holding back on me. How selfish can you get?
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Saturday 21
Dear Dumb Diary,
Mom says that since Aunt Carol is having her
little party at our house next Friday, and my room is
where they throw everybody’s coats, I should start
cleaning my room now. The process usually takes
about five days. I don’t like cleaning my room, but
it is interesting to excavate down and find evidence
of earlier Jamie civilizations buried deep beneath
the visible mantle of junk.
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Sunday 22
Dear Dumb Diary,
Aunt Carol and I hung around today for a
while. We talked about her job, which she says she
"LUUUVS." She says she loves the school and
the people she works with, and me, and the people
she works with, and the whole wide world, and the
people she works with.
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I filled her in about some of the people she
works with, since she’s only been there a couple
weeks, and adults — like animals — must know the
way their little herds operate.
I told her that the office ladies used to be
mean, but now they’re nice and I think it’s because
Aunt Carol has substituted their hard butterscotch
candies with chocolate, or maybe she is also a
calming goat to them the way she is to Bruntford.
I told her that Mr. Evans, who is my English
teacher, has a vein in his head that he can throb at
you when he’s angry but, like a bull elephant, he’s
more likely to just try to scare you than gore you.
I told her that Miss Anderson gave Assistant
Principal Devon a valentine I had created while she
was out of the office the other day in the way that
a bird might offer another bird a big fat grub with
glitter on it as part of a courtship ritual.
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Aunt Carol got all flustered and angry and I
can only assume it’s because she is strongly against
birds.
I mean, I’m no big fan myself, but c’mon,
Aunty C.
Monday 23
Dear Dumb Diary,
Aunt Carol drove me to school today and
Bruntford was out patrolling the parking lot the way
she does when she’s not patrolling the lunchroom.
Aunt Carol stopped and talked to her while I
went into school. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen
them talking. I can only assume that Bruntford
was telling her to park somewhere else or finish her
meat loaf or some other dumb Bruntford thing like
that.
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Later that day, Angeline did it again.
Gigglecide. The stamping, the flailing, the
puppy-pee squeals.
"The glasses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She
slipped!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Your
aunt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She was mad
at first ... but ... eeeee!!!!! This
Friday!!!!!!!!!!!!" (I am not exaggerating the
number of exclamation points here.) And all I could
do was try to defend myself from getting strangled
by Angeline’s mop of flawless silken golden silky
hair in the way you might have to wrestle a massive
octopus that smelled like Green Apple shampoo.
Why is Angeline doing this?
I asked Mom what she thought about
Angeline but she was concentrating too hard on her
precious appetizers and stepping on Stinker to keep
him from jumping up on the table to even hear what
I had asked. All she could say was, “I like Angeline.
She’s a nice girl.” That was all I needed to hear to
know that she had no idea who I was talking about.
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Tuesday 24
Dear Dumb Diary,
Isabella got in trouble EIGHT TIMES
TODAY. She kept doing things just bad enough
to get sent to Assistant Principal Devon, but not
serious enough for the teacher to call the police.
Isabella's rap sheet:
• Told Mrs. Palmer, the science teacher, that biology
is the study of everything that is too gross to go
into any other “ology” and that’s why she teaches it.
• Ran in the hallway.
• Drew unflattering picture of Mr. Evans on his
chalkboard. (Which alone might not have done it,
but the hula skirt and coconut bra sure did.)
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• Ran in hallway again.
• Reminded math teacher that when microwaves
were invented, people no longer needed to make
popcorn over a fire. Now we have calculators, so it
won’t be long before we don’t need math teachers,
either.
• Told lunch ladies that their macaroni and cheese
smelled like the inside of an abandoned chicken
coop.
• Ran in hallway AGAIN.
• And finally, got in an argument with Mr. Dover, our
gym teacher, over doing laps. Isabella told him that
we’re not supposed to run in school.
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Obviously she was taking advantage of my
Aunt Carol’s willingness to throw the teacher
notes away, and just wants to see how much she
can get away with. I didn’t even want to bring it up
with Aunt Carol tonight, because I’m embarrassed
by Isabella. I’ll talk to Isabella about it tomorrow
and ask her to take it down a notch.
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Wednesday 25
Dear Dumb Diary,
Notchwise, Isabella only knows
how to go up
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I tried to explain to her that she is over-
mining the natural resource of my Aunt Carol, and
if she keeps at it, it’s going to dry up. One day it
might not be there when we really need it — like if
we were to put Angeline in a locker and weld it shut
accidentally. (Recently I learned how to weld on the
Internet. Accidentally.)
Isabella doesn’t care. She continued her
crime spree throughout the day, and Miss Anderson
even personally walked her down to the office one
time herself.
I told her that if she kept at it, sooner or later
she was going to get detention, and for a moment, I
think I got through to her, because she stopped for
a second and thought.
I wanted to apologize about Isabella to Aunt
Carol tonight, but she’s out on a date again, and
Stinker still won’t cut one. (I tried him on cabbage
and broccoli tonight —he can’t resist anyt
hing
because mom’s exquisite appetizers are driving him
crazy.) He looks to me like he’s starting to inflate a
little.
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Thursday 26
Dear Dumb Diary,
Meat loaf. And not just meat loaf. Also,
Angeline was at our table today. I had no idea
why she decided to sit with Isabella and me,
but Angeline can sit anywhere she wants. She
is immune, it seems, to The Rules of the
Lunchroom Tables. (There’s a cool kid table,
a jerk table, a computer kid table. . . . you get the
picture.)
Angeline sat down and all friendly and playful
she goes, “Quite the little office romance, huh?”
I didn’t know what she was talking about so I
said, “Yes.”
“Our assistant principal seems to be falling in
love,” she whispered.
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Isabella said, “No duh. Miss Anderson is
really coming on strong.”
Angeline might have gagged a little, but
school meat loaf has that effect on most people.
“Miss Anderson?” she said.
“Yeah,” Isabella said. “I’ve been up there
sixteen times in two days, and Miss Anderson is
always up there hanging around, making excuses
to go into Mr. Devon’s office. She gave him Jamie’s
valentine. In fact, she acts just like Jamie does
when she tries to talk to Hudson.” (Hudson Rivers,
you might recall Dumb Diary, is the eighth-cutest
guy in my grade and shut up,, Isasbella!)
Then Angeline changed. I saw her wide blue
eyes narrow. Her perfect nostrils flared into . . .
into . . . well, they were still perfect, but they were
somewhat less ladylike. And her eternal smile
flattened a bit into what must have been a scowl,
but like the scowl a Care Bear might give you.
I was so happy. Can you believe how jealous she was
that it was My valentine that Miss Anderson had
selected? I guess you haven’t stolen my favorite
teacher from me after all, hmmm, Angeline?
When I looked up, I realized that Bruntford
had sidled up next to our table. Was she just
doing her normal lunch patrol, or was she
EAVESDROPPING? I wondered, although I
didn’t have to wonder long, because I saw her glare
across the cafeteria at Miss Anderson who
happened to be breezing through in an especially
pretty manner.
Strangely, Isabella was looking at Miss
Anderson with the exact same expression. I had no
idea that two faces as different as theirs could even
make the same expression.
The bell rang and we all broke up and I waited
around for Isabella at her locker, but she never
showed. Somebody told me that she got detention.
This sugar withdrawal is really going badly for her.
Aunt Carol was gone again at dinner and I
asked my mom if she was ever going to eat with us
again, and she smiled and said that she thought
Aunt Carol would be getting her own place to live
very soon and she wouldn’t be surprised if after the
party tomorrow night, we saw even less of her.
It’s more important than ever that I find out
what’s going on, and only Stinker can help me. I fed
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him a can of beans and some frozen waffles after
dinner and I’ve explained to him how important
it is that he grosses up my room before bedtime.
Looking at the clock on the wall, he only has a
couple minutes to go, and it looks like this bloaty
little beagle is going to disobey me AGAIN.
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Friday 27
Dear Dumb Diary,
Isabella DID get detention yesterday. I told
her there was a limit to what Aunt Carol could do
with teachers’ notes.
And speaking of teachers, my Aunt Carol’s
little get-together tonight caused actual teachers
to be HERE in my actual house. I’m not kidding:
REAL TEACHERS. It hadn’t occurred to me that
since Aunt Carol just started working at the school,
it would be teachers and office ladies that would
get herded through my private house.
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I kid you not. Mr. Dover, the gym teacher
(his real name is Ben Dover if you can handle it),
was here. And not wearing a whistle or carrying a
clipboard or telling anybody to hustle.
Miss Palmer, the science teacher, was
here, wearing a dress that was actually kind of
me out to write, but it didn’t.
Mr. Evans was here, but his head vein wasn’t.
In many ways, he resembled a human being that
didn’t even have a big old ugly head vein.
The office ladies were here and they were
not being mean at all, even though my mom
was not handing out those little chocolate bars.
I’m beginning to wonder if that one Mean Office
Lady that we disabled was the one making them
so grumpy. Maybe she was like an un-calming
goat — like a goat that was always making its little
collages all over their barnyard.
There must have been fifteen teachers in
my house, including Mr. VanDoy, who still wasn’t
smiling, but at least he wasn’t handing out social
studies homework, either.
Then Assistant Principal Devon came in, and
Aunt Carol, who I thought was not looking where she
was going, slammed into him the way I crashed into
Bruntford. Exactly — except for the huge . . .
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I still can hardly believe it. It was one of
those awesomely horrible types of kisses that is
super gross and super excellent at the same time,
like two people trying to chew one piece of gum
at the same time. My aunt and Assistant Principal
Devon KISSED.
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And this is right about where Isabella came
in, with Bruntford, (CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? ? ? )
who, in this big friendly voice said, “Did we miss
anything?” I looked at Isabella’s hands and they
were filthy. So were Bruntford’s. I assumed that
they had been wrestling, but Isabella took me into
the bathroom and filled me in.
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Isabella did get detention yesterday. Isabella
said it only took a few minutes in the office before
she could tell that Angeline had not been talking
about Miss Anderson. She had been talking about
my Aunt Carol. Isabella said it was totally obvious
that Aunt Carol and Assistant Principal Devon
really liked each other — which explains the big
smooch — and that she overheard Aunt Carol
talking about how "special" this party was going
to be for her, and how she wished Miss Anderson
wasn’t going to be there.
Isabella said that all this lovey-dovey stuff
was a very good thing, because it was working out
so well for her personally.
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I didn’t understand. I mean, I got it that
Aunt Carol didn’t want Miss Anderson at the party
flirting with her assistant principal, but why was
Miss Anderson even interested? She could have
dated Assistant Principal Devon anytime in the
last five years. Why, all of a sudden, was she so
interested now?
Isabella pointed at our identical shoes (the
ones that make me look 20 or something). Then I
remembered why Isabella bought them. She only
bought them because I had them.
Miss Anderson was just like Isabella was
with my shoes. Except the assistant principal is my
shoes, and Aunt Carol is me, who had the shoes in
the first place. Angeline doesn’t really have a shoe
role here. Anyway, Miss Anderson liked Assistant
Principal Devon because Aunt Carol liked him.
Then Isabella confessed WHY it’s working
out so well for her personally. She’s been getting
in trouble on purpose for the candy. Every time
she would go to the office, Aunt Carol would throw
away the teacher’s note, and Isabella would grab
a handful of candy. Isabella was doing crime
for chocolate. She knew I was right about the
detention. But she wasn’t trying to avoid it. She
was trying to get it. She figured that if she got
detention, she could spend an hour or so in the
office eating as much chocolate as she wanted.
But as soon as she fully understood the
situation, she needed to make sure that Miss
Anderson couldn’t break up her ENDLESS
CANDY SUPPLY and that meant keeping her out
of the picture. Besides, Miss Anderson had rejected
her decorated padlock idea in favor of Angeline’s