Diary of a Real Payne Book 1: True Story

Author

July 20

Dear Diary,

Hey, hi. How’s it going? (I never know how to start things like this.)

Let’s be honest: It’s weird that I’m writing a letter to a blank book inside of that blank book. I know you can’t write back to me, Diary, but here I am, writing to you. Why? Because Mom thinks keeping a diary will be a good outlet for me. What does good outlet mean? I have no idea. I know there’s a bad outlet in our guest bedroom. I found it last week when I plugged the vacuum in and it wouldn’t turn on. Mom thought I was just trying to get out of chores (again), but the outlet really was broken. It did get me out of vacuuming for a few minutes, though. I counted it as a big win for EJ. Who’s EJ? That’s me. Emma Jean Payne. EJ for short.

Since I’m going to be writing in you a lot, Diary, let me tell you a little bit about me: I’m 10. I’ve got freckles on my nose, elbows, and knees. My eyes are light green and my hair is…well, my hair is hard to describe. The best way I know how to explain it is that it’s shoulder length, notquite -blond-but-not-quite-brown and not-quite-straight-but-not-quite-curly. All of that is bad enough, but here’s the worst part: Mom keeps my bangs trimmed a little too short because she hates it when hair falls in my eyes. The second she sees me blowing my bangs off my face, her scissors appear out of nowhere for a trim that ends in a bangs massacre.

My hair is basically a tragedy.

I’ll be in the fourth grade at Spooner Elementary School this fall. Spooner, as in, Spooner, Wisconsin—the single most boringest place in the universe. I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. For a town that has an entire museum that’s dedicated exclusively to the heritage of the canoe, the word boring might even be too nice.

Here are the things I love:

1. My family. Dad’s the pastor at Vine Street Community Church. He loves God, and he loves people. And he loves games. If he were a superhero, his superpower would be that he could make a game out of anything. This one time, when we were standing in a hugely long and boring line at the grocery store, he made a game out of guessing how many candy bars were in each box at the checkout. He even got some of the other people waiting in line to play. An old man wearing flannel, who had a scraggly beard tucked into his belt, won the game in a tiebreaker by correctly guessing there were eleven Butterfingers in the box. Dad let him pick out any candy bar he wanted as a prize. You would’ve thought the guy had won a new car, he was that happy. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the wide grin on that whiskery face as he clutched the king-size Snickers in his fist.

Mom teaches second grade at Spooner Elementary. There are a lot of great things about her, but one amazing thing is her hair. It’s long and blond and beautiful and perfectly straight, and she puts it up by twisting it into a knot and sticking pens in it (or pencils, or chopsticks, or big paper clips, or whatever else is handy—we never know what she’s going to find in there!). Once on a Sunday morning right before the worship service was about to start, Mom saved the day by fixing the busted button on Dad’s pants with a red pipe cleaner she found in her hair. Why was there a pipe cleaner in her hair? Pipe cleaners were part of the kids’ church craft that morning—and it did a great job keeping her hair out of the way. Thanks to Mom’s sweet hairdo, Dad preached that morning without worrying that his pants would end up around his ankles.

I have a Cockapoo mix named Matthew Cuthbert T-Rex Payne, but I call him Bert for short. Mom and Dad gave him to me as a puppy for my eighth birthday, and even though Bert is my dog, they made me let my little brother help name him. So I gave the first two names (Matthew Cuthbert is a character in Anne of Green Gables—more on that superb work of fiction later), and my dork of a brother loves dinosaurs, hence T-Rex. (Seriously, though, what kind of a name is that for a dog? A dumb one.) Some dogs look like they’re smiling and other dogs may have a bored-looking face, but Bert is different. He has at least ten unique feelings he shows on his face. Here are my favorite six:

1.   Happy—It’s playtime!

2.   Guilty—I’m sorry, EJ….Mom’s begonias looked like they wanted to be dug up.

3.   Hungry—If you don’t feed me that piece of bacon from your plate, I literally will fall over and die of hunger this very moment.

4.   Curious—What is it? What does it smell like? What does it taste like? Can I play with it? Can I? Can I? Can I?

5.   Proud—I saw that you left a bag of trash sitting on the kitchen floor, so I figured that meant you wanted me to help you sort through it. As you can see, I did a great job shredding the bag and organizing what was inside, all over the floor. You’re welcome.

6.   Loving—EJ, you’re the bestest friend a pooch could ever ask for. Can we snuggle and watch movies?

Bert is an adventurer at heart, and he’s game for anything. As dogs go, he’s fantastic.

And then there’s Isaac. I do love my little brother, but there are some moments I’m not sure I like him. He’s five and about to start kindergarten. He likes dinosaurs and cars and dirt and boy things and being nauseatingly cute with his blond curls and little-boy smiles. He knows one joke, and he tells it ALL THE TIME.

Isaac: Knock-Knock.

Willing Participant: Who’s there?

Isaac: Noah.

Willing Participant: Noah who?

Isaac: Noah good joke? (Outburst of crazy

laughter that goes on entirely too long for such a lame joke.)

I call Isaac The Space Invader because that’s what he does—gets up in my space—every moment of every day he possibly can. Mom says he likes me and just wants to play with me. I say he just wants to annoy me until I snap.

2. Reading. I read cereal boxes, comic strips, books, magazines, encyclopedias—I love it all! My favorite books are Little House on the Prairie (How cool would it be to travel in a covered wagon like Laura Ingalls Wilder?), the Chronicles of Narnia (Every time I see a wardrobe, I have to open the door and stick my head inside. Hey, Narnia could be just behind those hanging clothes!), Little Women (Confession: I’ve only seen the movie of this one, but it’s on my list to read!), and Anne of Green Gables (Anne Shirley’s carrot-colored hair might be even more tragic than mine).

3. Dreaming. Not sleep dreams (although some of those are pretty great, too) but pretending, imagining, traveling to another time and another place with just the creativity in my mind. Mom and Dad encourage me to be imaginative, but they’ve been on this kick lately of telling me to be where you are when you’re there, EJ. I’m still not completely sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I do admit that I spend a lot of time daydreaming about…well…everything! I imagine the big, important, amazing adventures that are just waiting for me when I’m an adult and can get out of here. See, here’s the deal: My plans are bigger than Spooner, Wisconsin. There are so many things I want to be and do that the list is already five notebook pages long (front and back—college ruled!). And the truth is, what I want to be when I grow up changes at least twice a day. It’s a big, beautiful world, Diary, and I want to experience all of it!

So here’s to this new thing I’m trying—writing in you, Diary. Hold on to your hat. Or your spine. Or your cover. Or whatever it is a diary has to hold on to. It’s going to be an adventure!

EJ

Chapter 1

CAUTION FLAG

August 2

Dear Diary,

Sunday afternoons are reserved for naps in the Payne house—and rightfully so. After a busy morning at church where Mom teaches a classroom full of preschoolers about Jesus’ love in kids’ church and Dad preaches about Jesus’ love to adults in the worship service, they end up snoozing on the couch after lunch. I have way better things to do with my time than sleep, so I usually endure the parent-enforced quiet time by reading a good book.

Last Sunday, Dad was watching the NASCAR race on TV when he dozed off. Truthfully, Diary, when I heard Dad’s breathing turn a little snore-y, I planned to ever-so-gently remove the remote from his hand (I’m really good at the game Operation. Even the nearly-impossible-to-remove funny bone is no match for my expert surgeon skills) and turn the channel to something better. But just before I was able to hit the number for Disney Channel, the race cut away to a profile of female race-car drivers, and I got sucked into their fascinating world.

Did you know that the first women NASCAR drivers raced in 1949? How cool is that? Three ladies named Sara, Ethel, and Louise drove in some of the very first NASCAR races ever. And since then, lots of girls have raced around stock-car tracks, hitting speeds of nearly two hundred miles per hour in superfast cars. One girl named Johanna entered a truck race when she was just nineteen, Diary! Nineteen! Just think…nine short years from now that could be me—the cheering crowd zooming past my window as I round the bend toward the checkered flag for my first-place finish!

But for now Mom’s putting the brakes on my racing career by making me go back-to-school shopping for jeans and No. 2 pencils. What an absolute snooze-fest. I hear her calling for me to come get in the minivan so we can leave, Diary, so I’ll say good-bye for now.

But seriously. Racing—why didn’t I think of this before?

EJ

EJ looked down at the paper in her hand and sighed.

LIST OF NECESSARY SUPPLIES FOR ALL STUDENTS ENTERING MS. PICKERINGTON’S 4TH GRADE CLASS AT SPOONER ELEMENTARY SCHOOL:

1.   3 packs of wide-ruled notebook paper

2.   50 No. 2 pencils with 40 pencil-top erasers

3.   4 solid-color spiral notebooks (NO DESIGNS on notebooks)

4.   1 black-and-white composition notebook

5.   6 solid-color pocket folders (NO DESIGNS on folders)

6.   2 bottles of glue or 4 glue sticks

7.   1 (24-count) box of crayons

8.   2 large boxes of facial tissues

9.   2 bottles of hand sanitizer (8 ounces or larger)

10. 1 container disinfectant/cleaning wipes (10 ounces or larger)

"I think this is the most UNinspiring school supply list anyone could’ve imagined, ever in the history of lists," EJ moaned from her seat behind Mom in the family minivan.

Let’s tone down the dramatics a bit, EJ, Mom replied with a hint of a smile in the rearview mirror. Fourth grade is an important year of big firsts, and based on the supply list, it looks like you’ll be writing quite a bit. You’ll like that, won’t you?

I guess, EJ said, shrugging. She wanted to say, I don’t know how creative I can be with four drab notebooks that don’t have designs on them. Or how I’ll be able to truly create art with a measly twenty-four crayon colors to choose from, but she decided against it and looked out the window at the passing houses instead.

The first day of school was just two and a half weeks away. As much as EJ enjoyed school, she was still a little nervous about being in Ms. Pickerington’s class.

"Mom, the kids call her Ms. Picky for a reason," EJ said, fastening the bottom button of her green-and-purple plaid shirt, which she’d somehow missed. (Mornings never were EJ’s best time of day.)

Being picky isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Mom replied. Do your best, and I’m sure you will get along just fine with Ms. Pickerington.

Marmalade, I’m getting finger paint for kindergarten? Isaac asked from his booster seat next to EJ, tapping the