Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (6 page)

At dinner Matt said, “It's not fair that Melanie gets to take a friend and I don't.”

He sort of had a point, so I just stared quietly at my meatballs.

“Matt, Cecily's mom is sick,” Mom said.

“If Lily's mom got sick, could Lily come with us?” Matt asked. He was eating his spaghetti in a really disgusting way. He doesn't twirl it, he loads up his mouth and then bites off all the extra noodles. He always looks like a mama bird with a beak stuffed with worms.

“Matt,” Mom said, “let's be glad Lily's mom is not sick. We're taking Cecily along because it will help her mom, and it won't be that hard for us.”

“That's what you think,” Matt said. “You have Dad, and Mel has Cecily, and I'll probably get lost again. Remember the Sixteen Chapel?”

“The Sistine Chapel,” Dad corrected, then added, “This time we'll stick together.” (It was pretty bad when Matt got lost on our last trip.)

Anyway, I just kept minding my own business, watching my meatballs. I have to admit, though, I'd probably be mad if Matt got to take someone and I didn't.

Oh well! That's the way the meatball bounces!

The rest of dinner was a big fat lecture from Dad about how we are privileged children and how we should appreciate our health and good fortune and not take it for granted and not get spoiled, etc. etc. etc.

We promised we'd try.

When Dad was done lecturing, Mom started in about table manners and how Matt should twirl his spaghetti or at least take smaller bites—like Melanie (hee hee).

Your privileged friend,

P.S. That's one of Dad's nicknames for me.

P.P.S. Three weeks until Holland!

Dear Diary,

Matt got hurt today. It was really scary. We were playing softball in the park. Matt was catcher and I was
pitcher and the second grader who lives across the street was batter and his baby-sitter was keeping an eye on all of us. Well, the second grader kept taking practice swings and I guess Matt must have been standing too close to him because suddenly the bat bonked Matt
right in the nose
. He started to
wail
.

At first I thought Matt's nose had gone flying off or something! Blood was gushing all down his face. None of us knew whether his nose was broken or his teeth were bashed in or what.

The baby-sitter took us right home. Matt was crying and bleeding, but by then at least I could tell that his nose was still on his face and his teeth were still in his mouth.

It turned out that he got hurt right between his nostrils. That little piece of skin that sort of holds noses down got ripped.

Fortunately, Mom was home. She cleaned Matt up and stuck big cotton balls in his nostrils. (I have to say, he looked pretty weird.) Then she called the doctor, and next thing you know, all three of us were in a taxi.

Matt said, “I can't breathe. Am I going to die?”

Mom said, “No, sweetie! You'll be fine. Just breathe through your mouth,” and cuddled him extra close.

Matt looked relieved. It was as if mouth breathing had never occurred to him.

The doctor sewed in three stitches (Matt's first) and said Matt would have swelling and bruises but he'd be fine.

When we got back home, Dad was already there. He even had a stuffed animal—a walrus—for Matt.

Dad never gives me anything unless it's my birthday.

Since you're my diary and I can tell you anything, I have a terrible awful confession. At first I was all worried about Matt, but now I'm already getting sick of hearing him tell everyone on the phone about his life-or-death accident.

When I hurt my eyebrow, my family didn't make this much fuss.

Not one friend or relative telephoned. (We were in Italy, but
still
.)

And I got seven stitches. Not three.

I should probably not think like this, right?

Well, maybe I'm not as good a person as I should be.

I mean, most of me is very nice.

But maybe a tiny speck of me is not so nice.

Or maybe a small chunk?

I can't believe I'm admitting this. Even to you.

Dear Diary,

Cecily and I were playing with her Magic 8 Ball. It tells fortunes. We like to ask it questions like “Will I be famous when I grow up?” or “Will there be a lot of homework in fifth grade?” or “Will I marry Christopher?” It gives answers like “Cannot Predict Now” or “Outlook Good” or “Don't Count on It.”

I was thinking of asking “Am I a good enough person?” but I didn't want to say that out loud. Since Cecily hadn't said anything about her mother, I asked if she wanted to ask about her mom.

“I don't even want to do this anymore,” Cecily
said. She put the 8 Ball back on her shelf under her collage of magazine celebrities. Then she started brushing her hair and looking at herself in her mirror.

I looked too, and her reflection sort of caught me by surprise. Cecily has gotten taller. And prettier. She's even developing a little.

I'm still the exact same as always. I think.

Anyway, I can't believe my family is about to temporarily adopt my BFF—Best Friend Forever!

P.S. Matt's face is still greenish-bluish-purplish, but the bruises are fading. At the grocery store, the cashier joked, “Did you slug your little brother?” I answered, “No, but sometimes I feel like it!” She laughed laughed laughed, but Mom looked unamused.

Dear Diary,

I just beat Dad at Hangman. I hanged him with the word “phlegm.” I almost hanged him with the word “diarrhea.”

I can't believe I hanged Dad! He didn't mind, though. I think he was impressed. He said my vocabulary was expanding. He didn't know I knew that phlegm is the gross stuff people cough up.

Speaking of disgusting substances (like phlegm and diarrhea), yesterday Matt stepped in dog doo and today a bird pooped on his arm. A runny little white-and-black poop landed right on him! Yuck! (And hee hee!)

I never knew my little brother was a doo-doo magnet!

Matt washed his arm the
second
he got home. He said it wasn't fair because everyone knows you're supposed to check the ground for dog doo, but no one ever says you're supposed to check the air for bird doo. He said he was mad at that bird.

“It's not like it pooped on you deliberately,” I said.

He asked what deliberately meant.

I said, “On purpose,” and then I wrote a poem.

English is tricky. Bird, turd, and word all rhyme even though they have different vowels. Isn't that the weirdest thing you ever
heard
? (And isn't Matt a little
nerd
?)

Creatively yours,