The Diary of Melanie Martin (5 page)

We all said, “Me! Me! Me!”

So we left and found an ice cream store under some streetlights, and Matt and I each got a cone. He bit off the bottom and started slurping out the ice cream. I felt like doing that too, but Dad was watching so I had to eat mine the regular way.

At least my cone lasted longer than Matt's.

We walked around, and I bought two more postcards. I could not, repeat
not
, buy a postcard of David standing there stark naked, so I bought a close-up of just his head. Even though Venus is acting more modest than David, she is every bit as butt naked, so I bought a postcard of just her head too.

Before we went back to our car, we stopped at the Straw Market to pet a bronze statue of a wild boar. They say that if you rub its snout, you will come back to Florence. Its snout is super shiny because everyone rubs it.

I rubbed it too. I do want to come back someday. But not with Matt the Brat. Or Dad the Grump. Maybe with Cecily. Or Christopher—on our honeymoon!

P.S. My writing hand is now as tired as my walking feet.

March 22

Dear Diary,

I asked Mom and Dad if I could phone Cecily. They said, “Absolutely not,” which I pretty much expected.

Cecily's middle name is Florence, and she dared me to ask my mother about girl things while we're in Italy. Actually, she double dared me. Cecily turned ten a while ago, and she thinks she's very mature. She grew out of her Barbies and gave them all to me. (Some were practically new, and others had really horrible haircuts.) Anyway, Cecily has been thinking about wearing a bra but is afraid to ask her mom. I'm not embarrassed to talk to my mother, but I'm also not developing! We're only in fourth grade!!

Speaking of bras, Italy is full of underwear stores and I figured out why.

Today Paola, the
pensione
lady, gave us toast and jam and juice and coffee and tourist tips. It was more like breakslow than breakfast, but we are now visiting fishing villages in
Cinque Terre
(Cheen Quay Tair Ay). The
houses are pink and green and yellow, the streets are too narrow for cars, the boats bob up and down in the water, and the villages are all connected by trains.

I noticed clotheslines stretching along outside the windows. Dad said that most people in Italy hang their clothes out to dry because electricity is expensive. Well, if your panties were flapping in the wind, would you want your neighbors to see holes in them? I don't think so! Bad enough that people can see your underwear at all! I think that's why Italians need so much new underwear and so many underwear shops.

Mom says I'm very observant.

Once, in a garden, I observed two dragonflies mating.

Since Mom and I were on the subject of underwear, I asked, “Mom, when do you think I should wear a bra?”

“I don't know,” Mom said. “It depends on when you need to and when you want to.”

I said, “Okay,” and that was that. I don't really get what the big deal is. Unless Cecily's mom doesn't want her to grow up or something.

My parents want me to grow up. Probably because
they still have Matt to be their itty-bitty cutesy-wutesy baby.

I want to grow up too, but I'm not in a mad rush. I mean, sometimes it's hard being the oldest kid in the family, because I'm not
that
old.

For example, Matt can laugh at naked statues, but I can't. Matt can eat ice cream cones from the bottom up, but I shouldn't. Matt can skip down the sidewalk to avoid stepping on cracks, but I'm supposed to walk like a young lady. Matt can hand Mom a gum wrapper, but when I try that, she says, “Hello? Do I look like a walking, talking trash can?” At the doctor's, Matt's eye chart has fun things like houses and apples, but mine has only plain letters. Even at McDonald's, Matt can ask for a Happy Meal, but Dad wants me to order just a burger for heaven's sake.

I wrote a new poem:

same day

Dear Diary,

After the train ride, we made sure to buy our picnic stuff while all the stores were still wide open. Well, at the cheese store there were about a billion different kinds of
formaggio
(For Ma Joe), and this woman behind the counter kept slicing tastes for me and Matt to try. She was smiling at us and sort of congratulating Mom and Dad for having
bambini bellissimi
(Bam Bee Nee Beh Lee See Me)—beautiful children—which was nice and all, except I'm much older than Matt, and she was acting as if we were six-year-old twins. Plus, she'd ask me,
“Ti piace?”
(Tee Pee Ya Chay), which means “Do you like it?” and I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'd have been a whole lot happier if she ran a candy store. Matt is pretty good at trying stuff, so he didn't have to fake-smile as much as I did.

Anyway, we took our picnic and walked on a footpath high up on the hillside above the blue blue sea. The path was called
Via dell'Amore
(Vee Ya Dell Ah More Ay), which means Lovers’ Lane. I took two photos of

Mom and Dad. In one, they are kissing, and in the other, I told them to say,
“Formaggio!”

When we got to an empty bench at the end of the path, we set up our picnic. Three flies buzzed over.

I sang, “Shoo, fly, don't bother me,” but Matt acted all petrified.

“They're flies, not bees,” I said.

“They have germs!” Matt said. “And look—is this fly poop?” He pointed to a teeny speck on his cheese.

“Oh, big whoop,” I said. “Don't be such a baby.”

“Eat your lunch,” Mom said. “Flies don't poop.”

“Yes they do, Mom,” I said. “Everything poops. A fly would burst if it didn't poop.”

“That's right,” Matt agreed. “Even ticks and spiders poop. And when you had lice, Melanie, I bet they pooped all over your hair.”

“You are so gross!” I said.

“In school,” Matt said, “our goldfish sometimes swims around with a stringy poopy hanging from his tush.”

“Not tush,” Mom corrected. “Tail.”

“Anus,” I said.

“That is
enough!
” Dad said. “We're having a picnic,
and I do not want to hear any more talk about poop. Is that clear?”

“Matt started it,” I said.

“I don't care
who
started it. I want it ended,” Dad said.

Just then the sweetest little cat came by, and I took pictures and Matt fed it salami. Mom said cats love fishing villages because cats love fish. (Salami too, I guess.) Dad said Italy is shaped like a boot, so we could name the cat Puss in Boots.

I wanted to name it Little Ittle—the Ittle was for Italy. Matt wanted to name it Kitty.

I said, “That's a lame name.” (Another rhyme!)

Matt hit me in the arm, so I hit him on the ear, and Dad glared at us and said, “Cut it out!”

Mom said, “Melanie, let's go buy a postcard.” I knew she was just trying to change the subject. Well, we picked out a card, but Mom had credit cards and travelers’ checks and zero Italian money, so Dad had to come over, and by the
time we bought the postcard and Dad gave Mom some
lire
from his travel wallet, we realized that Matt had wandered off.

He was lost!

Mom and Dad both turned to me and asked, “Where's Matt?”

I said, “How am I supposed to know?”

At first I was mad at Matt for getting me in trouble again. But when we couldn't find him anywhere, I was worried. I mean, going up alone in our building elevator was one thing, but we're in a foreign country!

Dad went down to the docks to look for him, and Mom and I looked all around and climbed a stone tower and saw rooftops on one side and the sea on the other.

But no Matt.

I was getting
very
worried.

Finally, Mom said, “I bet he went looking for Little Ittle,” so we went down an alleyway to a fish restaurant where we'd seen tons of cats.

And there he was! Petting a cat he had named
Pink Nose. Mom was relieved, but Dad yelled at Matt (hee hee), so I did too.

Matt said I was an E.B.S., which stands for Evil Big Sister.

I said he was an A.L.B., which stands for Annoying Little Brother. I even added, “You're so annoying, you're like a mosquito in human form.”

Mom told us to stop fussing and asked, “Who wants
gelato?
”

We all said, “Me! Me! Me!”

In school, when we were studying families, Miss Sands said that oldest kids tend to be worriers and youngest kids tend to be spoiled. At least that's what I think she said. Doesn't that stink, though? If I had to pick between being worried or spoiled, I'd rather be spoiled.

Maybe I
am
spoiled, because after the ice cream, Mom and Dad bought us really cool Italian leather shoes. If I am spoiled, though, it's just the right amount.

On the drive back to our hotel, Matt felt carsick. Dad pulled over because, even though we were glad
Matt wasn't lost, we still didn't want him to puke his guts out all over our rented car.

Cars should have carsickness bags the way planes have airsickness bags.

We had to wait a while for Matt to feel better, so Mom pointed at the mountains and said, “Do you see those white streaks?”

Matt asked, “Is that snow?”

“Marble,” Mom said. “Carrara (Car Rar Ah) marble.” Mom said it's the kind that Michelangelo used for the
David
. She also said that even though David fought a giant, didn't David look like a giant himself?

I liked seeing how a mountainside could get turned into art. I also liked how David, who wasn't even a grown-up, was a giant because he saved the day.

I wish I could save the day and feel all proud of myself. Instead of getting blamed all the time.

Sincerely,