The Dirt Diary (9 page)

On Saturday, I’m actually excited to go to the Rileys’ house since it means seeing Evan again. So I can’t help feeling disappointed when his mother informs us that he had to go play golf with his father after Mr. Riley’s usual partner injured his foot. And I can’t even snoop around Briana’s room again because she’s home and refuses to let me into her room. “I don’t want that stalker in here,” she tells her mother.

It’s a relief when we go to Andrew Ivanoff’s house. I’ll take zombies over Briana any day. The camera is still set up over the front door, which I guess means they haven’t found the prank culprits yet. I have an amazing mental image of Briana behind bars, in one of those old-timey black-and-white prison outfits. If only…

After we finish cleaning the Ivanoffs’ house, I go upstairs to see Andrew while my mom gets our stuff together. His room is a much more controlled mess than the last time I saw it. The zombie toys are all lined up in tight rows on Andrew’s desk, while the model of the school is right in the middle of his room. He asked us not to clean in here today since he’s afraid we might mess everything up.

“What do you think?” he says, pointing to a pile of Barbies. “I have the whole popular crowd.”

As I study Barbie, Ken, and their various friends, I recognize ones that look a lot like Steve Mueller, Briana Riley, and Caitlin Schubert. Andrew did an amazing job of finding dolls to play them.

“So these are the humans in your movie?” I ask, tugging on the Briana doll’s hair. “I hope everyone gets killed by zombies at the end.” I glance at the Ken that’s clearly supposed to be Steve Mueller. Well, maybe not everyone.

Andrew’s face falls. “I knew my ending was too predictable!”

“Wait, they really all die at the end?”

“Of course. It’s completely unrealistic to think humans could survive when there’s such widespread zombie-ism.”

“That’s a creepy thought,” I say.

“These are the clothes I found.” Steve holds up some typical Barbie outfits that probably looked dated even before the toys were out of their packaging. Marisol could have taken a scrap of fabric and somehow fashioned an entire wardrobe out of it, but I’ll just have to do the best I can on my own.

“I guess we could alter some of their clothes to make them look more modern,” I say.

Andrew nods. Then he looks down at his carpet like there’s something written on it. “I haven’t seen you with your friend Marisol recently.”

“Oh.” I swallow, thinking of all the times I’ve watched Marisol hanging out with Angela the past few days. “We had a fight. I’m not sure we’re even friends anymore.”

“Because of one argument?”

“It wasn’t just an argument,” I say, smoothing down a Barbie dress. “We both said things that are…hard to take back.”

Andrew nods slowly, like he’s considering what I said. “Well, I hope you find a way to work it out.”

“Me too. I should probably get going. My mom’s waiting for me in the car.” I start gathering up the dolls, but Andrew stops me.

“Wait.” His cheeks turn a deep shade of red. It’s a wonder he has blood left anywhere else in his body. “Listen, I was wondering…It’s okay if you say no…” He opens his mouth like he’s gulping air, which only makes me nervous.

“What?” I finally say.

“Well, I wondered if you’d maybe…want to go to the Spring Dance…with me.”

A Ken falls out of my hand and lands on the floor with a thud. “The Spring Dance?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“No, it’s not that,” I say. “It’s just, we don’t really know each other that well.”

“It would be as friends,” says Andrew. “I just…don’t know a lot of girls. And I think we’d have fun.”

In all my wild fantasies about guys asking me out (most of them starring Steve Mueller), I never dreamed that a zombie-loving filmmaker would ask me to the Spring Dance. But Andrew is a nice guy, even if he is kind of odd, and I’m totally flattered he’d ask me.

“Sure, I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” Andrew glances up at me, and there’s an actual smile on his face. “My parents will be so happy I found a date. They’re constantly telling me I need to be more social.”

“My mom’s always saying the same thing.”

After I leave Andrew’s house, I desperately want to run over to Marisol’s house and tell her about all the crazy things that have happened to me: Evan maybe asking me on a date, Andrew asking me to the dance. But I have to remind myself that Marisol doesn’t care. She and Angela are probably sitting out on Angela’s porch together, having a great time.

The realization that I have so much news and no one to tell it to makes my excitement deflate. Practically overnight, I’ve gone back to what life was like before Marisol and I became friends.

Everything feels so bottled up inside me that when I get into Mom’s minivan, I find myself announcing: “I’m going to the Spring Dance!”

Mom glances over at me. “Say that again?”

“Andrew Ivanoff asked me to the Spring Dance.”

“How nice. I’m sure you two will have a great time.” Okay, it’s not exactly the enthusiasm I was looking for.

“Aren’t you surprised that someone would actually ask me to the dance? I bet you would’ve never predicted this.”

“Well, I guess it’s a bit unexpected, but why would I be surprised that someone would want to go with you?”

I roll my eyes. “Mom, it’s sweet that you don’t think I’m a loser, but everyone else does.”

“Rachel, what have I told you about using that word? If you think of yourself as a loser, then people will treat you like you are one.”

Right, and this is why I never talk to my mom about stuff. She’s convinced that any problem can be fixed with determination (and a good spring cleaning). And it’s also why I can never tell her about Briana sprinkling her entire room with dirt for me to clean up. The last thing I need is Mom sitting me and Briana down and trying to get us to talk things out. Briana is just one of those people you can’t reason with.

I’m quiet for the rest of the car ride, thinking about Evan Riley and Steve Mueller and Andrew Ivanoff. My life has become crazier since Mom started her cleaning business, but it’s also filled with a lot more boys. I just wish I still had my best friend to share it with.

At school on Monday, it feels like everything around me has new meaning. I watch Caitlin Schubert flipping absently through a book and Steve Mueller staring out the window, while Briana goes on and on about decorations for the Spring Dance. When I glance at Marisol, hunched over some homework, I can’t help thinking about all the changes in my life that she has no idea about.

But the thing I most want to change, my parents’ relationship, is starting to feel completely out of my reach. I have less than two weeks left, and my peanut butter jar only has $124.25 in it. If I don’t win the bake sale competition, it’s back to the nursing home for me. And this time, I have a feeling Mom will make sure I’m put on bedpan duty.

I spend most of lunch poring over my journal, trying to figure out the perfect bake-sale recipe, but still no luck. I’m tempted to freak out, but I don’t have time for meltdowns.

Instead, I flip to the end and fill up more pages of the Dirt Diary. I jot down all the odd things I noticed on Saturday, including Andrew’s popular-kid dolls. For once, our visit to Caitlin’s house was uneventful since she spent the whole time in her room. Hopefully, things will stay that way from now on.

At the end of the day, I go to my locker only to find it full of gummy worms. Fabulous. It must have taken Briana forever to push them in through the vents. Most of the worms are easy to clean up, but a few have started to melt, which means that my math book is now sticky and strawberry-scented.

I’m fuming so much that I consider going to Mr. Hammond and telling him what happened. But I have no proof that Briana was the one who did it, and even if he did believe me, I’m afraid he’d tell my mom and then she’d go into fix-it mode. Which would just make everything worse.

By the time I’m finished cleaning my locker, my bus is long gone. As I leave the school and walk past the softball field, I’m glad the team has an away game today. I definitely can’t handle the sight of Briana Riley. I might just snap and start stuffing gummy worms down her throat.

Since the weather finally feels like spring, I don’t rush home. Instead, I enjoy the warm breeze on my face and try to take those deep, cleansing breaths Mom is always suggesting. After a while, I actually start to feel better. Yes, I’m still furious at Briana, but if these stupid pranks are the best she can come up with, then she’s seriously pathetic.

When I get to Main Street, I stroll along looking into shop windows. I can’t help thinking about Marisol. Maybe this whole fight we’re having is stupid. I don’t even feel all that mad anymore. I just miss her.

I decide to cross the street and peek into Second Dressed. Marisol loves hanging out there after school. Maybe there’s a chance she’s there now.

When I first peer through the store window, there doesn’t seem to be anyone inside, and a balloon of disappointment wells up inside me. Then I spot someone in the far corner of the store, standing in front of a full-length mirror. It’s Marisol, decked out in a long, turquoise gown.

I’m about to hurry into the store and tell her how sorry I am when I realize she’s not alone. Angela Bareli is with her, and they’re doing an ugly montage, laughing and chatting like they’ve been friends their whole lives.

My stomach starts churning. I can’t believe it. Am I really that replaceable? I rush away before either of them sees me.

All I want is to go home and hole up in my room until this stupid day is over. But when I get back to the house, I’m surprised to see Mom’s minivan parked outside.

As I open the door, I hear laughter coming from the kitchen.

“Robert, you’re too much!” Mom says, still laughing.

Holy butternut squash. It’s Mr. Hammond. I want to back out the door and make a run for it, but it’s too late.

“Rachel, is that you?” Mom calls, as if it could be anyone else. “Come on in here.”

I have no choice. When I go into the kitchen, Mom is sitting at the table while Mr. Hammond, dressed in a purple apron, is enthusiastically peeling a mound of potatoes.

“Hi there!” he says, sounding like he’s genuinely glad to see me. “Your mother confessed that she’s never had potato pancakes, so I’m making you gals some.”

“Isn’t that great?” says Mom.

I’m shocked to see that the kitchen’s a total wreck compared to how Mom usually keeps it. There’s even a dirty mixing bowl on the kitchen table. Apparently, Mr. Hammond is the only person allowed to make a mess.

“What are you doing home?” I ask.

“Robert left work a little early today, and he convinced me to do the same,” Mom says. “I needed a bit of a break.”

Seeing Mom there laughing with Mr. Hammond makes me furious. I just want to say something, anything, to make her feel miserable too. “Will your boss pay you for the time off?”

Mom’s smile falters. “It won’t make much of a difference.”

“I thought you said we needed to make as much money as we could and save up every penny.”

“I’d say your mom works plenty hard enough,” says Mr. Hammond.

I ignore him and keep my eyes locked on Mom. “So that’s it, then. You’re just going to give up on Dad?”

Her eyes get really wide. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s only been gone a few weeks, and you’re already moving on, pretending like he doesn’t exist anymore?”

Mom gets to her feet and comes over to me. “Rachel,” she says in a low voice, “we can talk about this later, when it’s just the two of us.”

But the words burning inside of me can’t wait another second. “You don’t even care that he’s gone, do you? You don’t care that our family’s fallen apart and that my entire life is ruined. All you care about is your new business and your new life without Dad!”

“Rachel, stop it. That’s not true.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why can’t you at least try to make things work?”

“Your father is the one who left us, not the other way around! He’s the one who abandoned this family. He’s the one who gave up on it. If there’s anyone you should be yelling at, it’s him!”

“That’s not fair—” I start to say, but Mom cuts me off.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Rachel. Not now. Go to your room and stay there until you’ve calmed down.”

“Then I’ll stay in there forever because I’ll never be okay with this!” I rush past Mr. Hammond and into my room.

As I flop on my bed, my body pulses with hatred and anger and all the other things that lead to the dark side. I can feel the tears burning at my throat, but I’m sick of crying. It feels like that’s all I’ve been doing for weeks. Really, for my whole life.

On my way to first period the next morning, I’m surprised to see Mr. Hammond waving to me from the end of the hallway. After my breakdown in front of him and my mom yesterday, I would think he’d be avoiding me. For a second, I consider pretending I don’t see him, but then he’ll just find me somewhere else.

As Mr. Hammond walks toward me, I suddenly remember the diapers I found in his bathroom, and I can’t help looking down at his pants. My face ignites, but as he comes closer, I can’t look away. Are his pants bulging? Are they unnaturally saggy? They look normal, but maybe adult diapers are thin enough that you don’t notice them. I’m totally hypnotized.

By the time Mr. Hammond is standing in front of me, I’ve gone from spellbound to mortified.

“I was hoping I’d run into you,” he says. “I found something I thought you might be interested in.” He holds out a flyer from one of the bakeries in town. “They’re offering a pastry-making class over the summer. I thought it sounded right up your alley. And it’s cheaper than the classes at the college.”

I stare down at the flyer. Okay, so Mr. Hammond is obviously trying to get in good with me because he’s interested in Mom. But I have to admit the class sounds amazing, even if I won’t be able to take it. If all goes well, I’ll be in Florida with Dad.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I don’t think—”

“I mentioned it to your mother before you came home yesterday, and she seemed open to the idea.”

I look up at him. “She did?” Considering how much she complains about me spending too much time cooking and not enough studying, I would think she’d shoot it down right away. Not to mention the cost. Of course, now that she’s mad at me, she’s probably changed her mind.

“Maybe one of these days you’ll wind up with a cooking show of your own,” says Mr. Hammond.

The thought of me standing in front of a TV camera and talking to thousands of people is so ridiculous that I actually laugh.

Mr. Hammond smiles. “I think that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen you look.” He walks away, whistling, and it’s all I can do not to stare at his butt.

I realize, suddenly, that I’m not the only one who’s interested in the vice principal’s behind. A cluster of girls near me are looking at Mr. Hammond and giggling. I swear I hear the word “diaper” in their whispered conversation.

I must be imagining things. No one else could know about my discovery.

But when I get to first period, I hear Briana and a few of her followers gossiping in the back of the room, and for once it isn’t about me.

“I bet he wears them so he can just walk around the school all day looking for troublemakers without ever having to take a bathroom break,” one of Steve’s friends is saying.

Briana snorts. “Or maybe he’s just ancient. My grandfather had to wear them, and he was like eighty when he died.” Leave it to Briana to laugh about a deceased relative.

But the worst part is that when I sit down, I spot Marisol on the edge of Briana’s group, right next to Angela Bareli. Even though Marisol isn’t laughing like everyone else, she’s still acting like she’s always belonged to the popular crowd. That’s when I realize Marisol is the one who told everyone about the diapers in Mr. Hammond’s bathroom after I swore her to secrecy. I don’t need more proof that she and I aren’t friends anymore.