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California Diaries #14: Amalia, Diary Three

Ann M. Martin

Interior illustrations by Stieg Retlin

ISBN 0-439-09548-1

Copyright © 2000 by Ann M. Martin.

All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.

SCHOLASTIC, CALIFORNIA DIARIES, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

Printed in the U.S.A.

First Scholastic printing, April 2000

The author gratefully acknowledges Peter Lerangis for his help in preparing this manuscript.

This eBook is for educational and reference purposes only. It is not intended to infringe on or circumvent copyright. No monetary gain is made from the distribution of this eBook.

Tuesday, 5/25

I knew it, Nbook.

Did I predict it or what?

When Maggie tells me about meeting Tyler Kendall and informs me that she HATES him, do I believe her?

No way.

Fact: For Maggie, “I hate Tyler” means “I hate Hollywood” means “I hate the fact that Dad is Hayden Blume the famous producer who works seven days a week and never comes home until midnight.”

Fact: Tyler’s OK. Fact: He likes her. Fact: He doesn’t give up so easily.

So now she’s singing a different tune.

It’s good to see Maggie so happy.

And not just because of Tyler.

She’s kicking the anorexia. I can tell.

I predicted that too. And I was right.

Wednesday, 5/26

As for me? Thanks for asking, Nbook.

Haven’t felt better.

It’s a little scary.

Sunny is an inspiration, Nbook.

Her mom’s death hit her hard. But she’s pulling herself together. Somehow.

I admire her.

I admire all my friends.

How did I get so lucky?

Maggie’s here. Time to go.

Thursday, 5/27

Lunch

Big news. Double date tomorrow night. Same as late time. Me and Brendan, Maggie and Tyler (I guess “double date” isn’t the right term. Tyler and Maggie are the Real Thing, boyfriend-girlfriend. Way ahead of us. Call it a date and a half. Whatever.)

I just hope people don’t drool all over him again. (Tyler, that is. Not Brendan. He’s not the movie star — although he could be. But that’s another conversation.)

Sorry about the chocolate shake stain. (Guess I shouldn’t open you during lunch.)

Don’t you love parenthesises parentheses? (Yes.)

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why do I bother telling Isabel about my personal life?

Why do I let her see me happy?

Here’s what happens.

Must be tough to be perfect.

Maggie comes over just before dinner tonight. Last-minute thing. Says Zeke is at a friend’s, her dad’s at work (as usual), and her mom’s “out.”

She’s not feeling too great. Says she feels tense all the time.

As we’re talking, I hear Simon Big Tooth Lover Boy’s old car pull up. Then I hear him downstairs in the kitchen with Isabel.

And she’s explaining her homework to him.

Yes, that homework. Which she does early because she’s so responsible. …

What a phony.

Friday, 5/28

Study hall

Flash: Brendan has a new shirt and shoes. (Yes, Nbook, the Boy Who Hates to Shop. The boy who claims his faded amber Grateful Dead T-shirt is actually white. Translation: It was white when his dad wore it in 1982.)

Well, the clothes are a pleasant surprise. So is the haircut.

When I notice the cuts on his cheek, though, I become suspicious. I ask who scratched him, and he says, “I shaved.”

“Shaved what?” I ask.

He does not see the humor.

Guess I have to look at this from his point of view. I mean, if I were a guy soon to be on a double date and the other guy on that date was Tyler Kendall, wouldn’t I be nervous about my appearance?

I tell him not to worry. He doesn’t have to be a hunk. I like him just the way he is.

He says, “I’m not a hunk?”

I pretend to think about it.

He still doesn’t see the humor.

Poor soul.

Late late late late so-o-o-o late

I’m back. I’m alive. I’m awake.

How was my night?

I might as well have been in outer space.

That’s what it felt like. A trip to Pluto.

NOTE TO SELF: Learn from experience. Bring rugged clothes to next experience with Maggie and Tyler. Maybe a sword and shield.

Here’s us walking toward the restaurant:

Here’s us when we get into the restaurant:

The meal? The view?

No meal. No view. This time Tyler doesn’t just stand there, smiling and chatting, while we suffer. Instead, he politely signs a few autographs, excuses himself, and heads back out, pulling us with him. (Got to give him credit. He must have listened to Maggie’s advice after last time.) Anyway, we leave the restaurant and sneak into a 9:00 showing at the Rubicon Theater. The cuisine is popcorn and Snickers.

No one else is in the theater. The air-conditioning is way too high.

And the movie is in Russian, so you have to read subtitles.

Maggie insists it is a great classic.

Me, I don’t understand a thing.

Brendan hates it. He says I owe him one.

I’ll make it up to him. Next time, we go to the Cineplex to see a good, stupid American comedy.

Saturday, 5/29

I’m dreaming. Brendan and I are still at the Rubicon, only somehow we’ve stepped into the movie. We’re stranded on the frozen tundra in our shorts and sandals. We’re clutching either other tight, trying to keep warm — and we can see the audience staring, so we scream for help, but the words come out in Russian and everyone is laughing at us. …

And I hear:

I jump out of bed, thinking the tundra has been bombed.

The reality: Isabel is clomping through my room, looking for something.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Good morning to you too,” she snaps. (Like, how dare I be rude to her?) Then her voice drops to a whisper: “Where’s that rental car information?”

“What rental car — ?”

“Sssssshh, Mami and Papi will hear you. You know, the car for Hector and Cristina. Did you reserve one?”

“How could I do that? I’m thirteen — ”

“With Hector and Cristina’s credit card number, like I told you to — ”