by R. L. Stine
I’m not going to get up from this seat, I told myself. No matter what happens.
I’m going to show the diary that I’m the boss.
I decide what happens and what doesn’t.
But I knew I didn’t have much of a chance. I’d said the very same words before—and the diary’s prediction always came true.
The diary was always right.
Why should I even try to fight it? I wondered.
I’m going to take over the bus, just as the diary said.
Before the ride is over, I’m going to be sitting behind the wheel, taking this thing through town.
I slumped sadly in the seat. The kid next to me said something, but I didn’t even answer him. I stared glumly out the window.
Some kids were batting a balloon back and forth down the bus. I didn’t even move when the balloon bounced off my head.
Some kids laughed at me. I didn’t care.
You won’t be laughing soon, I thought bitterly.
Soon you’ll be screaming.
How is it going to happen this time? I wondered. What is going to cause me to run up to the front, drop behind the wheel, and drive this bus away?
I saw Billy Miller climb onto the bus, carrying a stack of comic books. He took a seat near the front and started shuffling through them. Was it going to be Billy’s fault again?
What is going to make me do such a crazy thing?
I was so tense, I accidentally bit my tongue. I cried out in pain.
I can’t take this suspense! I thought.
Finally, Mr. Fenner, the bus driver, climbed into the bus. He shouted for everyone to sit down. Then he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
The bus rumbled and shook. Mr. Fenner gunned the engine, making the bus roar and sending a white cloud of exhaust rising up to the back window.
He started to close the door, then changed his mind. The kids all groaned as he climbed up from his seat and stepped down off the bus.
I watched him cross the street to talk to two men at the corner. The two men laughed about something. Mr. Fenner took off his cap and scratched his gray hair.
“We want to go! We want to go!” some kids started to chant.
Mr. Fenner kept on chatting with the two men. I think he was pretending he couldn’t hear the chant.
Without even realizing it, I had unfastened my seat belt and stepped into the aisle.
Why am I doing this? I asked myself.
But the bus, the kids, the long aisle to the driver’s seat, were all a blur. I was moving as if in a dream.
In a daze, I walked up the narrow aisle. Kids were chanting. “We want to go! We want to go!”
Billy Miller called out to me. A girl shouted, “Hey, Alex—sit down!”
But I paid no attention to any of them.
I have no choice, I told myself. Some strange force is pulling me forward … pulling me …
I slid behind the wheel. I gripped it with both hands.
“Alex—what are you doing?” a girl screamed.
“Go! Go! Go!” some kids were chanting.
I saw Mr. Fenner through the bus windshield. He had his back turned. He was shaking his head and laughing with the two men.
I closed the bus door. The engine hummed loudly. I leaned over the wheel. I pressed my foot down on the brake a couple of times, testing it. Then my foot found the gas pedal.
“Go! Go! Go!”
“Stop him!” someone shouted.
“Alex—get back to your seat!” a boy cried.
“Alex—don’t!”
They didn’t understand. I had to take over the bus. I had no control … no control at all.
Some kids were screaming for Mr. Fenner. A little girl right behind me started to cry.
I took a deep breath. Then I spun the wheel away from the curb, pulled back the gearshift, and stepped on the gas.
The bus squealed and lurched forward. “Whoa!” I cried out as the side of the bus scraped the car parked in front of us. I saw the car’s mirror rip away.
Kids screamed and shrieked.
“Stop!”
“Somebody stop him!”
I spun the wheel harder and pressed the gas pedal down. “Hey—!” The bus rocked over the other curb onto the grass.
Kids shrieked louder.
Steering this thing was a lot harder than I thought.
Of course, I’d never driven a bus before. I’d never driven anything before—except in video games!
I jerked the wheel and aimed the bus back into the street. A car horn blared at my side. “LOOK OUT!” I screamed. The bus swerved sharply—and a kid went flying off his bike.
Close call!
“Stop! Alex—stop!” kids were shrieking and crying.
In the mirror, I saw Mr. Fenner running frantically after the bus. His cap blew off his head, but he kept chasing after me.
I leaned over the wheel and struggled to keep the bus on the street. My foot pressed harder on the gas.
How fast was I going?
I didn’t dare take my eyes away from the windshield to check the speedometer.
I roared through a stop sign. My foot missed the brake pedal.
Driving was a lot harder than I’d imagined.
Behind me, my passengers had grown very silent. I heard a few kids snuffling, a few sobbing. But the screams had stopped. No one was talking.
The bus bounced hard along the street. On both sides, the lawns were a blur of green. I checked the mirror. I had left Mr. Fenner far behind.
When I heard the siren, my breath caught in my throat. I started to choke.
The high wailing sound grew louder. In the mirror, I saw a black police car, red lights flashing.
The diary didn’t say anything about police! I thought.
And then my hands slid off the wheel as the bus lurched onto the grass.
The tree rose up in front of me. So dark and wide.
My scream rang out over the sound of the siren. And then a thundering crash shook the bus.
The tree appeared to fly into the windshield. And all the sounds meshed together—my scream … the siren wail … the shattering glass … and the crunch of bending metal.
Then silence.
A terrifying, ugly silence.
“Why did you do it, Alex?”
Dad held me by the shoulders. His eyes studied my face.
“I … can’t explain,” I whispered. “I’m … really sorry.”
Mom and Dad came to the police station to take me home. They were too shocked and confused to be angry at me.
Why had I done it?
I really couldn’t explain it. And if I told my parents about the diary, they wouldn’t believe it anyway.
Luckily, none of the kids on the bus had been hurt. The front of the bus was pretty smashed in. And the tree I hit didn’t exactly look great.
“You have no explanation?” Mom asked, biting her bottom lip. “No explanation at all for doing such a stupid, dangerous thing?”
“It won’t happen again,” I muttered.
And I meant it.
The diary had to go. I wasn’t going to keep it for one more night.
Once again, Tessa appeared in my room after dinner. “I know why you’re doing these things, Alex,” she said, sneering at me. “I know your secret.”
Had she really figured it out? I stared at her. “Secret?”
“It’s the diary,” she said.
I swallowed hard. How did she know? “What about the diary?” I demanded.
She narrowed her green eyes at me. “You’re doing all these crazy, dangerous things just so you’ll have something exciting to write in your diary!” she declared.
I laughed. She didn’t have a clue.
“You’ve pulled all these crazy stunts so that your diary will be more exciting than mine,” Tessa continued. “And then you’ll win our bet.”
She shook her head. “Alex, how could you risk all those kids’ lives just to win a bet?
”
I tried to explain to her that she was way off. That she didn’t know what she was talking about. “I’m finished betting on things,” I said. “I’m never going to make another bet as long as I live.” But I couldn’t convince her.
When she finally left, I grabbed the diary. I held it in my hands, staring at the cover.
I really wanted to read it. I really wanted to see what it said about tomorrow.
Maybe just a peek …
No!
It was too dangerous. I could have killed those kids on the bus this afternoon. I could have killed myself! What if tomorrow’s entry was even more dangerous and terrifying?
No. No way. This time I meant it.
Gripping the diary tightly in my hand, I crept out to the backyard. It was a dark night, but the three metal trash cans lined up at the side of the garage were easy to find. I lifted the lid off the first can.
A cold breeze made the trees shiver. A low tree branch cracked—and fell, thudding to the ground behind me.
Startled, I dropped the lid. My heart pounding, I tossed the diary into the can.
When I bent to pick up the lid, I heard a sound. A crackling. A scraping.
Another tree branch shifting in the wind?
Or was someone out there in the darkness, watching me?
“Who’s there?” I called. “Is someone there?”
Silence.
Shivering, I made my way back into the house. I was glad to be rid of the diary. I felt a hundred pounds lighter.
That night, I fell asleep quickly. I dreamed I was floating, floating on a puffy white cloud. The cloud suddenly popped and vanished—and I woke up.
I sat straight up, wide awake. Panic choked my throat. I glanced at the clock. Three in the morning.
I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, I thought. I pictured the diary out back in the trash can.
I need it, I told myself. I need to know what’s going to happen. I have to know!
I climbed out of bed. I straightened my pajama bottoms and crept barefoot down the stairs.
Once again, I was moving as if in a daze. As if under a spell. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I knew I should leave the diary in the trash.
But I couldn’t help myself. I had to read what it said about tomorrow.
I clicked on the light to the backyard. I silently prayed it wouldn’t wake Mom and Dad. Carefully, I unlocked the kitchen door, pulled it open, and slipped out into the cold, moonless night.
Trees creaked and groaned. The wet grass felt icy cold against my bare feet. I saw an animal slither under a bush. I think it was a mole or a raccoon.
I tiptoed to the trash cans. The wind made my pajama shirt ripple. Shivering hard, I lifted the lid off the first can. I bent over it. Reached inside.
“Huh?”
No diary.
I leaned closer. Dipped my head into the can. No diary.
With a low cry, I began pawing frantically through the trash. It has to be here! I told myself. It has to!
Bending over the can, searching furiously, I dug deeper, deeper into the trash.
Where is it? Where?
In a panic, I lifted the can in both hands. Turned it upside down. And poured everything out.
Then I dropped to my knees on the wet grass and began tearing through the trash. Grabbing at it. Heaving it aside.
“Where is it?” I cried out loud, my heart thudding in my chest. “It’s got to be here!”
I grabbed the next can and tilted it over. Nothing. No sign of the diary.
I turned the third can over too. Gagged on the smell of sour milk. Tore through the trash bags. Tore through spoiled eggs and wilted, decayed lettuce.
Tossed it all away. Tossed it over the lawn. Searching … searching in a choking panic.
But no. No diary.
The diary was gone.
I stayed awake the rest of the night. I paced back and forth in my room, thinking about the diary.
It didn’t just disappear, I knew. Someone had taken it.
Was it Tessa?
It didn’t take me long to find out.
In school the next morning, I felt tense, shaky. One reason was that I’d been awake all night. But mainly, I was tense because I didn’t know what was going to happen.
In algebra class, we had a pop quiz. I totally flunked it. I hadn’t even opened my algebra book the night before.
As I slunk out of the room, I glimpsed the broad grin on Tessa’s face. “That was so easy,” she declared.
Later, I saw Tessa in the hall surrounded by a group of her friends. “Is it a bet?” she was saying.
“Let me get this straight,” her friend Nella said. “You want to bet us five dollars there will be a gym locker inspection this afternoon?”
Tessa nodded, grinning. “Who wants to bet five bucks?”
“But we never have gym locker inspections!” Nella protested.
“If we don’t, you win the bet,” Tessa said.
I watched as the girls reached into their bags, pulling out five-dollar bills. Why was Tessa so sure about the locker inspection?
There was only one answer to that question. The diary. She knew the future. She must have the diary.
I balled my hands into tight fists. I gritted my teeth, trying not to explode in anger.
At lunchtime, I ran to catch up to her. “Hey, Tessa—wait up! I know what you did—”
“Better hurry, Alex!” she shouted, running ahead of me toward the lunchroom. “Pizza today!”
“How do you know?” I called.
Her green eyes lit up gleefully. “A little birdie told me!” She laughed and trotted into the lunchroom.
Again, I balled my hands into fists. Tessa has it, I knew. She waited till I went inside last night. Then she took the diary.
But she isn’t keeping it for long, I decided. I’m going to get it back—tonight.
After dinner, Dad drove Chip and me to Tessa’s uncle’s house. We carried our guitars into the garage and set them down against the wall. Dad carried the large amp over to the electrical outlet near the door.
“I’ve got to go, guys,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours. Have a good practice.”
“Thanks for helping us carry our stuff,” Chip called as my dad climbed back into the car.
A few seconds after he backed away, Tessa appeared. She carried a tall stack of papers. “I brought some songs we can try,” she said.
“Your uncle’s garage is awesome,” Chip said. He bent to plug his guitar into the amp. “We’ve got enough electrical power in here to rehearse an orchestra!”
Tessa nodded. “Uncle Jon is a good guy.” She turned to the driveway. “Hey—look who’s here!”
We all turned to watch Shawn struggle up the drive on his crutches. He had a heavy white cast on his broken leg that reached all the way to his waist.
Chip hurried to carry Shawn’s guitar for him. “Hey, Shawn—how are you going to play guitar with those crutches?” he asked.
Shawn snickered. “I guess maybe I’ll put the crutches down when I play,” he said.
We all laughed. Chip blushed bright red.
The night was overcast, and a sudden flash of lightning made the garage as bright as day. A soft rain started to fall, tapping against the garage windows and the roof.
Chip attached a cable to Shawn’s guitar. “I’ll help you set up.”
A boom of thunder shook the walls. “Great sound effects!” Chip cried.
I suddenly realized that Tessa was staring at me. “What’s your problem, Alex?” she asked. “Why are you just standing around?”
“Oh. Uh … I brought the wrong guitar,” I said. “I really wanted to play the other one.”
I started toward the open garage door. Lightning flickered over the trees across the street. “I’m going to run home and get it,” I said, shouting over another burst of thunder.
“In the rain?” Shawn called.
“It’s only a couple
of blocks,” I said. “I’ll be back by the time you’re set up.” I pulled my jacket over my head, grabbed my backpack, and ran out of the garage.
Of course, I wasn’t going to my house. I was going to Tessa’s house.
I had planned this all afternoon. I was going to Tessa’s house to get back my diary.
The rain came down a little harder. My shoes splashed through shallow puddles as I jogged along the sidewalk. Lightning streaked the sky, making the trees and lawns flash like silver.
A few minutes later, I stepped onto Tessa’s front stoop. Tessa’s mom answered the door. “Alex? What’s wrong?” she asked, very shocked to see me. “You’re soaked!”
“Tessa forgot some song sheets,” I said. “She asked me to get them from her room.”
Thunder boomed. Dr. Wayne shook her head. “I hope you kids are all right in this storm. Practicing in a garage …”
“It’s a very well-built garage,” I said. “No leaks or anything.”
I wiped my wet shoes carefully on the welcome mat, then made my way to Tessa’s room. I clicked on the light—and saw it instantly.
The diary. My diary. Lying on top of a stack of papers on Tessa’s desk.
“Yessss!” I cried happily.
I dove across the room and grabbed it.
She stole it. Tessa stole my diary! How could she do a thing like that?
Well, it doesn’t matter, I decided. The diary is back with its proper owner.
I held it in my hands. Rainwater dripped from my hair onto the leather cover. I brushed the water away with my finger.
I’ve got to open it, I decided. I’ve got to see what the diary says about tonight.
I’ve felt so lost without it … so totally lost.
My hands shook as I flipped the book open.
I shuffled past the old entries till I came to the last page.
The new entry. The entry for tonight.
My eyes bulged as I read it. One word.
Only one word on the page:
DEAD.
DEAD.
I stared at the word, the book trembling between my hands.
My frightening dream flashed into my mind. The dream had come true. The diary entry read: DEAD.
And the diary never lied.
“Alex—did you find what you need?” Dr. Wayne’s voice brok into my thoughts.
