Ava and Pip (2 page)

BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

I read what I wrote yesterday, and omg, what a stupid idea!

Good thing no one ever sees what I write in here except me.

To tell you the truth, I'm getting tempted to bury this diary underneath my underwear!

The reason I came up with the crazy cats idea is that Mom is always saying how sad it is when old pets get “put down.” Yesterday, some lady realized that her beloved cat, Whiskers, had gotten so rickety, he could no longer drink or eat and that “his time had come.”

Mom says the worst part of her job is when a person walks in with a pet and walks out without one. The second worst is when someone gets the pet back, good as new, and Mom hands them a bill for a thousand dollars, and the person faints on the floor. (That almost happened to the lady with the rock-eating dog.)

Anyway, instead of writing any sad sagas (S-A-G-A-S) about ancient cats, I might write about glamorous rats: star rats (S-T-A-R-R-A-T-S). Who knows? With my magic pen, I might even win!

X-O-X

A-V-A

(A NUMBER PALINDROME)

DEAR DIARY,

So far, no one has spotted my L-I-O-N-I-N-O-I-L.

AVA, ACTUALLY

BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

This might sound dumb and immature, but I'm sitting in bed crying. Two little drops just fell on
you
!

At dinner, I said, “I got another 100 in spelling.” I wasn't expecting a bunch of high-fives or a confetti parade or for them to dance around the room or phone Nana Ethel. But couldn't they have said, “Way to go”? Or, if they wanted to be nutty, “Yay, Ava, Yay” (Y-A-Y-A-V-A-Y-A-Y) or “Atta girl” (A-T-T-A girl)?

Dad said, “Ava, you're on a roll,” and Mom said, “Now please pass me a roll.” Dad laughed at her not-that-funny joke, then Mom and Dad and Pip started talking about rolls and Pip's art class and a calico kitten named Fuzz Ball who got hit by a car and operated on and now has just three legs but still scampers around just fine.

And I can see how all of that is wayyy more interesting than a 100 in spelling, but I still wish that what mattered to me mattered to them.

After dinner, I remembered my palindrome project, so I said, “Hey, did anybody notice my little lion?”

Mom, Dad, and Pip stared at me blankly, so I hopped up to show them. But it wasn't on the windowsill! I looked all around, and it was
nowhere
to be found! I came back and said, “I put a lion cub in a jar next to the cactus.” Dad and Pip looked at me like I had three noses, but Mom said, “Oh, sweetie, I threw it out. I thought it was garbage.” And she didn't even apologize!

I stomped upstairs to write in you, but I left my magic pen in the living room and I didn't want to go back down, so now I'm writing with an old pencil. That's how I feel anyway: like a stubby yellow pencil covered with teeth marks with a worn-down eraser and a broken point that no one even cares about.

AVA FEELING AWFUL

MORNING

DEAR DIARY,

One nice thing about keeping a diary is that it never interrupts or changes the subject or thinks your jokes aren't funny or that you're boasting or whining. And it's not a writing contest, so there's no pressure. A diary just lets you be honest. And I appreciate that.

I also appreciate that Dad made a big Irish breakfast with eggs, sausages, baked beans, mushrooms, and scones.

AVA THE APPRECIATIVE

SATUR
DAY
NIGHT

DEAR DIARY,

Maybelle invited me to dinner, but I was with our neighbors Lucia and Carmen. They're fourth-grade twins, and they don't dress exactly the same, but they always wear the same color. Today it was pink.

Maybelle said they could come too, so Dad drove the three of us over.

At dinner, which was a cookout, Maybelle's parents asked me lots of friendly questions. Maybelle told them about the writing contest and even said, “Ava can spell anything!”

Maybelle's dad said, “Spell
anything
!”

I said, “A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G,” and everyone laughed.

After dinner, we all went for a walk. We didn't need flashlights because the moon was almost full. When it was just me and Maybelle, I told her about my oily lion palindrome project and how my mom threw it out. Maybelle looked sad for me, but then Lucia and Carmen caught up with us so she changed the subject. She said, “I like the moon more than the sun.”

“What do you mean?” Carmen said.

“You can't look directly at the sun,” Maybelle explained. “But you can look at the moon all you want. And it changes!”

“I like when it's bright and there are no clouds,” Lucia chimed in. “Like tonight.”

“Moon shadows are cooler than sun shadows,” Maybelle added.

Well, I started waving my arms in the air, and my shadow started waving its arms on the ground. It was all stretched out in front of me, long and skinny. Maybelle, Lucia, and Carmen started waving their arms too, and soon we were all jumping up and down—and so were our long skinny shadows.

Maybelle said, “The moon is 240,000 miles away.”

Lucia looked surprised, but I'm used to Maybelle being a math wonk and coming out with random facts.

“Another thing I like,” Maybelle said, “is that you don't have to worry about moonscreen or moonglasses.”

“Hey, I brought moonscreen!” I blurted. “Smell!” I squeezed a pretend blob onto everyone's palm.

“Lemon lavender!” Maybelle said.

“Gingerbread spice!” Lucia said.

“Strawberry shortcake!” Carmen said.

“Grape with a hint of honeysuckle,” I said, and then at the exact same time, we all went “Mmm!” (M-M-M).

“I also brought moonglasses!” I said and handed out pretend pairs.

“I'm putting mine on top of my head,” Maybelle said. “The movie star way.”

“Me too!” Lucia said.

“Me three!” Carmen said.

“Me four!” I said, and we laughed.

“What so funny?” Maybelle's dad asked.

“The man in the moon!” Maybelle said, and we all kept walking and laughing with our moonglasses on top of our heads, in the dark but not-too-dark.

I wish we could have walked for hours.

And I wish my family liked to laugh and have fun together.

AVA IN THE MOONLIGHT

BEFORE SCHOOL

DEAR DIARY,

I told Mom how fun last night was, and instead of saying, “That's nice,” she said, “You should have invited Pip.” Well, that made me mad because it's not my fault that Pip doesn't have real friends!

AVA IN THE MORNING

IN THE LIBRARY

DEAR DIARY,

Mr. Ramirez just asked how my story was coming along.

My story? What story? I didn't tell him that I don't have a character or a plot or even a first sentence.

At least I have a magic pen.

O-X-O

A-V-A

8 P.M.

DEAR DIARY,

After school, I went to Dr. Gross's and waited for Mom. She was really busy, so I had to sit in the waiting room. After a while, I said, “I'm bored.”

Mom said, “Shhh.”

She hates when I say, “I'm bored.”

I hate when she says, “Shhh.”

I also hate being quiet. Pip is the Queen of Quiet. She's even quiet when she goes up and down stairs while I, according to Mom, sound like “a herd of elephants.”

In school, Pip can go a whole day without saying five words. Last year, Lacey, a loudmouth girl with thick bangs and thick eyeliner, teased her and called her “Pipsqueak.” It made Pip even quieter!

I don't know why Pip is so quiet. She just is. It's like she has permanent stage fright—and she's not even an actress.

I realize it must be hard for her, but does she realize that it's hard for me too?

Pip and I don't look that much alike (I have longish brown hair and brown eyes and no freckles, and she has medium red hair and green eyes and tons of freckles). We also don't act alike (I talk fast and a lot, and she barely talks at all, and I write a lot, and she draws a lot). To be honest, I'm glad most people don't know we're related. It can be embarrassing when kids find out we're sisters. They say, “You mean the short pretty girl who never talks?” or “You mean the weird girl who eats lunch by herself?”

Pip isn't weird. She just has no life. Hardly anyone besides me even knows that deep down, she's normal. And nice—well, except when she's bratty.

One thing I like about having a big sister is she tells me stuff about when I was little. Like, she says I used to call “marshmallows” “marshmelons.” And once I had a tick on me and called it a “ticket.” And once I got us both in trouble because instead of a lemonade stand, I wanted to have a flower shop, so I cut all of Mom and Dad's tulips so we could sell them. (Oops!)

Anyway, while I was waiting in the waiting room, I started thinking about how Dr. Gross does
cat
scans on
cat
s and
lab
tests on
Labs
(Labrador retrievers). And I came up with an unbelievable four-word palindrome: Step On No Pets (S-T-E-P-O-N-N-O-P-E-T-S).

I was really proud of myself, and I told Mom I was going to make them a sign. I even started digging markers out of her drawer. But Mom said, “Not now, Ava! Can't you see I'm trying to finish up?”

I said, “Okay.” But it was
not
okay. It was not one bit okay! In fact, it made
me
feel stepped on.

At 5, Mom made sure all the animals were happy. There were lots of cats and dogs, two birds, two hamsters, one ferret, and a green basilisk lizard that would probably be walking on water if it weren't stuck in a tank at Dr. Gross's. Mom and I locked up, and I asked where the lizard came from. She said Central America and started telling me about a famous palindrome about a Central American waterway: “A man. A plan. A canal. Panama” (A-M-A-N-A-P-L-A-N-A-C-A-N-A-L-P-A-N-A-M-A).

“H-U-H,” I said, and wondered how many other kids have word-nerd families and silent siblings and moms who sometimes seem like they care more about other people's pets than their own daughter.

AVA ALL ALONE?

SATURDAY, BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

I found a two-word note from Pip on my desk. It said: “Wanna talk?”

I do, but her lights are off, and she gets mad when I wake her up.

AVA IN SUSPENSE

AFTERNOON

DEAR DIARY,

Pip and I were on the floor in her room doing Word Scrambles. I asked what she wanted to talk about, but she said she changed her mind.

I said, “That's not fair!”

She shrugged.

Dad shouted up from the kitchen, “Who wants a Sunday sundae?”

A Sunday sundae is my favorite dessert, so I shouted, “Meeeee!” and ran downstairs.

While Dad was sprinkling nuts on our ice cream, I told him about the contest. Big mistake! He said I should definitely submit a story.

I told him my ideas about S-E-N-I-L-E-F-E-L-I-N-E-S and S-T-A-R-R-A-T-S.

He asked, “Does the ‘living creature' have to be a palindrome?”

I said, “No,” and started feeling small.

“Then think big,” he said. “You'll come up with something. You have a facility with language.”

“H-U-H?” I asked palindromically.

“A way with words.” He smiled. “Be patient. You'll find your voice.”

Dad says the best writers have a “voice,” which means their words flow naturally, and you can recognize their style, and it's almost as if you can “hear” them reading to you.

I wish I had a “voice.”

I wish I had a subject!

I guess I should be glad I can write about anything. Anything at all. Anything in the whole wide world! Anything alive!

But what should I write about? Princesses or presidents? Lions or lionfish? Friends or enemies? Frenemies??

Blank pages can be scary.

And I'm
not
patient.

“A way with words”? Right now I feel like shouting: “Away with words!”

AVA THE ANXIOUS

BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

Pip's door was open a crack, so I said, “Pip, c'mon, tell me the thing you were going to tell me.”

“It's not a thing,” she said. “It's a person.” Then she said she was going to bed, but that tomorrow we could do some more Word Scrambles.

AVA IN MYSTERY

MORNING

DEAR DIARY,

Not only have I not
found
my voice, I've
lost
my pen!! The silver one Dad brought me back from Ireland!

Last night when we were running errands, Dad said that even though Ireland is not a big country, four Irish writers got the biggest prize a writer can get: the Nobel Prize.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I lost his—
my
—prize pen.

Until now, I hadn't even told
you
, my diary. I just stopped writing for a week. But
not
writing did
not
make me feel better.

Well, here I am, back again. I'm using a plain pen with the name of a boring bank on it. And I'm worried that I'll never be able to write anything good again—let alone anything prize-worthy.

AVA, AVERAGE