Adventures in Babysitting

As you may have deduced from a glance at my blogroll, I was a huge Baby-sitters Club fan back in fifth grade. And since babysitting was obviously synonymous with Exciting Plotlines (we all know it's only a short leap from running a playgroup to discovering secret passages, flirting with sexxy lifeguards, and going on free cruises to Disney World), I thought I'd try my hand at a babysitting novel of my own. Never mind that I had never babysat anyone. Ever. I didn't need to! Because I'd been virtually babysitting Jamie Newton and Charlotte Johanssen for years! Or at least a year and a half. Whatever.

So what was my book—my offering to the altar of Ann M. Martin and her pack of preternaturally maternal middle schoolers—going to be called?

HELP..... I'M BABYSITTING.

That's right. My babysitter was going to be begging for mercy. As you'll soon see, Lauren Lowsky is what we might call a—how can I put this?—"special" babysitter.

HELP.....I'M BABYSITTING #1 Lauren and the Tolivers

That implies that this was going to be a series. Book #2? Maybe Lauren and the Mysterious Diagnosis.

RRRIIINNNGGG....went the phone. I covered my ears. RRRIIINNNGGG. Answermom, I thought, and put the two words together as one. RRRIIINNN- Ah.

She just covered her ears when the phone rang. Would you leave this person in charge of your children?

"LAUREN." mom called. "PHONE."

My little, 7-year-old, sister, Melissa stuck her head in the door. "I think it's a client." she whispered.

I snatched the portable phone from her hand and pushed her right back out of the door. You have to know how to handle siblings sometimes.

You can tell right away that Lauren is just wonderful with the little ones!

My name is Lauren Lowsky. I'm 14 years old, brown hair, green eyes, 5'4", and I refuse to reveal my weight.

I think this has less to do with Lauren's body image and more to do with the fact that I had no idea how much a 5'4" 14-year-old girl would weigh. But I DID know that she'd wear a ginorm polka-dotted bow in her hair!

Lauren Lowsky: 99% Babysitter? Shyeah right!

I really love her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt letting us know she is ALL IN on this babysitting thang. I'm a little worried, however, that she may have trouble walking after spending so many years binding her feet. Check them out! They are like a size –2.

"Hello," I said. "Lauren Lowsky speaking."

"Hello, dear," answered a woman's voice. "It's Mrs. Toliver." MRS. TOLIVER. [Why the caps? WE DON'T KNOW.] "Can you baby-sit tonight from 7-10?"

Does it seem suspicious that Mrs. Toliver's calling her at the last minute? It's probably because they've called every single other babysitter in town first, and none of them were available.

"Um....um..." I stammered. "Ah, I don't know. Let me check my calendar. Hold on."

Lauren Lowsky: 100% babysitter, 0% professional. Also, she has to check her calendar to see if she's busy TONIGHT? She can't remember what she's doing in a couple of hours? Mmmkay...

I was free. "Uh, Mrs. Toliver, I'll be there."

"Should we pick you up?" asked Mrs. Toliver.

"I just need a ride home, thanks." I answered.

"Great," she said. "See you at 7:00."

* * * * * *

BONG. That was the Tolivers' door bell. BONG. Why aren't they answering? BONG. WHERE ARE THEY?

BONG. Might be what Lauren was hitting before she came over here. Chill, Lauren! You must chill!

A small figure wearing a very big T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots opened the door.

"Elvis." I exclaimed. "Hi."

"Lauren." shouted Elvis. He dropped the broom in his hand. Then he ran over and threw his arms around my neck.

"Howdy, partner," said Priscilla, galloping in on her own broom. "Long time no see."

"Long time no see." I repeated.

I have a feeling Lauren repeats LOTS of things. Like maybe the ninth grade.

"Hi, honey," said Mrs. Toliver. "There's a note on the kitchen table. Back by 10:00." So Mr. and Mrs. Toliver left.

The note said:

Lauren-
We're at the "Starlight Dance Club"
The # is: 555-4237
If any emergency, call us and Georgia Martin at 555-9394
Be inside at 8. You can have fudgesicles at 8:30. Clean up when you get in at 8:00. Brush teeth, put on P.J.'s, and use potty. Bedtime is 9:00.
Back at 10:00

-Mary Toliver

This may be the most precise babysitting note ever written. They have to eat fudgesicles at exactly 8:30? Mrs. Toliver has to remind Lauren to take the kids to the bathroom before bed? Clearly our heroine has babysat for them before.

p.s. I love that the Tolivers are on a hot date at the Starlight Dance Club. Before 10 p.m.

"Looks like we've got a full evening, guys." I said.

Priscilla and Elvis are twins. They are 4½. They are average height and weight. They both have silky blond hair and brown eyes about the color of melted chocolate. They're really cute kids.

Were shirts not made to cover both shoulders in 1989?

I think the backstory here was that the Tolivers loved them some Elvis. In real life, I had just read Priscilla Presley's memoir Elvis and Me. I still remember parts of it VIVIDLY. Like how Elvis cheated on Priscilla with Ann-Margret? And how Priscilla moved in with Elvis while she was still in high school... but they didn't make with the sexin' until she graduated? No no, instead they just indulged in some near-sex role-playing games in which Priscilla portrayed a naughty nurse. OH. MAN.

Elvisex!

Was this appropriate fifth grade reading material? LORD NO! But it wasn't as bad as The Prince of Tides, which I read in fourth grade over the course of ONE WEEK because I couldn't put it down. Adultery? Alcoholism? Attempted suicide? Murderous tigers? Children raped by escaped convicts? Check, check, check, check, and—sorry to ruin it for you—CHECK!

I believe a penis is likened to pigskin at one point?

Ahem, back to the babysitting...

"Are we playing cowboy?" I asked.

"You bet." Elvis yelled from the other room. I ran to find the kids. To be a good baby-sitter you have to know where your kids are.

Thanks for the pointer, Babysitting Guru!

"Here," said Priscilla. She handed me one of her father's vests and a large straw hat. "Put 'em on." she urged.

"Are you sure we can use the vest?" I asked.

"POS-I-TIVE." said Priscilla, stressing each syllable.

Elvis handed me a broom. "Ride 'em, cowb- I mean, 'Ride 'em cowgirl.'" he told me. Priscilla and I laughed.

How many brooms do these people own?

"So," I said. "Do you want to play outside.

"Yeah." said Elvis.

"We can play in the tent." added Priscilla.

"The tent?" I asked.

* * * * *

"We need some Indians." announced Elvis.

"Yeah," agreed Priscilla. "Can Liz and Tommy Martin come over? It's dumb without Indians for us to tie to the big tree."

Hello, and welcome to the politically incorrect portion of our story! I do remember that most games could be improved upon by tying someone (oppressed minority, royal hostage, kidnappee, whoevs) to a tree. Tip: A jump rope gets the job done quite well.

"They can come over for 45 minutes. Then we have to come in." I said. "But, I don't think Liz and Tommy are going to let you tie them to trees."

"Awwww." moaned Priscilla.

"O.K." said Elvis. "Let's call."

* * * * * *

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mrs. Martin?" I asked politely.

"This is her. Who's this?"

"Lauren Lowsky." I answered.

"Omigod." gasped Mrs. Martin. "What happened?" she managed to choke out.

Normally I'd say Mrs. Martin is a bit jumpy... but it is Lauren Lowsky in charge of these children.

"Oh," I said. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Mrs. Martin asked, sounding annoyed.

Wait, is she disappointed that Elvis and Priscilla aren't in mortal peril?

"I didn't mean to startle you. The kids wanted to know if Liz and Tommy could come over to play. Only for 45 minutes, though."

"Well," said Mrs. Martin. "I suppose so. Can Liz bring her friend, Sarah. She's sleeping over."

We soon find out that Liz is only 5½, which seems, I don't know, a bit young for sleepovers.

"You got it." I exclaimed.

* * * * * *

"My name is Doreen Martin." she said coolly. Dor. Liz and Tommy Martin's older, 8-year-old sister. I guess she forgot who I was.....or was acting like she did. But she knew me. I'd sat for her 3 times before that.

Not that anyone's counting.

"Hi, Laur." said Tommy. He has short, black hair. Thick. Just like his 2 older sisters. [Uh, who are you calling "thick," Lowsky?] He's 4.

"Hey, Laur-en." cried Liz. Her hair is slightly longer than Tommy's. She's 5½. "This is my friend, Sarah." she explained.

"Hi, Sarah." I said, bending over to see her.

Sarah's head snapped up in terror. [TERROR? Ah, Lauren Lowsky's reputation precedes her.] I backed away. Or at least I tried to. But I'm pretty sure I stopped.....and stared. I looked at her eyes first. I was lost.....in pools of clear blue. Then her pale, flawless skin. Then her long, bright red hair. This girl might as well be 'Miss America', I thought.

Okay, so Lauren is a developmentally disabled lesbian. Woo boy, I was breaking down barriers with this one!

"Hi." said a small voice from behind Sarah. That's when Sarah stood up. She was my age.

Then I saw the real Sarah.

A small girl; dull, blue, eyes. And last but certainly not least was a tangled mop of red hair on her head.

Lauren mistook a 14-year-old girl for a 5-year-old? Because she was kneeling? REALLY? She has freaking BRACES ON HER TEETH.

Here she is, she's... uh... Miss America...? Is this a joke?

That's right, "Miss America" has hair that resembles Silly String, no chin to speak of, and a baby-sized mouth full of metal. STOP indeed. However, I'm relieved that Mrs. Martin sent her children over with a chaperone.

And that's where this one ends, unfortunately. I really wanted to see Gloria and Lauren team up in business... and pleasure. Or to have their car stolen in downtown Chicago and almost get knifed on the subway and then have to make up an impromptu ditty at a blues bar. Maybe Lauren would meet her future wife at a sorority party! Oh, what could have been....

NEXT TIME: Can't get enough of babysitters? How about one being terrorized by a soul-sucking demon?

Until then, I have another diary for you to read! My friend Damiella is working on The Diary Project, wherein she's systematically posting and reflecting back on all of her childhood diary entries. It makes me wish I'd kept more diaries.

The Book Report

My fifth grade Language Arts teacher decided to liven up book reporting... by making us write our reports on scoops of paper ice cream. She made a bulletin board featuring construction-paper ice cream cones inscribed with every student's name. Each time we read a book, we'd write a short description on a scoop of ice cream and staple it atop our cone.

Nothing motivates children to read like paper ice cream!

I, of course, had the World's Tallest Paper Ice Cream Cone. Because I was super cool. The following are a few extra credit book reports I turned in at the tail end of fifth grade (June 1989). Did I need the extra credit? Of course not! I was strictly in it for the glory.

QUICK DISCLAIMER: Most of these books I read only once, 20 years ago, so my commentary is largely based on the reports themselves. If you read any of these, have mercy and let us know what happened! Especially if you know the fate of the Gray Ghost or exactly how the Mystery Cat began a life of feline crime-solving.

Where Evil Is

Carol Beach York

Mystery

You know where evil is? In her hair, you guys. In her HAIR.

I'd read several other creepy-ass Carol Beach York books involving dead people and/or murderous plots (Remember Me When I Am Dead and Secrets in the Attic, I'm looking at you), so I was pretty psyched about this one.

My report: When Marjore is invited to stay with her cousin, Charlene, she's thrilled. Charlene is her idol! Then Charlene gets strange letters in the mail saying how her husband's first wife's death wasn't an accident. But the one night in the house by the lake, Charlene shoots at a robber in the dark and Marjore comes to a startling conclusion.

How can you tell I didn't plagiarize this from the back cover? Because her name is really Marjorie, not Marjore.

Here's some copy I found online:

Sixteen-year-old Marjorie is the unknowing accomplice to her glamorous cousin's elaborate plot . . . to murder her husband. But her cousin makes the fatal mistake of underestimating Marjorie's ability to unmask Where Evil Is.

Way to school me, marketing team. My reports would be SO much better if I figured out a way to incorporate the book's title!

Mystery Cat

Susan Saunders
Animal Story

This was the first book in another series by the author of Sleepover Friends, only instead of binge eaters, this was about a crime-busting cat. No, really. It actually says that on the cover.

"There's a new crime-busting cat in town!"

Move over, OLD crime-busting cat! This cat has a really weird face and is straddling a fat mound of cash! And what's with the girls peeking in on him? I find something about this cover very unsettling.

My report: A mysterious cat with a nick in his ear and a kink in his tail, lives at Kelly Ann's and Hillary's. They found out that he's M.C. (Mystery Cat). Now the girls are following M.C. to find the counterfeiters. When Hillary goes out alone, she is kidnapped by the counterfeiters. Can Kelly Ann and M.C. find Hillary... and solve the mystery?

WHAT? It's like Ann M. Martin wrote a BSC Mystery where Tigger cracked the case. The mind reels. Plus, how did they "find out" that he's Mystery Cat? By reading his tags? Watching him analyze some DNA samples? Can someone please explain this to me??

The Diary of a Young Girl

Anne Frank
Non-fiction

I read another Jewish-girl-hiding-from-the-Nazis book this same year, although I can't remember the title. Instead of a secret annex, the protagonist and her sister hid in a closet. For YEARS. Turns out it was a good hiding spot, because the Nazis never found them, although I remember that when the girls finally got out and went to a victory parade, it was hard for them to walk because their legs had atrophied. (Thanks, Nazis! You guys were awesome!) We had an assignment to dress up as a character from a book, and this was who I picked. I think I limped? I remember someone else was Leslie from Bridge to Terabithia—which I hadn't read yet—and she totally ruined the ending by being all, "Hi, I'm Leslie. And I'm dead."

You can't really snark Anne Frank.

My report: The diary of Anne Frank, who lived in hiding during World War II. The story of how she left her home and lived with another family that she couldn't stand for years until they were discovered by the Nazis. How she never got along with her mother, always clinging to her father. How she fell in love. How her life changed.

I got a little Angela Chase with this one, didn't I? If Angela Chase were 11 and wrote only in fragments, that is.

Middle School Blues

Lou Kassem
Fiction

Cindy = A Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael–era Winona Ryder?

My report: Cindy never wanted to start middle school. [Oh yeah. Staying in fifth grade for seven more years is a way better idea.] Right off, she makes two enemies, Miss Kilper and the pretty, popular Brandy Wine. Cindy's losing her best friend, Becca, to Brandy. Then Cindy's sisters, Grace & Ellen, move away to college. So Cindy makes a new friend, Margo. When her old friend, Jeff, disappears, Cindy takes charge. It's all up to her, can she sort out her life and survive middle school too?

Brandy Wine? Seriously? Like, do her parents want her to become a stripper? I like how this one ends with a question to accentuate its cliffhangerness. I don't know, CAN she survive middle school? (My money's on NO. I don't think she's making it out alive.)

And if you were like, "Hmmm, I really wish I could find out more about this Margo character who was haphazardly inserted into that synopsis," well, my friend, then today is your lucky day!

Secret Wishes

Lou Kassem
Fiction

Screw cheerleading. Margo should have secretly wished for better hair.

My report: Margo's secret wish is to be a cheerleader, so her grandmother helps her lose weight and Margo helps her grandmother walk. Margo makes the squad! But her secret wish isn't what is seems. Brandy Wine is always using her, she's always busy, she has no time for her friends, and her cheerleading teacher is pushing for champions. Then Margo starts cheating for her fellow "sisters". Then Margo has to make a decision.

Want to be a cheerleader? All you need to do is lose weight and help your grandmother walk, apparently. Thanks for the tip, Lou Kassem! But beware: being a skinny cheerleader with a mobile grandma isn't all it's cracked up to be. Subtext: Brandy Wine will send you to the exotic dancer supply store and make you buy her new shoes for tonight's gig.

But I'll bet she reuses the cheerleading uniform.

Pets Are For Keeps

Virginia Vail

Animal Story

Look! The cover promises wacky animal hijinks!

My report: Val is working at Animal Inn, her father's animal hospital. It's a busy Saturday when her father gets a call saying "The Gray Ghost hurt his leg." The Gray Ghost is a champion horse jumper. His leg will heal, but he can never jump again - he's going blind! The Ghost's owner wants him put to sleep! Val won't stand for that. She's got an idea - she'll buy the Gray Ghost herself!

This would be a million times better if Val was ALSO going blind. And if Jake Ryan was somehow involved...

Right? RIGHT?

This next one I originally purchased at a school book fair for $1.95. Then a few months ago I re-bought it at Goodwill for $1.99. You heard me: a five-cent markup on a used book from 1985! About a frigging ghost in a reflective device! What crap!!! Goodwill, I love to hate you and hate to love you.

The Ghost in the Mirror
Marcia Krutchen
Mystery

"Help! My mirror is possessed by the ghost of Nelly Oleson!"

The marketing team wrote:

What's wrong with Jenny Morgan? Why do strange things keep happening to her?

Jenny knows the old house her family moved into is different. She doesn't know why until she finds herself in danger. That's when she meets...

The GHOST in the Mirror

My report: Jenny has just moved and she doesn't like it. She faints and sees disappearing figures. She even hears voices. There is one nice thing, she finds a room that's perfect for her. Then she has a strange dream that helps her save her brother's life. One day she sees a ghost in the mirror, the ghost of her grandma, who helps her uncover her great-uncle's secret.

I loved this book because it involved creepiness and ghosts but nothing overly sinister. Here's a quick recap: Jenny's family inherits her great-uncle's house and moves to a Small Town That Shall Not Be Named (why, Marcia Kruchten, why?). She sees a ghost in the backyard and yet seems semi-possessed by the ghost at the same time. Like, she keeps humming this tune she's never heard before, knows how to work some old clock (I quote: "It's a shy little clock. If you bother it much, it won't run."), and knows just where everything should go in her new room, which was once her great-grandmother's. And she faints a few times. It doesn't really make sense.

Meanwhile, the dead uncle has left them a letter with this mysterious riddle:

Sunshine chases cloudy skies
Behind the face the treasure lies

Yes, he wills them something in riddle form. How obnoxious is that? After this, a prowler breaks into the house, and since there are only about four characters in the book outside of Jenny's immediate family, it's pretty obvious who it is.

Meanwhile, Jenny saves her brother from drowning during a Picnic Gone Wrong, all thanks to some dream she had the night before. So the ghost is also psychic? After the life-saving, Jenny is all feverish and some roses turn to slime and the prowler comes back trying to figure out which face the treasure might lie behind. The ghost (who is actually Jenny's great-grandma, not Nelly Oleson) alerts Jenny, scares away the prowler, and then breaks the mirror when Jenny is too stupid to realize that's where the treasure is. Then the "treasure" turns out to be bearer bonds, which according to Jenny's dad will not make them rich, but will be "enough to help out." BORING!

And the ghost was only in the mirror ONCE! But I guess The Ghost in the Backyard isn't that catchy of a title.

CDC?

William Steig
Poetry

I read this the same year that I read Anne Frank? Really?

My report: The sequel to CDB, another book full of puzzling letter phrases. A fun book to read and figure out. Packed full of silly, amusing sayings that will keep you looking for more.

Here's an example:

C D C ? = See the sea?
E-R I M ! = Here I am!
U F B-D I-S = You have beady eyes.

I'll bet you're looking for more already! The best part about this one is that I classified it as poetry. Although "U F B-D I-S" is quite lyrical.

NEXT TIME: The trials and tribulations of Lauren Lowsky, 100% babysitter.

In the meantime, have you ever wondered what would happen if you crossed Slumdog Millionaire with Transformers? (I mean, WHO HASN'T?) Then be sure to check out Worst of the Worst Fanfiction, the new blog of former guest author Michelle (of "Shorlock Homes the Cowgirl" fame). I think she may have taken snarking to a whole new level.

In the History of the World

First, the bad news: I didn't make it to Cleveland after all thanks to Snowzilla's extended beat-down on Portland. My luggage, on the other hand, moseyed there and back—too bad it couldn't smuggle me a falafel sandwich from Tommy's. So not only did I miss out on Christmas with my parents (you guys, my holiday was so makeshift that I decorated a small houseplant with ornaments, no joke), but I also couldn't get my hands on Zaggy Tales and miscellaneous other goodies I know are still boxed up in the eaves. Rats!

What's the good news? More time for blogging! Er... that is, if I can find any time in between the giant book I'm proofreading and my many, many cookie breaks. And don't worry, I'll schedule a makeup trip to the Cleve at some point. So, onward!

One of my favorite books circa fifth grade was Just as Long as We're Together. Don't even get me started. The Benjamin Moore poster? Jeremy Dragon's chartreuse jacket? Cousin Howard's claim that burping is a compliment to the chef? The words comely and fusty? Steph's gluts? Allison's talking dog? Rachel Robinson's designer jeans and lampshade top? Steph's shirt with the little animals marching on it? Oh man, I am so jonesing for a reread right now.



Plotwise, In the History of the World bears no resemblance to Just as Long as We're Together (no Richard Gere posters named after paint cans here... or parents separating... or long-time friendships dissolving...) but I really think I was trying to imitate Judy Blume's writing style. See if you notice any Judyisms as you read. My story also features a protagonist who is not at all loathsome! I know, I know, it's kind of crazy.

In The History Of The World

If there has ever been a nicer day in the history of the world, I will be very surprised.

We got out late for winter break this year. It was the 23rd. The 5th grade got to watch a good movie, 'A Christmas Story'. I love that movie.

This is based on real life. The only movie we watched more at school parties was The Neverending Story. Oh my sweet lord, ALWAYS with The Neverending Story. Periodically they'd shake things up with, say, Flight of the Navigator or even a heartwarming faux-kidnapping film like Savannah Smiles.

I got to sit with my two best friends, Amanda Thompson and Georgia Libb. I gave them red heart-shaped pins that say, 'FRIENDS FOREVER' in black letters that go across. I have one, too. Georgia gave me a little monkey figure. I think it's a Chimpanzee. I named it Tarzan.

This is also based on real life; I know because I mentioned a stuffed monkey named Tarzan in one of the journal entries in my last post. And I hate to nitpick—especially when it involves a monkey—but technically shouldn't that chimp's name be Cheetah?

Amanda made us shirts that say, 'WILD THING' in splashy, bright pink, well, hot pink letters. On the back are our names. She gave me Georgia's and she gave Georgia mine by mistake.

OMG. Hot pink puffy-painted WILD THING shirts? Amanda, you've outdone yourself!

Then the best thing happened. [Better than the WILD THING shirts?! Do tell!] This boy in my class, Adam Craine, came up and gave me a gift. I'm not kidding. I was so surprised.

Definitely NOT based on a real life. However, receiving a gift from someone with a Y chromosome (who was not related to me!—very important stipulation) was an event that I fervently wished would occur.

"Don't open it until Christmas." he said as he walked away. I guess he was really nervous.

Amanda and Georgia were freaking out. So was I. A boy had given me a present. I hadn't liked Adam before, but I was starting to. He was very nice and he looked all right. [What a glowing endorsement!]

"I can't imagine what it is." squealed Georgia.

"Do you think it's perfume, Loni?" asked Amanda.

"I don't know." I answered, looking at the box. It was wrapped in holiday wrapping paper. There were little elves on it. It was like a shoe box, only shorter and higher.

Is it possible for something to be simultaneously shorter and higher? And how much does it weigh? Throw us a bone here, Loni. A bottle of perfume does not have the same heft as, say, a stuffed bunny.

"It must be a big bottle of perfume." remarked Georgia.

"I guess." I said.

Do fifth graders really wear perfume? Yikes.

"What does the card say?" asked Amanda.

The card said,

"Dear Loni,
Here's wishing you the best holiday season ever and a great new year.
Love,
Adam

"LOVE." shrieked Amanda and Georgia at the same time.

Love, schmove! No checkboxes? No poetry? No complimentary prose regarding Loni's pants? BO-RING!

"He sure does have a thing for you." teased Amanda.

"Omigod. Loni, he's looking at you right now." said Georgia.

"And he's smiling." said Amanda. "Take a look."

I looked. They were right. Adam was staring and smiling. I was going to smile back, but he looked away. I guess he was really, really nervous.

"Oh, well." said Amanda just as Georgia said, "Awww, darn."

Our class party was neat. I sat with Stacy [who I renamed Beth Robbins after I Friendship-ified the story]. Amanda isn't in my class. Georgia isn't in my class, either. We had pizza, candy canes, all this other candy, and cake. Then Miss Kudje [yessss! The Kudje is back!] opened her presents. I gave her this thing my mom stitched. It says, 'BEHIND EVERY GREAT STUDENT IS A GREAT TEACHER'. She liked it. My mom loves to stitch. She is going to teach me how. The party was fun.

Whatever you do, don't tell Miss Kudje about your gift from a boy, unless you want her to launch into a soliloquy about what her cute, semi-delinquent boyfriend, Tim, bought her for Christmas in fifth grade. (My money's on cigarettes. You?)

I met Amanda and we walked home together. Georgia's mom picked her up. They are going to Florida for Christmas. Her grandparents live there. Georgia is really lucky. I stay home for Christmas. Last year Amanda went to California, but this year she's staying home, like me.

"You are so lucky." said Amanda as we walked. "I wish a boy gave me something. Georgia is real jealous. She told me after your class left the movie. I am too. I never guessed ADAM. I didn't really notice him. He's OK, though. I mean he's nice."

I knew what Amanda was saying. That Adam didn't look too hot. She was right, of course.

I like how so far the moral of this story is You Can Like a Boy Who Isn't Cute as Long as He Gives You Gifts.

"Just because he isn't really cute doesn't mean I can't like him. A lot of people aren't really cute. Like Michael Finnegahn." Right away I knew I could have said someone else. Amanda turned red. She likes Michael. I thought she would kill me, but she didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"That's OK." Amanda said after awhile. "I guess we're even." We both smiled.

WHAT? Normally that exchange would have led to a knock-down, drag-out fight in which one or both of the girls would throw her new heart-shaped FRIENDS FOREVER pin to the ground and stomp off in a huff. Instead we have... APOLOGIES and SMILING? This must be Judy's influence.

"Don't look, but here comes Lover Boy."

I wanted to strangle Amanda. Instead we just laughed.

When Adam got close I said, "Thank you."

"You didn't open it, did you? I said to wait until Christmas." Adam practically screamed.

"No." I said. I was surprised by his outburst. [Me too! There isn't a strange ticking sound coming from that package, is there?] "I didn't open it."

"Ok" He said as he ran away. I guess he was really, really, really nervous.

"Talk about moody." Amanda said. "Shy one moment, fierce the next."

I am totally picturing Adam as Tyra Banks right now. Or maybe Jay Manuel.

"I'll say." I said.

"Call me on Christmas between 2 and 3 o'clock. Okay?" called Amanda as we approached her street.

"OK." I yelled. We waved to each other and I headed towards my street, feeling very excited.

Right when I walked through the door, Matthew threw himself at me. "Tabby had babies." he breathlessly announced.

"She did?" I shouted.

"She did. She did." repeated Danielle.

Tabby is our cat. Danielle and Matthew are my sister and brother. I also have another younger sister named Monika.

If you're truly interested, there's a little sheet of paper in the book's folder upon which is typed the following:

The Hopkins

Mr. Joseph
Mrs. Wilhemena
Loni 10½
Monika 9
Danni 6
Matt 6

Ah, old stitch-loving Wilhemina.

Tabby had had her babies..... in a pile of dirty clothes on my floor. [I can't believe their cat isn't spayed. Bob Barker would be outraged.] "In my room." I exclaimed. "I feel so honored."

"I'll bet." said Monika.

I was about to say something really mean to her when dad burst through the door. I thought he was happy because it was his last day of work for a week.

My dad owned a diner, so my grasp of "vacation time" was loose at best.

"You'll never guess," shouted dad as we all ran downstairs. "Starting next week, I'll be the president of Straton & Co."

"Oh, Joseph." said mom and they hugged. Matt made gagging sounds and Danni laughed.

"Mr. Straton is retiring and since the vice president moved away last week, he asked me."

In 10-year-old logic, that makes total sense.

Then the phone rang. It was gramme. She wanted to take the kids in our family out to lunch on the 1st.

Then dad took us all out to celebrate with Chinese food. I almost forgot to put Adam's present under the tree. I did right as I got into bed. I tip-toed downstairs. Mom and Dad wanted to know who it was from so, I said a friend at school which wasn't a lie, but I know they checked it out when I left.


Loni neglected to mention the bow earlier. Does anyone else suspect Adam's mom had a hand in this gift?

On the 24th I woke up thinking about the dream I had the night before.

I dreamt I was walking on air to find the rainbow. I was going up and up and up. Then I fell through a cloud. I was falling, falling, falling. I saw Georgia lounging in a huge indoor swimming pool, Amanda talking to Michael Finnegahn, who looked like a sick dog [I think that means he was showing interest in Amanda, not that he needed to hurl], Matt and Danni opening their gifts, Monika snooping in my room, Gramme out at lunch (without me). I saw the pavement below me and I screamed at it. I was going to hit the ground just as Adam caught me. He held me in his arms and whispered into my ear, "Loni, I...."

"Oh, wake up already, geek burger." yelled Monika. She never fails.

"Oh, shut up already, monkey-butt breath." I yelled.

"I don't shut up I grow up and when I look at you I throw up."

"Then you come around the corner and lick it up." We both yelled.

"JINX." screamed Monika, slamming the door.

Okay, that was pretty awesome. Geek burger and monkey-butt breath? That sounds like some sort of amazing crime-fighting duo! Except, wait, how exactly does one acquire monkey-butt breath? Never mind, I don't think I want to know.

My friends and I were huge fans of the "I don't shut up I grow up..." line, as featured in Stand By Me. Our other favorite movie to poach insults from was Pee-wee's Big Adventure: "I know you are, but what am I?", "I don't make monkeys, I just train 'em!", "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer!", etc., etc.

Then I wanted to call Amanda or Georgia, but I couldn't. Amanda was having a party and said not to call, she'd be real busy. [Yes, I believe she has you scheduled from 2:00–3:00 on the 25th.] And Georgia was in Florida. I really wanted to tell them about my dream. I think Adam was saying, "Loni, I love you." I'd smile and say, "I love you, too, Adam." Then we'd kiss. Not a long, slimy, slurpy french kiss. [Thanks for that visual.] A little peck would suit me fine.

Now she loves him?! Loni, you might want to hold off on the L-word until you find out what's in that box. It might not be the best trade-off for a bottle of Electric Youth.


I kept hoping either Amanda or Adam would call me. No one called me. I was really depressed. Matt and Danni went sledding with their friends. I was really, really depressed. I was bored.

We went from the nicest day in the history of the world to slit-your-wrists ennui in less than 24 hours!

And that was actually where I left off in fifth grade. Fortunately, I started a rewrite in sixth grade and—this has to be a Christmas miracle!—I actually added new material. Well, only about a page of new material, but let's not knock it. Also of note: I deleted all the lines about depression and left off with this:

All day I kept hoping Amanda or Adam would call me, but no one did.

My family came over for Christmas Eve dinner. Gramma [Gramme got renamed Gramma—lame], Uncle Ward, Aunt Irma, and my cousins, Clyde, Cheryl, Ernest, Lynn, Juliann, Wade, Sheila, Roy, and Dina were all there. I know, my aunt and uncle have nine kids.

And rather eclectic taste in names.

Dad told them all about how he became president of Straton & Co. It was very boring.

In the rewrite, Mr. Hopkins was the current veep of Straton & Co., which makes his presidential rise much more plausible, albeit just as boring. What kind of business do you think Straton & Co. IS anyway? Let's Google it!

Omigod, the only one listed is an ELECTRICIAN, I shit you not. Maybe Loni can whip up some phone bugs later and find out what kind of trash Adam's talking to all the fifth grade dudes. I'll bet Rich Alzone has a thing or two to say about that present.

Then I saw Juliann and Sheila, who are eleven and thirteen, looking around under the tree.

Uh-oh.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Loni?" asked Sheila, the one who is thirteen.

"No." I said, looking at Adam's present in her hands.

"Who else would sign a card 'LOVE'?" Juliann asked. What could I say?

"This boy at my school who has a crush on me." I said finally. "Could I please have my present back?"

"Not so fast." Sheila put the gift behind her back. "Come here, Juliann." she said and whispered something in her ear. Juliann nodded. Sheila smiled smugly. I glanced at her. The present was still behind her back.

Geez, do they have nothing better to do than taunt a 10-year-old? Excuse me, 10½-year-old?

Juliann got her sisters, Cheryl and Lynn, who are fifteen [i.e., way too old for this crap!] and eight. They were all talking and giggling. Then, all four of them ran up into the bathroom with the present.

I was right behind them as they ran into the bathroom, but they managed to slam the door in my face.

This doesn't sound good.

After what seemed like two zillion hours, but was really only about fifteen minutes, they came out. They didn't have the gift with them. I ran into the bathroom, searching frantically for it.

I found it in the toilet.

The wrapping paper was on the floor and the box had been opened, but I think the present was still inside. I pulled it out [ick!] and put it on the floor.

I sat on the edge of the tub and cried. If it was perfume, it was definitely ruined.

AND THAT'S IT! First off, Loni's cousins are twats. Worst cousins in the history of the world. Second, I'm pretty sure that if it was perfume, it would be okay. I mean, what's a little toilet water to toilette water? A stuffed animal, on the other hand, would be pretty screwed.

Sadly, I have no memory of what the gift was going to be (probably because I hadn't decided yet), so your guess is as good as mine: Smurf figurines? Snap bracelets? The La Bamba soundtrack on tape? What did a 10-year-old boy buy a girl in 1988? That's not a rhetorical question, by the way; I really have no idea.

NEXT TIME: My New Year's resolutions from 20 years ago. Woo boy, do I feel old.

Detective Work

After reading books like Peggy Parish's Clues in the Woods, I too wanted to become a child sleuth. So in third grade, I started up my own (perhaps slightly unwelcome) detective business. The following are some case notes from my Detective Notebook. The same notebook was used to track the testicular destruction reaped by the USA Crushers, to record my friends' vital statistics for matchmaking purposes, and to keep track of homework assignments. All very top secret.

The first page is blank except for Detective written across the top.

The second page contains a drawing of a girl with two right hands who's about to perish of ennui, or—even more likely—be smothered to death by her own hair:


Page three finally brings us to our first case:

Decetive

I was so excited about my big case that I momentarily forgot how to spell detective!

Problem:
Indian Pencil

Someone's Cleveland Indians pencil had gone missing, and I was determined to find the criminal mastermind behind it!

Suspects:
Sherron ✓
Hesham ✓
Kami
Katie
Sig
Aja
Nathan

I believe the checkmarks denote Sherron and Hesham as my prime suspects.

Sherron liked it.
Had one
Sits near

Sherron is the theif
Witnesses: Aja

I remember we confronted Sherron about the pencil and forced her to give it back. Did I ever stop to think that there could possibly be two people with Indians pencils? Clearly not, because mystery solved! On to the next case!

Oh, except that page four features a lovely mountainous landscape:


On the fifth page, we're back in crime-solving business.

Detective
Jessica's slide for microscope is gone

Suspects:
Ty ✓
Ché ✓
Dena ✓
Ryan ✓

Holy crap! Everyone's a suspect!

Witnesses
None

Ryan kept looking at Jessica and the slide. Jessica looked at teacher. Had to take it? Why? Tell all rooms it is gone. Good Idea! Dena went to bin a few times.

Why would someone feel the need to steal a microscope slide? That's an excellent question—and one that never gets answered, as the final outcome was:

Found by Ty's seat in L.A. by Ché

Note how even though it's obvious that Jessica accidentally dropped the slide at some point during Language Arts, I'm still highly suspicious of both Ty and Ché. A detective can never let her guard down!

Page six is blank, but pages seven and eight contain "notes." Although I'm still slightly concerned with wrongdoing on page seven, by page eight the whole thing has disintegrated into gossip and catty remarks.

Notes

Shonda took chalk from Tacie's desk.

Aaron thinks his pink and blue markers have been stolen. Scissors too.

Ryan has Katie K's pencil.

Someone broke Latonya's pencil.

Jessica's slide is gone. p. 5

Sherron, Sarah B, and Casey are writing a story.

Ryan is always with Kami.

Dena is being nosey.

Mrs. Turner [our lunch monitor!] is nosey.

Nathan J. is always talking.

Matt should do his work.

It was only natural that all of this real-life investigative work would have an influence on my writing. I give you Exhibit A, the following short story written when I was in fourth grade. It boasts an unflagging commitment to realism not glimpsed in my other works. Unfortunately, it also means the story totally sucks.

Lisa's Adventure of the Missing Ballet Shoe

Note how it's deemed an "adventure," not a mystery. I would actually argue that it's neither, but I will concur that there is absolutely NO mystery involved here.

Hi! My name is Lisa Bartet. This is my story.....

The phone rang! I picked it. [Note: I'm assuming it should say "I picked it up," but it really does just say "I picked it."] "Hi."

"Hey, Lisa, it's me." It was Daphne.

"Hey, Daffy Duck!" I answered.

"Ha ha! You'll never believe what happened in ballet class. I lost my ballet shoe! I have to have it by tomorrow for my next class. Can our team find it? I mean I know we can find it. But by tomorrow... I'm not so sure!"

That's right, the big "mystery" surrounds a misplaced shoe. And it takes an entire team to track it down.

"Sure, Daf, we'll do it. Let's see, it's 3:00. O.K. I've got it. I'll meet you and the rest of the gang at your house in 15 minutes, O.K.?"

"Sure, Lisa. See ya! In 15 minutes!"

We met at Daf's house. We being: (Me) Lisa, Daphne, Janis, Cici, Patty, John, and Ted.

"O.K. guys, let's search the house!" said Janis.
"All right!" agreed Cici and Ted. (They are sister and brother) "I'm not so sure!" said Daf.
"Aw. Come on, Daf-knee!" urged Patty.
"Yeah. I mean just because it's your house doesn't mean we can't investigate!" cried John.
"Don't get any ideas!" shouted Daf.

She seems to think Ted and John are dying to rifle through her underpants.

We ended up looking around.

"Found IT!" called Janis. We rushed over.
"Oh! Why, it's the one I already have!" said Daf.

Shouldn't she have shown that to "the team" earlier so they'd know what they're looking for? Hacks.

"It's 4 o'clock." I said. "Let's check the 'Ballet Room!'"
"Yeah!" everyone agreed.

So, we went to the 'Ballet Room'.

"Is this it?" called Ted.
"No." replied Daf. "it's Jenny Sawyer's. My feet aren't that big!"
"Is THIS it?" called Patty in her oriental accent.

This story is not only devoid of mystery, it's also racist. Great!

Daf shook her head. "Looks more like the preschool class. 3 or 4 sizes too small!"
"What about this?" screamed John. "What about this?"
"Hmmm. Let's see." Daf tried it on. "Oui! I fits! It's mine!" Daf knows some french.

I seemed to think that my minimal knowledge of the French language might make up for how utterly anticlimactic this story is.

"I KNEW WE COULD SOLVE IT!" everyone yelled.

THE END

SOLVE it? If finding misplaced items of clothing is considered detective work, then slap a badge on me right now. Why just the other day, as I was folding my laundry, I noticed one sock was missing its match—and I returned to the laundry room to find it on the floor outside the dryer. Check me out, guys! I'm adventurous as fuck!

NEXT TIME: We'll travel to the Land of Lost Books, where all of my brilliant storylines that never came to fruition live.

A Summer of Swimming, Fun, and Boys

Before we get into my sequel, I need to take a minute to discuss Is There Life After Boys?, the sequel to We Hate Everything But Boys.

This book is actually less about eating ice cream with boys (check out the dude with the feathered hair!) than it is about growing apart from old friends. And aside from having the word "Boys" in the title, it has nothing to do with my book—but I happened to find a copy of it at Goodwill over the weekend, so I just reread it. And I have to clear the air. You may recall that I had strong memories of one of the 12-year-old girls in this book getting "felt up." I am simultaneously ashamed and relieved to report that this does not happen. So I've either been confusing it lo these many years with some other book with a getting-to-second-base plotline (entirely possible) or else I just fabricated the whole scenario. Which has me a bit worried. At any rate, I do not want to spread rumors about Darlene. She may have grown a rack earlier than the other girls, but that doesn't mean she lets the boys touch it.

Onward now to my sequel, which—I'm gonna tell it to you straight—is kind of a letdown. There are none of the runaways, broken limbs, or tween prostitutes we've come to expect. Granted, it quite possibly would have become amazing had I given it the time to develop (with "Swimming" in the title, I think a near-drowning is pretty much obligatory, don't you?) , but I had moved on to bigger and better books before it had the chance. But can we just jump ahead and ignore the further adventures of Maggie and friends? Nay, I say. NAY.

A SUMMER OF SWIMMING, FUN, AND BOYS

My name is Sherry Marks. I'm about to tell you about one summer I'll never forget.

My friends, Sam(antha) Trainline, Kelly Martison, and Maggie Kertz, and I started a club called, WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT BOYS. We had to change it when Kelly started going with this guy, Brian. So it turned into, WE CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT BOYS.

Well, I got home from Brian's end of the year party. I was excited because all 4 of us had gotten our first kisses that night.

So, like a good season premiere episode on TV, this book picks up right where the last one left off. Only this time we're treated to the POV of Sherry. Is she as obnoxious as Maggie? Is such a thing even possible? I'll let you be the judge.

"Sherry," called my mom. "Come here." I slowly strolled into the living room. Did I look like I'd just been kissed? I hope not.

Ummm... not unless you have a hickey or something. Which, seriously, I don't even want to imagine a fourth grader with a hickey... and now I just did. Bleeeeccchhhh.

"Your grandpa in New York just had a heart attack." my mom said solemnly.

"You mean dad's dad?" I asked.

She nodded. "He just left a few minutes ago."

"This," I said. "Is going to ruin our vacation plans."

Yes, he knew you were planning on going to Disney World, so he clogged his arteries ON PURPOSE just to spite you, Sherry! Mua ah ah ah ah! (If, you know, it's possible for one to muster up evil laughter whilst in the ICU.)

"We've changed them. Go pack. We're leaving for New York tomorrow morning after breakfast." replied my mother.

"Watch out, New York. Cause here we come." said my 8-year-old sister, Dia.

This is the kind of sassy dialogue I would hear on TV and then try to incorporate into my everyday vernacular with less-than-stellar results.

"This ought to be good." I said to Dia. We were packing. I was helping her and she was helping me.

"What do you mean?" Dia asked me.

"What I mean is, we're ruining a perfectly good vacation to take care of a half-dead grandfather we don't even know."

Mua ah ah... wheeze.

"You always look at things so negatively." Dia told me. Negative was one of her last vocabulary words. "Think positive." Another vocabulary word.

"You're right." I said. "He's probably fully dead by now."

You guys, it's not that Sherry's lacking in compassion, it's just that they don't know him. So you can see why they wish their dad's father would just hurry up and DIE already so they can hit up some Space Mountain and chillax with adults dressed like cartoon characters. (Confession: I've never actually been to Disney World, so all of my Disney information comes from the first BSC Super Special.)

"We're staying at your cousin's house. You know, the Fletcher's." mom said. We had just gotten on the road.

"Are the Fletcher's the ones with the family of frogs?" asked Dia.

"No." answered my mother. "The Fletchers don't have frogs."

"Then what do they got?" Dia wanted to know.

"Have." corrected mom. "They're the ones we didn't visit last year."

"Oh no." I groaned. "Not the ones with the 5 boys."

"Yea." she said. "The ones with the 5 boys."

Wait, wait, wait—the titular "boys" are her COUSINS? I feel cheated! And when is the "fun" going to kick in? So far it's more like a summer of cousins, whining, and palliative care.

I started to write a letter to Maggie:

Dear Maggie,

You wouldn't believe it. We're staying at my cousin's. Those cousins are 5 boys. UGH. There names are Adam, Ben(jamin), Chuckie, Don(ald), and Ernie. Write and see if I survive.

Half-dead but still trying,
S*H*E*R*R*Y

I also made a chart that looked like this:

name
age
Adam
12
Ben
10
Sherry
10
Chuckie
8
Dia
8
Don
6
Ernie
4

I really loved a good chart. There are MANY later books that have charts... but often no actual narration. When you already know everyone's names and ages, who needs it?

Great, I thought. I'm closest in age to Ben. Dia's with Chuckie. It's unbelievable that the 5 boys are each 2 years apart. I also think it's dumb to name them in alphabetical order.

It's too bad Sherry doesn't have an opinion!

A letter to Sam:

Dear Sam,

How's California? Guess what, I'm stuck in New York with 5 boy cousins. GRODY. Ben is 10, like me. Chuckie is 8, like Dia. I'll keep you up-to-date.

Slowly Dying,
S*H*E*R*R*Y

Spending the summer with five boys is obviously a fate worse than death. Also, I like how all of the club members' families left on their vacations the absolute SECOND that school let out. Do you think Sam has gotten Kirk Cameron's autograph yet???

"We're there." shouted mom, pulling into a driveway.

"A pool." shrieked Dia.

"Wow." I said. I sniffed. Sure enough, Dia's ultra-sensitive nose had picked up the chlorine scent.

"Joy, Luke," called mom. "We're here."

Two little boys burst through the front door.

"My name," said the taller one, "Is Don. This is Ernie." He pointed to the other boy.

"I'm Dia. That's Sherry. I smell your pool."

Why does that sound like a euphemism for something dirty?

Just then the 3 other boys came out.

"I'm Adam." We shook hands.

Cousins: kind of like business associates.

"I'm Chuck....ie." We nodded.

"I'm Ben. Wanna go for a dip?" We jumped into the pool.

I loved that beautiful feeling of the cool water covering my body. Their pool had a diving board and a slide. I couldn't believe that, Ernie, 4 years old, could do perfect backward dives. It was amazing.

Okay, at least the swimming part wasn't a lie.

"Get out of that water." shrieked Aunt Joy. At that, my mom ran off the porch from talking to Uncle Dave. [Um, wasn't his name Luke, like, a second ago?] "Children these days," continued Aunt Joy. That's when Uncle Dave strolled over. "You'd think they'd have enough sense to.... well enough decentcy to..... not jump into pools with their clothes on." Aunt Joy finally finished.

"My god..." gasped mom. WHY? Then I realized why. Dia and I were wearing our brand-new outfits she bought us. "Ooooooops." I muttered.

Dia clamped her hand over her mouth.

Jumping into a pool while fully clothed? That was the highest drama I could come up with? This sucker was doomed from the start.

The 3 older boys put on innocent faces. Don picked the toe-jam from between his toes. [Uh, GRODY!] Ernie sucked his thumb.

Not such a hot first day, huh?

A letter to Kelly:

K&E&L&L&Y:

you lucky, lucky ducky
you've gone to Connecticutty
while I'm stuck in New York (not the city)
with 5 boys
instead of Florida
playing with toys in Disney World

help me,
S*H*E*R*R*Y

And that's it. After Sherry wrote the same letter for the third time (with half-assed limerickish flair this go-round), I gave up on this crap. I actually thought so little of this sequel that it didn't even get its own manila folder! That speaks volumes, no?

NEXT TIME: My obsession with detective work leads me to write the world's most unmysterious mystery.

We Can Live Without Boys... Can't We?, part 1

The following story probably would not have been written had I not discovered Linda Lewis's We Hate Everything But Boys. My friend Katie and I were OBSESSED with this book. We were always wanting to reread it, but it seemed to be perennially checked out from the library, and B. Dalton at the mall so did not stock it. Of course, this only added to its mystique.

My memory of this book was that three boy-gaga friends form a club called—you guessed it!—We Hate Everything But Boys, and basically spend the rest of the book trying to figure out if their crushes actually like them back. Mostly I remembered that one of the characters got "felt up," which Katie and I thought was scaaaaandalous at the time. So I decided—ahem, for the sake of the blog, that is—to hunt it down and reread it. Turns out the sordid boobie-touching doesn't even happen in this book! It must be in the next one, Is There Life After Boys? So I suppose my story was influenced by the pair—of books, that is, not Darlene's ta-tas. But don't worry! No prepubescent breasts will be fondled on my watch.

I have to say that on the reread, We Hate Everything But Boys is kind of... weird. When you think about it, even the club name is hilariously mind-boggling. They hate EVERYTHING but boys? Seriously? And the whole book has an autobiographical feel to it, and not just because the tomboy protagonist's name is Linda. It was published in 1985 and does not purport to be from an earlier era, but the girls do things like get club sailor hats (inside which they write the names of their "true loves"—the boys will surely never see that!) and purchase autograph books for the last day of sixth grade. And of course "everyone knows" the sixteenth page of your autograph book is for the one you love! ...Except that I was only a few years younger than these characters in 1985 and I had no clue what an autograph book was (we had this new-fangled thing called a "yearbook" in sixth grade), much less the significance of the sixteenth page.

Plus, there are all manner of irritating subplots that act as roadblocks to the real plot. Losing your teacher's subway tokens? Boooring! I don't care whether that happened to you in real life, Linda Lewis! Get back to the boy chasing! On the other hand, she uses the word "sexy" a lot, which is mildly creepy, as her characters are 11 years old.

However, I can see the appeal it had in fourth grade. In one book, Linda gets her period, buys a bra, AND kisses a boy! Actually, two boys!!! This last bit happens via a kissing game called Post Office, in which couples go in the bedroom to "deliver the mail." Sexy! Recipients can select either the regular (kiss on the cheek) or special delivery (kiss on the lips, whooooooo!).

Nothing at all similar happens in my book; mostly I just plagiarized the general idea of a boy-centric club—but in reverse. My characters hate BOYS but are cool with everything else. Well, not really, but they make at least a half-hearted attempt.

And check it out—this one has promo material! Though I'll warn you, it contains some spoilers:

WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT BOYS... CAN'T WE?

Maggie and her friend, Sherry, make up the club, "WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT BOYS" to get back at the 2 boys they like and their nosy friend, Marsha. Soon they team up with Samantha and Kelly. Then Kelly's trouble making cousin, Emmy, comes to their school. Nothing could be better except Emmy dying. Then Brian moves in and Maggie falls in love, but Brian doesn't feel the same way. Maggie sees everything that's wrong in her life. She hates Kelly and feels like she's losing her best friend, Sherry. She feels left out of her family, and decides to run away. Nothing is going right.

Yes, you read that right: Nothing could be better except Emmy dying. Ahh, just like the marketing professionals.

WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT BOYS
[the telling ...CAN'T WE? was appended later]

The day started out pretty bad. Sherry, my best friend, had the 24-hour-flu. Then, rushing to catch my bus, I forgot to eat breakfast. I missed the bus anyway.

When I finally got to school my mom kissed me in front of the whole class (she had to give me a ride to school). Even Timmy Crane, the boy I have a gigantic crush on. Talk about embarassment.

In science, our teacher felt we were mature enough to dissect worms. YUCK. Just when I felt I totally was going to barf, Marsha slipped me a note. I gave her a grateful smile. She raised her eyebrows. I opened it. It said: HE'S LOOKING AT YOU. I swiveled around to find Jon Peterson staring at me. Then, he pushed his glasses up on his nose and pretended to be interested in his worm. I looked at Marsha and we rolled our eyes. What a nerd, I mouthed.

The bell rang. In the back of the room, Robby Mandel let out a shriek of delight. Marsha giggled. She likes Robby. Why she does is beyond me. In my opinion, Robby is totally GROSS.

I thought I was going to miss the bus on the way home, too. Everyone was pushing and shoving. Robby and Marcus Kramer were fighting and Marsha was at Robby's side through the whole thing shouting, "GO, ROBBY, GO". At least I didn't miss the bus this time.

This day doesn't really sound that horrible. I mean, it sounds like a bad day for Sherry, what with the puking and all.

When I got home I grabbed some cookies and rushed to Sherry's. Mrs. Marks let me in. I bowed. She said, "Sherry's in her room."
"Thank you, madame."
"Am I that old?"
"Old enough to be my mother."
She laughed. "GET" she said.

I opened Sherry's door. Rock stars were all over her bed.

I believe this means her bed is covered with issues of BOP and Tiger Beat, not that George Michael and Simon LeBon are her nursemaids.

I cleared a space.

24-hour flu be damned! These girls need to gossip!

"Is this seat taken?" I asked.
"Only by you."
"Jon was looking at me again."
"Boy," she said "he really has a thing for you."
"Ha ha. Robby and Mark were fighting."
Sherry gasped. "What did Marsha say?"
"GO, ROBBY, GO."
"She should be a cheerleader."
"Only if Robby's there to cheer for. I hear he's moving."
"What did Marsha say?"
"I didn't tell her."
"Oh, it'll break her heart."
"Who'll be class clown?"
"Don't look at me."
"Maggie, your ma wants you home." called Mrs. Marks.
"OK" Sherry yelled for me.
"Are you coming to school tomorrow? You seem well to me." I told Sherry, getting up off the bed.
"Well," she said "If ma'll let me."
"See you tomorrow, Sherry." I shrieked, running downstairs.
"Oh, Maggie, you are such a tease." Sherry yelled back.

Back at home, Cassie was painting her toenails. I groaned. I hate it when she does that. It takes up too much space.

Seriously, how much space can that possibly take up?

"Not again" I yelled.
"Shut up, you over-grown twirp." Cassie threw a pillow at me.
"Oh," I shouted "The joys of having an older sister."

Cassie aimed another pillow at me. Her aim is not that good. She knocked a bottle of nail polish over. She screamed. I jumped. Patrick walked in. His eyes were wide and full of amusement.

In this book, most emotions are conveyed strictly through the eyes.

Following Patrick was Steph. Following Steph was Mitchell. Mitch whistled. Following Mitch was Hilda, THE HOUSE CLEANER.

Remember when I talked about Marilyn Gould's book Friends True and Periwinkle Blue? Yeah, that book features a housekeeper named Hilde. Coincidence? I highly doubt it.

"OK" said Hilda "Cassie, clean up this mess. How many times do I have to tell ya." She shook her head shamefully.

As Cassie picked up her stuff I thought I heard her mumble something about a house full of cuckoos. Cassie is so DUMB. Hilda stopped her before she got upstairs. She made her wipe it up with a wet rag. Her nail job got ruined.

Mua ah ah ah ah!

"HEY" called Mitch "PHONE"
"THANKS, MITCH THE ITCH" I called back.
It was Marsha. "Listen," she said. "Robby invited me to the movies. Isn't that great? I just can't wait. He said he had something serious to tell me."
"You're lucky." Poor Marsha. She's so excited.
"I'm so excited. I thought maybe we could go on a triple date. You know, Me-Robby, You-Timmy, Sherry-Drake. Timmy and Drake were busy. Robby said it was for the better."
"Maybe," I said "This is the beginning of a heavy relationship."
Heavy, yes. Long, no.
Marsha giggled. "Maggie," she said "You are such a tease."
Why do people keep calling me a tease, I wondered.
"Look, Mags, I gotta go, OK? 'Bye."
"'Bye."

I told Sherry the whole conversation with Marsha.
"Ya know what I think? I think Timmy an' Drake are chicken."
"I think they hate us." I answered.
"True."
"We'll get 'em."
"I don't like Drake anymore." said Sherry.
"I don't like Timmy either." I said.
"Why did we ever like them?" Sherry asked me.
"I dunno. But, I can live without BOYS."
"Me too." agreed Sherry.
"WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT BOYS." we shouted in unison as we ran down the street toward the bus stop.

Well, that was an abrupt about-face. Also, can we pause for a second here? Because... DRAKE? I named Sherry's (anti)love interest DRAKE? The hell?

The bus smelled faintly of grapefruit and rotten eggs.

Oh, the memories...

Sherry and I held our noses as we walked down the aisle toward our regular seat. I sat down by the window because if Sherry does she will get sick to her stomach. I get sick to my stomach just thinking about it.

It probably has more to do with the grapefruit and rotten eggs than her proximity to a window.

Sherry and I are glad Marsha doesn't ride the bus. If she did, we wouldn't be able to talk about her. That would be terrible because we do it a lot.

This is our first major clue that these are Not-So-Nice Girls.

"How come Marsha was the first to get a guy and a date?" Sherry questioned. Sherry looked puzzled by the puzzled look on my face.

"I thought we could live without them."

Her face brightened. She smiled a big, warm smile. "Oh, we most certainly can." I could tell Sherry had something up her sleeve. I tried to drag it out of her but, the only thing I suceeded in doing was changing the big, warm smile into a small, deep frown.

At school we tried to dodge Marsha but, somehow she always popped up when not wanted. Sherry and I were getting pretty mad. Fed up, too. All Marsha talked about was her, Robby, and their everlasting relationship. Sherry and I tried hard to hide our smirks.

The day of Marsha' big date. UGH. Sometimes it is hard to be friends with Marsha. I don't know how I do it myself. It's really that hard. Hey, maybe it's even harder than that. I just don't know.

I'm sure sainthood is riiiiiiight around the corner, Mags.

"GUYS, WAIT UP." called Marsha. She finally reached us. She stopped to catch her breath. "Ya know," she continued "It seems like you guys have been avoiding me all week." Sherry and I stifled our giggles and tried to put looks of innocece on our faces. Marsha's face was mad.
"I KNEW IT." Marsha cried. "WHY? YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS."

Amen, Marsha. A-freaking-men.

"ARE NOT. AND YOU KNOW IT." Sherry yelled back.
"YEAH, YOU SHOW OFF." I SHOUTED BACK.
"OH," she screamed. "IS THAT WHAT I AM?"
"YEAH." agreed Sherry. "SPOILED ROTTEN BRAT."
Marsha narrowed her eyes into slits and yelled out, "I'LL GET YOU IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO."

You tell 'em, Marsha!

So I'm realizing that this one starts off a little slow. But I promise you, it becomes entirely ridiculous. Sit tight.

NEXT TIME: New kids, smoking, and a truly horrifying Halloween costume idea. Oh yeah, and somewhere along the line the club gets formed.