The Diary of Melanie Martin (3 page)

Dear Diary,

We're at our hotel, but it's not really a hotel. It's more like a B&B, or Bed and Breakfast, only here it's called a
pensione
(Pen See Own Ay). You see, there's this nice lady, Paola (Pow La), who lives in a giant house, but her kids are all grown up, so now she makes money by renting out rooms. Our room is big and has two beds, one for Mom and Dad and one for Matt and me. It also has a desk and a chair and a radiator and lacy white curtains. Outside, you can see lines of cypress trees. They are tall and skinny and shaped like candle flames. You can also see pear trees with white blossoms. And a vineyard, even though the vines have no grapes yet.

My only complaint is that I wish our room had one of those little hotel refrigerators in it.

I am so sleepy, but Mom and Dad say we have to
push ourselves to get on Italian time. They say we're not allowed to go to bed, because here it's only four in the afternoon.

Can you believe I have been begging to go to bed?

Dad said we should go see the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Pee Za).

Matt said, “The Leaning Tower of Pizza?!”

I said, “
Pisa
, you moron. But I don't want to go. I'm too tired.”

Mom said, “You have to, because we can't leave you alone.”

I said, “I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.”

Dad said, “You most certainly do, because this is a family trip. Don't you remember our little talk?”

I said, “Well, I'm staying in the car, because I'm pooped.”

Dad said, “Suit yourself.”

Can you believe we are going to get back in our car?

Mom said, “You'll get your second wind.”

Dad said, “It's okay with me if she wants to miss one of the most famous buildings in the world.”

Matt said, “I'm not one bit tired.”

Well, of course Matt isn't! He's been napping like a newborn!

Tired as h—ll,

same day
in the car again

Dear Diary,

Dad parked the car very near the Leaning Tower, but I'm still not getting out.

I'm just going to sit here all alone. I'm just going to wait in this new-smelling car with the doors locked until they come back.

I sneaked a peek at the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

It's big and lopsided and all tilted over. It looks fake. Disneylandy.

People aren't allowed to climb up it anymore, but I wouldn't mind going a little closer.

What should I do?

If I stay in the car, I'll miss everything.

If I hop out and say, “I got my second wind!” I'll be embarrassed.

same day
in the
pensione
again

Dear Diary,

Matt came and got me! He was all out of breath and said, “You gotta see this!” I grumbled and sighed and made a big production out of getting out of the car and said, “Oh, fine,” as though I were doing him a big favor (hee hee).

The Leaning Tower of Pisa is soooo cooool. It is in the
Campo dei Miracoli
(Cam Po Day Ee Me Ra Co Lee), which means Field of Miracles. It
is
kind of a miracle that it hasn't keeled over and crashed once and for all—
kaboom!
—like the skyscrapers Matt makes out of blocks.

What happened was that hundreds of years ago,
some builders made a terrible mistake and built a tower on sandy clay instead of solid ground. It didn't start leaning until they were working on the third story, and by then they didn't want to stop.

Dad read that in his guidebook. He's always reading. Even at home he likes reading big fat books in his big soft chair.

Well, guess what? The mistake turned out great because people like leaning towers even more than straight ones.

Mom gave me a thousand
lire
so I could buy a postcard for school. Hurray! My first postcard! (A thousand
lire
sounds like a lot, but it's less than a dollar.)

Mom and Dad also gave Matt and me each a disposable camera, and Matt has already used up almost all his film. He took some funny pictures of my feet and his feet. And my nostrils and his sunglasses. And my elbows and his knees. And lots of birds—mostly pigeons. I was in the middle of posing as a human bridge, but then I saw an Italian boy who looked a little bit like Christopher, and he smiled at me, and I could feel my cheeks get all red.

Dad started lecturing Matt about saving film for the rest of the trip. But Mom must have thought Matt was being
artistico
(Are Tees Teek Oh), because she defended him and said, “It's his camera, Marc.”

Dad's name is Marc. Mom's is Miranda. All our names start with M: Marc, Miranda, Melanie, Matt.

Don't ask me why.

I took only three pictures. In one, I made Matt lean the same way as the tower. In the other, I made him lift his arms so it would look as though he were holding up the tower. In the third, I took a picture of Mom and Dad—but Dad put one hand behind Mom's head and made rabbit ears.

first day of spring

Dear Diary,

Why did I think that going to Italy would be fun? All I wanted this morning was to be left alone so I could sleep sleep sleep, but Dad said we had to get up to go “exploring.”

Dad was halfway dressed. He was wearing striped boxer shorts and black kneesocks. He looked funny. I was going to make a joke, but I thought he might get
mad. He gets mad too much, but Mom defends him and says it's because he works so hard. He's a lawyer, which means he argues for a living. Mom works hard too, but she doesn't get mad as much.

Anyway, Mom made me take a quick shower when she knows I like baths better—especially now that I never have to take them with Matt anymore. (I used to worry he would tinkle in the tub.)

Well, I took my shower, but at first I couldn't figure out the hot and cold knobs because they don't say H and C, they say F and C, and the C isn't for cold, it's for
caldo
(Cal Doe), which means hot. I practically burned myself to death before I got it straight.

As I was drying off, I noticed Mom's makeup bag just sitting there. I wiped the steam off the mirror and put on lipstick and eye shadow and blush.

Inside Mom's bag, besides makeup, were floss, tweezers, Q-tips, an emery board, a pink plastic razor, lotion, and cologne. I was lining everything up on the counter when Matt started pounding on the door and shouting, “Stop hogging the bathroom!”

He is such a pain!

I considered spraying him with Mom's cologne or dotting the toilet seat with blue toothpaste blobs. But I just shouted back, “Hold your horses!”

Dad said, “C'mon, guys, let's go exploring!”

I felt like yelling, “I'm not a guy, and I
was
exploring!” But instead I put everything back and opened the door for Matt and said, “Your turn, Bratface.”

Matt took one look at my face and said, “You look stupid.”

I started rubbing off the makeup, but Mom said, “Let me fix you up, Sweet Pea.” She reapplied the lipstick and gave me a French braid.

I thought I looked pretty good if I do say so myself.

Even Dad said I looked cute. Mom knows I'd rather look pretty than cute, but it was still nice of Dad to compliment me.

Anyway, we're about to go exploring. Ready or not,