Diary of a Real Payne Book 3

by Annie Tipton

  EJ grinned at her brother’s goofiness. Sure, he was a spaz, but at least he was a spaz with good movie tastes.

  “You kids find what you’re looking for?” Billy—or was it Bobby?—called to EJ and Isaac from behind the shoe counter a few feet away.

  “I found the perfect one for me!” Isaac hefted his Star Wars ball and galloped to the two alleys where the adults and Faith were waiting to get started.

  “I, well …” EJ’s eyes scanned the handful of kids’ balls left on the rack. Yellow (bleh), orange (ugly), blue (maybe, but only as a last option), and bright pink (no way, Jose!).

  “I can see you are a woman of discerning tastes, EJ. Bobby”—EJ made a mental note that the one speaking now must be Billy—“shall we let her choose from our secret stash?”

  EJ’s eyes brightened. Secret stash sounded promising.

  “Brother Billy, I believe we shall.” Bobby produced a key and unlocked a cabinet door on the front of the shoe counter. The door swung open, and EJ’s jaw dropped. The amount of bling radiating from the balls in the secret stash was almost blinding. In a split second EJ knew which one she would pick: the extra-shiny, extra-sparkly red ball with thousands of stars on it. It was so bright that it actually looked like it had been dipped in the sparkles that Mom used for crafts in kids’ church.

  “That one has your name all over it, EJ girl.” Mrs. Winkle peered into the cabinet over EJ’s shoulder while EJ carefully picked up the bowling ball. “Billy and Bobby must see something special in you. They don’t let just anyone into their secret stash, do you, boys?”

  “No, ma’am.” Side by side, the brothers responded together and hooked their thumbs through the belt loops on their jeans.

  “Thank you for trusting me with such a beautiful ball.” EJ smiled at the brothers and realized she’d lost track of which one was which again. “I will be very careful with it.”

  Mrs. Winkle put her arm around EJ’s shoulder to guide her to the lanes where the family was waiting.

  “Well, don’t be too careful with it,” the brother on the left called, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yeah, I mean, you’re about to throw it across the room with the intention of knocking things over,” the other twin said. “So throw ‘er with gusto!”

  EJ set her ball in the ball return and finally got a good look at Mrs. Winkle’s bowling outfit: white pants with tiny, multicolored bowling balls and pins embroidered all over them, bowling shoes covered with emerald-green sequins, a tiny bowler hat pinned to the top of her head, and a button-down collared shirt with what looked like handwritten Magic Marker Xs all over them.

  “Love the outfit, as always, Wilma,” Mom said, echoing exactly what EJ was thinking. Mrs. Winkle wore the most fascinating outfits—often they were looks she designed herself. “But what’s with the shirt?”

  “It’s my lucky strike shirt, dear!” Mrs. Winkle laughed. “Every time I knock over all ten pins, I add an X to celebrate a strike!”

  Mrs. Winkle’s unique and creative style was one of the many things EJ loved about her grandmother-y neighbor. Since EJ’s grandparents, Nana and Pops, lived far away in Ohio, it was great having a friend like Mrs. Winkle nearby.

  “Hope you Paynes like nachos, because I just ordered two plates of them,” Mr. Johnson said as walked with his cane from the snack counter. Until a little more than a year ago, Mr. Johnson only used his gruff voice to yell at neighborhood kids to get off his property and stay away from his flower garden and birdhouses, or else! But he’d abandoned his role as lonely neighborhood grouch and had found a place to belong with Mrs. Winkle and the Payne family.

  “Sounds delicious, Lester. I’m sure we’ll love them,” Dad said, tying a double knot in his left bowling shoe. “Are we ready to get started, then?”

  “Just a minute, I forgot to change shoes.” Mr. Johnson slipped his feet out of his loafers and into his rented bowling shoes. He used the armrest of his chair to ease himself onto one knee to tie the shoe.

  At precisely the same moment, Mrs. Winkle turned from the computer score-keeping screen, where she and Isaac had been typing everyone’s names. When she saw a kneeling Mr. Johnson, she gasped.

  “Oh, Lester!” Mrs. Winkle covered her mouth with her hands and her eyes shimmered. “I knew this day would be coming soon. I just didn’t imagine it would be today!”

  EJ wondered what on earth was wrong with Mrs. Winkle. Was she about to cry? Mom and Dad raised their eyebrows at each other and she saw Dad give Mom a thumbs-up on the sly.

  Mr. Johnson cleared his throat uneasily and looked mildly terrified.

  “Of course, it makes sense that you’d do it now,” Mrs. Winkle continued, as if she were thinking out loud. “I mean, we’re here with the people who mean the very most to us—and who brought us together.”

  EJ scrunched her forehead, trying to make sense of what Mrs. Winkle was going on about. She felt a tug on her sleeve.

  “EJ, what’s happening?” Isaac whispered.

  “Shh, I’m trying to figure it out,” EJ replied.

  “But I love you, and you love me.” Mrs. Winkle was getting giddier and talking faster with every word. “We love each other. And we will be so happy together. And, let’s face it, we’re not getting any younger. So, Mr. Lester Johnson, you don’t even have to ask the question. The answer is yes. Yes. Yes!” Mrs. Winkle clapped her hands and laughed gleefully.

  “Excuse me. What question?” Isaac’s patience for the mystery had obviously run its course.

  Mr. Johnson took his time to finish tying his second bowling shoe. “Wilma, you’re a brilliant woman with extreme style, and you’ll always outshine me,” he began, pulling a small velvet box from his pants pocket. “And you’ve already stolen my thunder, but you’ve said all the things that are on my heart better than I could’ve said them.”

  Oh! EJ thought. I’ve seen a scene like this in movies!

  “So even though you’ve already told me the answer to my question, I will ask it anyway.” Mr. Johnson took a deep breath and smiled up at Mrs. Winkle as he opened the box to reveal a diamond ring. “Wilma Winkle, will you marry me?”

  EJ takes one final moment to make sure everything’s in place. Normally she wouldn’t wear anything so completely girly—a floor-length dress with enough sparkle to light up a room—but it’s not every day that she gets to star in Mrs. Winkle’s wedding as the flower girl.

  Okay, maybe she isn’t exactly the star of the wedding, but after the bride and groom, she has to get next billing, right?

  EJ makes sure the glittering star-shaped confetti is present and accounted for in the flower girl basket, lifts a gloved hand to straighten the jewel-encrusted tiara on her head, adjusts her balance in her kitten-heel shoes, and takes a deep breath.

  She hears the first notes of her music cue from inside the Vine Street Community Church auditorium and takes a confident step down the aisle. All eyes are on EJ as she delicately scatters dazzling sparkles down the aisle, creating the perfect pathway for the bride to follow.

  “Isn’t she a perfectly elegant flower girl?” someone whispers.

  “Wilma made the right choice choosing EJ,” comes the reply.

  EJ smiles, and she times her steps and confetti placement as the music swells. She can feel the admiration of all the guests wishing they could be as lovely.

  “Eeeeeeeeeebabababah!” The dinosaur-like screech coming out of Faith’s mouth rudely snapped EJ out of her daydream. Mom held Faith in her lap while the baby pulled Kleenexes out of Mrs. Winkle’s purse gleefully, tossing them into the air and watching them drift to the ground.

  “EJ, did you hear Mrs. Winkle ask Faith to be the flower girl in the wedding?” Mom bounced Faith on her knee and got her to giggle.

  EJ’s stomach dropped to her toes, and her breath caught in her chest. Ever since Mr. Johnson and Mrs. Winkle had started courting, she’d assumed, counted on, and dreamed about being the flower girl at their wedding.

  “I thought Faith could use so
me practice—but I think we’ve discovered she’s a natural.” Mrs. Winkle watched Faith pull out another Kleenex and toss it. “And, EJ, I want you to be my junior bridesmaid. Please say that you will.”

  EJ’s stomach did a flop from her toes, up to generally where it should be. Junior bridesmaid—that sounded like it could be even more important than flower girl.

  “As junior bridesmaid, you’ll get to help me plan the wedding, wear a fabulous dress, and stand on stage beside me during the ceremony,” Mrs. Winkle said. “And … I was wondering if you would be willing to learn ‘You Are My Sunshine’ on your ukulele so you can play and sing it when I walk down the aisle. Would you like that?”

  EJ stomach flipped again—this time out of excitement instead of disappointment.

  “I’d love it!” EJ gushed, throwing her arms around Mrs. Winkle’s neck in a hug. “I’ll answer the same way you did to Mr. Johnson. Yes. Yes!”

  “Of course, we’d like you to officiate the ceremony, Reverend Payne.” Mr. Johnson’s eyes sparkled as he addressed Dad with the uncharacteristic formal title. Everybody at church just called him David. Or sometimes Pastor David.

  “It’ll be my honor, Lester.” Dad shook Mr. Johnson’s hand and pulled him in for a hug.

  EJ could see the wheels turning in Isaac’s brain. Apparently he didn’t have a role in the wedding yet, and he wasn’t about to be left out.

  “Hey, Mr. Johnson.” Isaac squeezed himself between Mr. Johnson and Dad as their hug broke up. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to be the stand-up comedian in the wedding.”

  “Um …” Mr. Johnson looked to Mrs. Winkle for help, but she just gave him an encouraging wink. “Well, Isaac, would you be willing to audition for it?”

  “Sure!” Isaac’s face lit up. “Right now?”

  “Okay, yes, right now.” Mr. Johnson tried to look official, but the corners of his mouth gave away his amused grin.

  “EJ, would you please be my assistant for this audition?” EJ groaned at Isaac’s request. She could see what was coming—her brother still only knew one joke that she’d heard no fewer than 6,438 times in her life.

  “Isaac, I don’t wan—” EJ stopped short when she saw the look of disapproval on Dad’s face. “All right. Go.”

  Isaac cleared his throat.

  Isaac: What kind of cats like to go bowling?

  EJ: What are you talking about? Cats don’t bowl.

  Isaac: It’s the joke, EJ. What kind of cats like to go bowling?

  EJ: Wait a second. Are you telling a joke that’s not your “Noah good joke” one?

  Isaac: Yes. So answer the question. What kind of cats like to go bowling?

  EJ: I don’t know.

  Isaac: Alley cats.

  Adults: [laugh]

  Faith: [squeals]

  EJ: [shocked silence]

  Isaac: EJ, do you get it? Bowling? Alley cats—

  EJ: Yeah, I get it. I’m just too stunned to laugh because I never thought you’d ever tell a new joke in your life.

  Isaac: It was time for a change.

  Mr. Johnson: [still laughing] I never knew I wanted a stand-up comedian at my wedding till now. Isaac, you’re hired!

  Chapter 6

  ROBO BABY

  March 14

  Dear Diary,

  Macy and I signed up for “infant home care certification” training at the Spooner Red Cross, and today is the day for the class! How cool and official will it be to introduce myself as “EJ Payne, infant home care professional”? (Okay, okay, it’s basically a fancy term for a babysitter, but “infant home care professional” sounds so much more legit, right?) If the teacher doesn’t give me a badge or at the very least an ID card, I might just have to make one myself to keep in my wallet so I can pull it out to impress people now and then—a photo ID framed by multicolored stars and using lots of different fonts to highlight my babysitting expertise.

  CoraLee overheard Macy and me talking about the babysitting class at recess the other day, and in typical CoraLee fashion, she had to come stick her nose in our conversation and ruin it by telling us that she was signed up for the class, too.

  CoraLee: Mom says it’d be a good idea for me to get certified, which I think is just plain dumb because I’ve been babysitting my little sister for six months now.

  Macy: You never know, CoraLee, maybe you’ll learn something useful in class.

  Me: Yeah, CoraLee, it’s probably a lot different babysitting an infant than babysitting your sister, Katy. I mean, she’s in first grade. She’s potty trained and can pretty much take care of herself, right?

  CoraLee: EJ, you’ve never babysat before. Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about.

  Me: You mean Katy’s not potty trained? Well, that’s awkward.

  CoraLee: Just wait till Saturday, P-A-I-N. We’ll see who makes the better babysitter!

  Me: You’re on.

  The description of the class on the Red Cross website says that we’ll be trained with “lifelike infant simulators.” Mom says those are probably baby dolls that have computer chips in them, and we’ll have to do things like change diapers, feed, soothe, and rock them. Truthfully, “lifelike infant simulators” sound a bit too much like robots to me. Lots of kids (my brother included) think robots are cool. I, on the other hand, do not. I don’t trust things that seem like they can think for themselves, but they don’t actually have a brain. (Transformers will take over the world someday—you heard it here first, Diary!) But if these things are cute, cuddly baby dolls, how bad could they really be?

  EJ

  EJ leans over the edge of the cradle and watches the sweet baby boy named Abner sleep. She slips her pointer finger in the baby’s fist and marvels at his perfectly formed, tiny fingers and fingernails. Her eyes drift to his angelic face: long eyelashes, chubby cheeks, light hair as soft as the feathers on a baby chick. She is the very best babysitter in the whole world.

  Abner stirs slightly in his sleep, and a tiny pink tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth.

  “What are you dreaming of, silly baby?” EJ murmurs, smiling to herself. “A giant bottle filled with warm milk?”

  Abner yawns and stretches, waking up from his nap slowly. His bright green eyes, groggy at first, quickly focus on EJ’s face, and his mouth splits open in an adorably toothless grin.

  “Hey there, handsome guy!” EJ picks up Abner and hugs him close, enjoying his powder-fresh smell. “Did you have a good snooze?”

  “Waaaahhh-aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh. Waaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” EJ’s babysitting dream whisked away, and she nearly dropped the screaming piece of baby-shaped rubber in her arms. She looked around the Red Cross classroom at the dozen other students going for their infant home care certification, and she realized her baby was the only one crying.

  “Shh. Come on, little guy, it’s okay.” EJ tried pushing Abner’s pacifier in his mouth, but the horrible sound continued to come from the speaker somewhere on his body. It was actually pretty impressive how much sound it could put out.

  EJ felt panic rise in her chest, and she looked at her classmates to see if anyone else was doing something helpful that she could try. Each student was standing at a spot along a row of long tables, interacting with an infant simulator doll and various baby supplies—diapers, blankets, bottles, toys. EJ saw Macy changing the diaper of her baby—a newborn doll named Gretchen. CoraLee was feeding a bottle to her doll—a four-month-old named Penelope. The rest of the students were older girls EJ had seen before, but they were already in middle school, and she didn’t know any of their names. EJ thought it was too bad there weren’t any boys in the class, but then she had another thought: the fewer certified babysitters there were in Spooner, the better chance she had at making some real money. (And she needed a new bike for the summer!)

  “Waaaaaahhhhhh!” Abner wasn’t letting up.

  “What’s wrong with you, baby?” EJ muttered. As Abner’s cry got louder, she held the wailing infant simulator at arm’s length to k
eep the source of the earsplitting sound as far from her ears as possible.

  “EJ, use baby’s name when you talk to baby.” The voice of the instructor named Miss Debbie rose above Abner’s cries. “And don’t forget—baby needs head and neck support!”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, ma’am.” EJ glanced down at her Babysitting 101 handbook to check the proper holding technique and pulled Abner to her, his head and neck resting comfortably in the crook of her arm. “There, Abner. Is that better?”

  “Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” Was it possible the pitch of the cry had jumped an entire octave? How much louder would it get?

  “Shh. Shhhh. Hush now, Abner. I am here.” EJ began to rock the doll in a steady rhythm, hoping desperately that’s what he wanted. If Miss Debbie was already grading students on their performance, she was definitely getting some less-than-awesome marks right now.

  “You’re a natural, Mace.” EJ gently bounced the screeching Abner in her arms as she walked to her friend. “How am I supposed to know if I’ll make a good babysitter with a nightmare of a kid like this?” Abner hiccupped and screamed more earnestly. “Sorry, I don’t really mean nightmare,” EJ reassured the crying doll, just in case it understood what she was saying.

  “We just have to figure out what he needs, EJ.” Macy gently set the contented Gretchen in her car seat and turned to help her best friend. “May I?”

  “No, I need to do it myself.” EJ raised her voice over the robo baby’s wailing. “Could you just walk me through it, please?”

  “Let’s see. Diaper?”

  “Clean.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Fed him”—EJ checked the clock on the wall—“eight minutes ago.”

  “Well, he just must want to be close to you.” Macy held up her wrist where she wore a bracelet with the computer key that matched Gretchen’s computer interface. EJ wore a similar key on her wrist—for Abner. “That key on your wrist means that you’re the only one he’ll respond to.”