up and
see two girls standing there doing their best not
to barf into your gross room, which, by the way,
would NOT be any grosser as a result.
After an hour-long shower, I finally called
Isabella and asked her to apologize to her mom for
knocking her down in the hallway on my run down
the stairs and out the door and all the way to my
house.
108
She said Angeline was right behind me. I said
that I remembered her screaming, but it turned
out that was actually Isabella’s brother, who had
been hit by a flying snow shovel.
Of course, everyone understood that we were
passing on her mom’s offer to clean her brothers’
room. Isabella and I talked about making Emmily do
it, but we felt that it would be a little too much to
expect of her, based on just the
underpants alone.
I could try to piece together what I remember
of the room, although my damaged psychology would
surely prevent me from recalling any particularly
horrifying details. Your brain does this, you know, to
protect your sanity.
Oh, P.S. Isabella is coming over later tonight
to work on our eBay thing.
109
Thursday 19
Dear Dumb Diary,
I was at Angeline’s most of the day today.
Isabella and I went over to try a combination
lemonade stand/car wash, which we called
Lemon- o- tastical Carwash -o -
tabulous, except Angeline and Isabella wouldn’t
call it that because they said it was stupid.
We thought that things might be different
over by Angeline’s house, and we were right.
It was worse.
We didn’t sell even one glass of lemonade.
Some little kids stopped and stood there staring
at us and said they didn’t have any money, so
bighearted Isabella generously offered to give them
a glass for free if one of them would eat an ant. I
didn’t even feel bad about that, because at first
they thought I was a boy.
110
And nobody on the whole street wanted his or
her car washed. One car did stop, but only to avoid
hitting a kid that had run into the street spitting
out an ant.
Isabella had the super-creative idea
of going down the street and throwing cups of
lemonade at passing cars so they’d have to stop
and get them washed, but most of the lemonaded
cars just kept going. One lady got out and yelled
and acted like she might chase Isabella, but it
didn’t happen. Adults often think chasing is a good
idea until they actually have to do it.
111
Isabella was in a pretty bad mood after that.
She walked down to Emmily’s house because
ordering somebody around always cheers her up,
but Emmily wasn’t home, so Isabella came back and
tried ordering us around. It didn’t work. We
were too depressed. We just picked up our stuff
and called it a day.
When I got home, my mom said she tried to
take a look at our online auction but she couldn’t
get into the account, and she wondered if Isabella
might have accidentally changed the password.
I’m sure she just typed it wrong, but I told her
I’d ask Isabella tomorrow.
It’s probably that the whole Internet thing is
too scientific for my mom’s old head. I’ve seen
old people fumble with technology many, many times.
112
Friday 20
Dear Dumb Diary,
This morning, Margaret called me. You might
remember, Dumb Diary, that Margaret is the pencil
chewer who is generally nice but also partially
gross. (I’m sorry, Margaret, but on a scale of one to
ten, you’re normally only a five. But when you chew,
both you and your pencils are number twos.)
But let’s not talk about Margaret anymore
because it wasn’t her on the phone at all. It was
Isabella, doing one of her masterful voice
impersonations to fool my mom.
Isabella can perfectly imitate the following
voices:
1. Margaret
2. A crazy, angry old lady from Europe
3. A panic-stricken Elmo
4. A crazy, angry old lady from someplace
near Europe
She cleverly chose to imitate Margaret this
time, because people just hang up on her when she
does the others.
113
Isabella wanted to work on the computer over
at Emmily’s house, but she wasn’t home again this
morning. I’m beginning to think that it’s only a
matter of time before we learn on the news that
Emmily was abducted by headhunters — and then
returned — because her head is no prize.
I asked Isabella to work over here, but she
said my mom had called her mom last night to ask
questions about our online auction and she really
didn’t want to get quizzed about it by my mom, too.
So I quizzed her.
Isabella said the auction is going fine and she
really didn’t need a bunch of halfwits
(I’m sure she
meant to say “ people”) breathing down her neck.
She said that if I left every thing to her, we’d
be just fine, and I shouldn’t ask questions. Then she
reminded me of times in the past when I’d asked
&nbs
p; questions and later wished I hadn’t.
114
Just then, Isabella heard my mom in the
background and said, “Quick! Say something that
will make her think you’re talking to Margaret!”
“Yes, Margaret,” I said immediately. “Pencils
are very delicious things to chew and you are
chewing on one now, Margaret. And they’re
vegetarian.”
I heard Isabella’s palm hit her forehead.
Look, we don’t all have the brain chemical
that helps us commit fraudulent acts. Sure, we
might wish we did, but we don’t.
Mom gave me the same suspicious look she
gives my dad and Stinker when something in the
room smells.
115
“Is that Isabella?” she asked.
“Margaret!” I laughed into the phone
convincingly. “You’ll never believe this, Margaret,
but my mom thinks you’re Isabella, Margaret.”
My mom reached for the phone. “Let me say
hello to Margaret again,” she said.
“Good-bye-Margaret-I-have-
to-go-and-play-outside-in-ten-
minutes-near-those-bushes-behind-
the-Ryans’-house!” I shouted as Mom pried
the phone out of my hands and Isabella hung up.
Not bad, huh? Maybe I DO have that brain
chemical.
116
Isabella understood my clever code and
showed up behind the Ryans’ bushes ten minutes
later. We talked quietly, which was weird because
the Ryan triplets are usually screaming and howling,
so you have to talk loudly when you’re anywhere
near their house just to hear each other.
Isabella said she needed to get on our
computer and she didn’t want a lot of questions
about it. She said she knew exactly what she was
doing, and if our moms would leave her alone, we’d
be going to Screamotopia.
I told her that since tomorrow is Saturday, my
dad would be busy doing no chores outside, and
my mom would be in and out all morning trying to
catch him not doing them.
I know I shouldn’t be doing this in secret, but
my mom DID make that easy password, and if you
can’t trust your best friend, who can you trust?
117
Saturday 21
Dear Dumb Diary,
Okay, well, maybe you can’t trust anybody.
This morning, Isabella came over and my mom
cornered her.
“Isabella, would you mind showing me the
auction you’re running?” she said.
“Sure, Mrs. Kelly,” Isabella said, and started
typing on the keyboard. There were the items, just
like they were supposed to be.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s bought anything
yet,” Isabella said directly to me. Then she glanced
out the window. “Hey Jamie, why is your dad
sitting down out there?”
That was all it took to make mom fly out the
door. “He’s what???”
Isabella started typing like mad as soon as
she left. “Jamie, could you just, you know, please
beat it?” And she jerked her thumb in the air to
punctuate it.
118
So I did. Isabella needed her space, and I
gave it to her. I went upstairs and watched Stinker
and Stinkette take turns wrecking one of my dad’s
socks. (Hey, here’s a thought: Maybe we should
manufacture foot-flavored dog food.)
Suddenly, the dogs’ ears flipped up. I thought
I heard it, too — the back door opening and closing
very quietly.
I listened until the silence was interrupted
by (in this order) Isabella screaming, somebody
hitting a bag of flour with a baseball bat, my mom
screaming something I couldn’t quite get but it
was possibly sweary, and my dad coming inside
screaming about what all the screaming was about.
119
There was no baseball bat and there was no
bag of flour. But there was my mom’s stomach and
Isabella’s fist, and those were responsible for that
particular sound.
The scream Isabella let out was because my
mom snuck up on her and surprised her from behind.
I could have told Mom that she was going to get
punched for it — it’s an instinct that Isabella
can’t help.
My mom’s screaming was because of the
punch (Isabella punches great), and
because of what she saw on the computer screen.
Isabella had another eBay auction going —
her own special auction. One that involved me and
Angeline, without us even knowing it.
120
You know those pictures that Isabella took of
us in matching black T-shirts? Turns out that they
were not for a brochure advertising our business.
They were to advertise a product that Isabella had
invented.
It was called “Herb-tastical-abulous
Vegetarian Beauty Lemonade” (I KNEW she liked
my company names!!!), and Isabella was selling
each treatment for $12.00. And she had orders —
lots of ’em.
I was so happy that she had figured out a
way to solve our money problem and get us to
Screamotopia . . . until my mom and dad had to
rain on the parade and point out that this stuff was
totally fake, so it was illegal to sell — and not just a
little bit illegal.
This is not one of those adorable crimes that
Isabella commits sometimes. This is stuff that
makes the news. It was lucky that Isabella had not
accepted any of the payments yet and could just
cancel all of the orders.
And then there was another sound, one where
I sucked in so hard I thought I might suffocate.
121
The pictures were “Before” and “After”
pictures. And I was the “Before.” That was
why Isabella wanted me to cut my hair, so my hair
length would match Angeline’s. She didn’t think
anybody would believe it was the same person if the
hair was that different.
“I can’t believe you made me a ‘Before’
picture in a beauty ad!” I said.
Isabella just shrugged. “Look at the pictures,
Jamie. Who would believe you were the ‘After’?”
She might have been right, but this was a
good example of why being right is overrated.
Often it’s best to avoid it.
122
Isabella’s mom came and got her and led her
out to the car. It reminded me of when you see them
walking someone to the electric chair in movies.
And now that I think about it, why do they even use
a chair? So that you’ll be comfortable? If
they’re so concerned about that, why don’t they
make it an electric couch?
I’m so mad at Isabella right now. Plus, I’m sad
on top of it, because I don’t see how we can possibly
make enough money for Screamotopia in just six
days. I’m not even sure I’d want to go with Isabella
&nbs
p; now anyway.
What could be worse?
123
Sunday 22
Dear Dumb Diary,
Aunt Carol came over today, and I told her
how our moneymaking efforts were going. She’s my
aunt, so she politely made faces of anger when
I told her what Isabella had done, because making
faces of anger is something we do for the
people we care about when they’re angry. Also
you’re supposed to make faces of surprise
when they tell you something that you know they
think is surprising, even if it isn’t. Making faces is
the glue that holds civilization together.
124
Then Aunt Carol told me something that really
was surprising, and I didn’t even have to fake a
face over it.
We’re going to Screamotopia
after all!!!!!!!!!
And it’s all thanks to Angeline.
Aunt Carol wasn’t supposed to tell me, but
because I was so, so, so, so sad, she couldn’t help
herself. I can understand why: My fake sad face is
almost impossible to deal with. My real sad face
is just excellently devastating.
Angeline cut her hair off to sell it. I
couldn’t believe it. And when I asked Aunt Carol if
she could possibly get $300.00, for it, she laughed
and laughed.
She showed me a website that helps people
sell their hair to wigmakers. Some people were
getting almost ten times that much, and their hair
was nothing compared to Angeline’s!
I asked Aunt Carol how much Angeline got for
her hair, but she didn’t know. She wasn’t even
supposed to know any of it, but Uncle Dan heard
about it and made her promise not to tell me.
125
Then she made me promise not to tell
Isabella. But not the way she had promised Uncle
Dan. Or the way Uncle Dan had promised Angeline’s
mom. She meant I had to really promise. A real
real real real promise.
126
Monday 23
Dear Dumb Diary,
If you forget a promise, it shouldn’t count.
