by Carol Weston
Praise for The Diary of Melanie Martin
“Laugh-out-loud funny.… Weston's descriptions will have readers
wanting to see Italy for themselves.”
— School Library journal
“Weston clearly knows a ten-year-old's take on foreign customs.
A humorous first novel…likeable, believable.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Charming. A right-as-rain take on the modern girl.”
— FamilyFun
“Weston, advice columnist for Girls' Life, has her finger on that
preadolescent girl pulse. … Captures the voice of the bright,
excitable Melanie with ease, and the dynamics between
the siblings are right on the money.”
— The Bulletin
“Fun, educational, poignant, humorous. Her diary, filled with great
stories, keen observations, and quirky doodling, is a wonderful
way to share the journey. Melanie finds more than statues
and gelato on the other side of the ocean—she
also finds herself.”
— Children's Literature
Praise for Melanie Martin Qoes Dutch.
“A quirky kid pleaser.”
— Vanity Fair
“A breezy, fun, lighthearted read that quite naturally folds in
contemporary issues. Her penchant for using words three
times for emphasis [is] so, so, so right for the voice of the
character.… Go, go, go, girl.”
— Kirkus Reviews
“While learning about Holland and seeing the sights,
Melanie reads Anne Frank's diary and ponders the contrast
between the magnitude of Anne's problems and her own.
Achingly real…especially gratifying.”
— Booklist
“A favorite writer of preteen girls, Weston offers the latest
installment in the ongoing adventures of a spunky
young globetrotter.”
— Yale Alumni Magazine
“Great fun… makes you feel like you're visiting Amster-Amster-Dam-Dam-Dam too. A winner!”
— Discovery Girls
OTHER DELL YEARLING BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY
THE DIARY OF MELANIE MARTIN, Carol Weston
MELANIE MARTIN GOES DUTCH, Carol Weston
MEET CALLIOPE DAY, Charles Haddad
SAMMY KEYES AND THE SEARCH FOR SNAKE EYES
Wendelin Van Draanen
SAMMY KEYES AND THE ART OF DECEPTION
Wendelin Van Draanen
RODZINA, Karen Cushman
THE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH, Norton Juster
BELLE PRATER'S BOY, Ruth White
TADPOLE, Ruth White
VICKY ANGEL, Jacqueline Wilson
DELL YEARLING BOOKS are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor's degree from Marymount College and a master's degree in history from St. John's University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.
To my husband, Robert Ackerman,
and to three Spanish caballeros—
Juan, PipOy Andreu
March 16
Dear Diary,
Four more hours till we land in
If I didn't have my seat belt on, I'd be jumping and
We have been waiting waiting waiting for spring break and it's finally here! early-morning wake-ups, pop quizzes, and homework—for two weeks anyway.
Since Dad had to go to Madrid on business, Mom used frequent-flyer miles so we could all tag along.
Today they picked us up after school, and we went straight to the airport.
I'm excited about this trip because I speak Spanish— hablo espanol (Ah Blow S Pon Yole). Not fluently or anything, but I know how to count. One is uno (Oo No), two is dos (Dose), and three is tres (Trace). I can also say hi, which is hola (Oh La), and lots of other words.
I hope I meet a nice Spanish girl so I can learn more.
Right now I'm in seat 22 next to Matt the Brat. He asked me, “Are the street signs in Spain in Spanish?”
“Duh,” I said, and made a how-stupid-can-you-get face.
“Wrong!” He laughed. “They're in sign language!”
Believe it or not, that joke was better than some of his other second-grade humor. In the taxi, for instance, Matt said, “What goes ha-ha-ha-ha-splat?” I said, “What?” and he said, “A man laughing his head off.”
Well, that was so lame that I said, “You came out funny. That's why Mom and Dad stopped having kids after they had you.”
He said, “You came out funny. That's why Mom and Dad had me.”
Fortunately, Matt is now asleep. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open. Mom and Dad told us to try to sleep because when we arrive, it will be morning of a brand-new day—ready or not.
Problem is, I'm not sleepy. Something is bothering me.
All of us are excited about this vacation, but Mom might be too excited.
An old friend of hers is picking us up at the airport.
And not just any old friend. An old boyfriend!
And not just any old boyfriend. A “serious” old boyfriend.
His name is Antonio (On Toe Knee Oh).
All I know about him is that he smokes—which is disgusting. And he speaks English but makes mistakes. And he has a kid. And his last name is Ramon (Rah Moan).
How could Mom have gone out with someone who can't speak English without making mistakes? And who smokes??
Last weekend Mom showed me ancient photos of them together. In one, they were holding hands at a zoo. In another, they had their arms around each other in front of a castle.
Mom's friend Lori was visiting, and she and Mom started looking at scrapbooks and giggling as if they were still college roommates.
“I can't believe you and Antonio have started e-mailing!” Lori said.
“I can't believe I'm about to see him after all these years!” Mom answered.
“That's my fantasy,” Lori said. “To see an old boyfriend when I'm with my husband and kids. No, wait! I think my fantasy is to see an old boyfriend when I'm all by myself!” Lori laughed and laughed. It made me feel w-e-i-r-d. “Think he's still tall, dark, and handsome?”
“Who knows?” Mom answered.
“Well, get your beauty sleep on the plane,” Lori said as she was leaving. “And give Antonio a big kiss for me.”
Get this: Mom asked, “How big?” and they both giggled!
I wonder if Mom and Antonio ever did kiss.
Is that a dumb thing to wonder? Obviously, they must have.
I was tempted to say something to Mom, but I didn't want her to think I was eavesdropping.
Which I wasn't. I was in the kitchen finding common denominators of fractions and I accidentally overheard their conversation.
I have to say, Mom has been acting strange all week.
On Monday, she bought a lip gloss and a pink scarf. On Tuesday, she got a haircut even though her hair looked perfectly fine. On Wednesday, she had a manicure. (Mom hardly ever gets her nails done.) Yesterday, she bought a blouse and a pair of pants.
I called Cecily to tell her about Mom's giggling and shopping and makeover. Cecily pointed out that she and I like giggling and shopping and makeovers and said, “Don't worry.” She always tells me not to worry. But I always end up worrying.
I thought about asking Dad if he's noticed anything suspicious. I even considered warning him that Mom is trying to
look good for her ex Spanish Sweetheart.
Would that be betraying Mom?
Maybe I am making too big a deal of this.
Maybe not!
By the way, for my birthday, I got a new diary— you!—which I saved for this plane ride. But now I'm going to put you away and wrap the airplane blanket around myself (and Hedgie) so we can try to fall asleep.
I was going to bring a different stuffed animal and leave Hedgehog safe at home. But I couldn't bear to. (Or hedgehog to, get it?) Matt did leave DogDog behind. He said he couldn't stand it if DogDog got lost again like on our last trip. So he brought his penguin, Flappy Happy. It is black and white with a yellow beak and trusting eyes.
Good night, or as they say in Spain, Good nights.
(Bway Nahs No Chase)—
March 17
Dear Diary,
Instead of getting a good night's sleep, I got a bad night's nap. It's time to get up, though, because it's already morning here, and after this long flight, we have to take a short flight so we can meet You Know Who.
Mom said to get our shoes on and be ready to run.
Here's how Matt ties his shoes: He makes two jumbo loops—which he calls bunny ears—crosses them while poking out the tip of his tongue, tucks one loop inside the other, and pulls.
Here's how I tie my shoes: the normal way.
Sometimes I wonder if Matt will be immature his whole life long. He even got Dad in trouble.
What happened was, Mom said that flight attendants used to be called stewardesses and that “stewardesses” is the longest word you can type with just your left hand. Matt asked, “In Spanish too?” Mom said, “No, in Spanish, the word is azafatas” Well, instead of hearing Ah Sa Fot Ahs, Matt heard a really bad phrase that Mom would never say about a person's behind.
He started laughing and said, “Some flight attendants have azafatasl”
Mom looked unamused. But Dad smiled a teeny-weeny bit and added, “No ifs, ands, or butts.”
That got Mom mad. She said, “Honey, can't you at least try to set a good example?”
Dad actually seemed torn! Maybe parents sometimes feel like acting like kids instead of role models for kids?
Uh-oh, the seat belt sign went off, and everyone is standing up.
Except me. I'm going to keep writing until the line starts moving.
It started moving!
Good mornings or
smaller plane
Dear Diary,
One thing I've noticed: Airports are full of happy hellos and weepy goodbyes. I never cry in airports because when I go places, I go with my family, so there's no reason to get all emotional. When Dad has to fly somewhere on business, we don't have sad farewell scenes either, because before we know it, he comes back home to New York.
We are now flying from Madrid to Valencia. Dad said Valencia is Spain's third-largest city and that lots of oranges and clementines come from Valencia. (I eat clementines by the box!)
Mom says Spaniards pronounce some v's almost like b's and some c's and z's in a lisping way. In Castillian Spanish, Valencia is Ba Lenth E Ah. “You can often tell where people are from by how they talk.”
“Like, if a person says, ‘Pahk the cah,’ he might be from Boston?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mom said.
“And if he says, ‘Howdy, y'all,' he might be from Texas?” Matt added.
“Yes,” Mom said.
“Do people in Valencia, Barcelona, Madrid, and Seville have different accents?” We'll be visiting those cities, so I thought that was a good question.
Mom nodded, but she was barely paying attention. She was brushing her hair.
Is Antonio at the airport brushing his hair?
Does he still have hair?
Maybe he's gone bald. And gotten unhandsome.
Matt went to the bathroom, and I decided that instead of worrying, I'd confront Mom. So I asked, “Mom, do you still have feelings for that Spanish guy?”
I was sure she'd say, “Of course not—don't be silly.”
But she didn't. She said, “Pumpkin, if you ever really care about someone, you always have some feelings tucked away in a little corner of your heart.”
What?!
I probably looked like I was going to faint, and I was about to say that hearts don't even have corners, but Mom added, “Sweet pea, I love Daddy! But Antonio and I have a sort of frozen friendship. Just because he and I broke up doesn't mean I threw away all the old photos or old memories. My junior year abroad was a big part of my life, and Antonio and his family were a big part of that year.”
“But—” I started to say. But I didn't have an end to the sentence.
Mom continued, “Lives have chapters, just like books. When you read a book, you don't tear out the chapters you've already read, right?”
“I guess not. …” I tried to picture Mom living her life before I was born. It was totally impossible.
“Oh, Mel, it's natural that I'm curious to see Antonio again, but Daddy is my Number One Man. My Número Uno” (Noo Mare Oh Ooo No).
Dad, meanwhile, was fast asleep with his shoulders drooped and his head slumped forward and his lips puffed out. “We're about to land,” Mom told him, but he just grunted twice.
I'm just glad Mom didn't marry Antonionionio (as Matt calls him). And that Dad didn't marry that Sophia lady we bumped into last year at the Colosseum.
What worries me is this: We bumped into Sophia by accident; we're bumping into Antonio on purpose.
Matt came back and said, “You know what you are when you're in the bathroom?”
“What?” I asked.
“European! You're a-peein'! Get it?”
“Euromoron! You're a moron! Get it?” I replied.
Mom ignored us and asked, “How do I look?”
I was tempted to say, “Like a middle-aged married mother,” but I said, “Fine.” Mom always looks fine— for an M.M.M. Which is good, because it's embarrassing enough that she teaches art at my school. It would be way worse if she dressed weird or had poor personal hygiene.
She is now gazing out the window and adjusting her pink scarf.
The azafata said to put up my tray table, so I better put you away.
We're about to see Spain—
Dear Diary,
The plane landed and Mom headed straight for the exit while Dad had to deal with our carry-ons in the overhead bin. Poor Dad. He's the family pack mule. I think Mom wanted to have a moment alone with Senor (Say Nyor) Smoker, but I bounded after her.
At the airport, a man came right up to Mom. He wasn't running with his arms out or anything, but he kissed her on both cheeks and said, “Miranda!” which he pronounced Me Ron Dah. Then he checked her out and said, “¡Estás igual!” (S Tahs E Gwahl), which means “You look the same.”
“You too!” Mom said. “You haven't changed a bit!” This had to be a total lie because trust me, he did not look like a college student!
He laughed and patted his stomach. “I have more weight now—but I am good cook! I have made lunch for your family.”
I took “family” as my cue to remind Mom that she wasn't exactly here on junior year abroad.
“Hola,” I said.
“¡Hola!” Antonio said, and smiled. “¿Hablas español?” (Ah Blahs S Pon Yole).
I knew that meant “Do you speak Spanish?” so I said, “Sí, un poquito” (See Oon Poe Key Toe), which means “Yes, a little bit.”
He said, “I am Antonio,” and leaned over and kissed me.
I answered, “I am Melanie.” Matt showed up, so I added, “This is Matt. Tiene siete anos” (Tyeh Nay Syeh Tay On Nyose). That means “He is seven.”
I was glad I remembered that in Spanish, you don't say, “He is seven,” you say, “He has seven years.” I think I sounded proud of myself and I hoped Antonio realized that I was proud of saying a Spanish sentence—not of having an American brother!
Dad appeared with our carry-on baggage. “I'm Marc. Very nice to meet you.”
The grown-ups kept talking, and I figured we were off to a pretty good start. But what had I expected? A duel?
Antonio said, “I hope you will enjoy Las Fallas'” (Las Fie Yahs).
Mom's excuse for making us visit her old flame (as Dad calls him) is that Valencia has its annual festival, Las Fallas or The Bonfires, during our spring break. It's a big fiesta (Fee S Tah) or party with firecrackers, fireworks, and fires.
It sounds kind of kooky, but groups of Spaniards spend a whole entire year building giant wood and papier-mache structures called falias. Around 350 of them! They put them on the streets, and for five days, everybody admires them. Judges give out prizes and also pick part of one falla to be put in a museum. Then on March 19—this Monday—the rest get burned to the ground.
We waited for our bags, and Antonio said he was going to take us to the Mascleta (Mahs Clay Ta), which is a firecracker celebration. While the grown-ups talked, I found a luggage cart, Matt climbed in, and I took him on an airport tour. He was Mr. Happy Boy!
Fortunately, every one of our bags arrived (yay!), so we put them in Antonio's car. It has a white oval bumper sticker with a black letter E for Espana. Dad told Mom to sit up front with Antonio, which surprised me. Shouldn't Dad make sure they don't start liking each other again?
Maybe Dad was too exhausted to be jealous because the second he sat down in the backseat, he passed out. Matt too. Does Dad have any idea how dumb he looks when he's asleep? This time his head is tilted back and his mouth is wide open. I wonder if I should close it. I hope Antonio doesn't look in the rearview mirror. So far he hasn't. He is too busy driving and looking at Me Ron Dah. They are talking a mile a minute in Spanish and I don't understand a single solitary word.
Antonionio is now parking the car. We're here! But where?
