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Dear Dumb Diary #10: The Worst Things in Life Are Also Free

Page 6

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.

 

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