had wandered back to the Map Gallery and was slumped under an ancient map of Italy.
He said he was going to talk to a guard, but he was too scared.
We all hugged, and Matt was crying, and I reached into my pocket and gave him my very last piece of American gum. New, not A.B.C.
Dad said, “Let's get out of here.”
Mom said, “Who wants
gelato?
”
Guess what we said.
same day
Matt made me promise not to tell, but I don't think it counts as breaking the promise if I tell you.
He got lost on purpose!
(He didn't mean to get so so so lost.)
When he first told me, I was about to say, “Well, that was stupid!” but I'm glad I didn't, because he said he stomped off because Mom and Dad weren't paying attention to him and I was always calling him stupid.
I was going to say, “Oh, so now it's mmmyyyy fault?”but instead I said, “I just call you stupid because you're my little brother. All fourth graders call their little brothers stupid.”
“Well, it hurts my feelings,” he said. “And I don't like when you call me Matt the Brat either.”
I was going to say, “What should I call you? Matt the Gnat?” but instead I told him that I said nice things about him in my diary too. Which is a tiny bit true.
“Yeah, right.” I could tell he didn't believe me.
“I do.”
“Prove it.”
I showed him where I wrote, “Matt can be pretty cute sometimes.” (I covered up where I wrote, “Or dumb. It depends on my mood.”)
“See?” I said.
“Even in school some kids are mean to me.”
“Like who?”
“Like Kurt. He laughs at me just like you do. Once I fell in the playground, and he laughed so hard I wanted to kick him, but I couldn't because the principal was there.”
“Oh, Matt,” I said, “You're a good kid. You're just a brat sometimes.” I even put my arm around him.
I don't know who was more surprised—me or Matt.
“You're a brat sometimes too,” he said, and looked at me with his blue eyes and long lashes.
For some reason we both laughed. I mean, Matt can annoy me and worry me, but I wouldn't really trade him in.
“Kurt is a twerpy pea-brain,” I said. “You don't like him, so who cares if he doesn't like you?” I was mad at Kurt for being mean to Matt, and I was proud of myself for not being an E.B.S. “When someone says something mean, let it be like a ball that bounces off you instead of like gum that sticks to you,” I said, sounding like Mom. Matt sort of nodded. “What matters,” I said, “is what your friends think of you.”
“My friends like me.”
“There you go,” I said. “Like Luke and Lily.”
“Especially Lily,” Matt said, and smiled.
“Especially Lily,” I repeated. “Want me to give you a postcard to send her?”
“Okay,” Matt said.
If I don't watch out, I'm going to get the P.B.S. award for Perfect Big Sister.
Then I'll get on P.B.S. with Bert and Barney. (Get it? P.B.S.?)
Matt and I both think Barney is
stupido
. So I started singing that song you can't get out of your head, and Matt joined in:
I hate you
,
You hate me
,
We're a stupid family
With a bang! bang! bang!
Barney's on the floor— No more purple dinosaur
.
I'm about to turn off the lights in Matt's and my room. I'm also about to say to him, “Don't ever get lost again.”
That'll be pretty mushy—for me.
Dear Diary,
I went to the bathroom and fell in because Stupid Matt left the stupid seat up. I was going to wake him and yell at him, but he's fast asleep, his mouth flopped open like a fish, and he still doesn't have DogDog. So I'm leaving him alone. This time.
March 27
DogDog is back. Matt is happy as can be. A bellhop delivered DogDog in a package, and Matt is holding him so tightly that if he were a real dog, he'd be dead as a doornail.
I don't know how old the bellhop was, but he didn't seem very old at all. He was tall and cute, with brown eyes and hair that was sort of messy, as though he'd just rubbed it with a balloon. He seemed friendly, so Idecided to
He said he was going to talk to a guard, but he was too scared.
We all hugged, and Matt was crying, and I reached into my pocket and gave him my very last piece of American gum. New, not A.B.C.
Dad said, “Let's get out of here.”
Mom said, “Who wants
gelato?
”
Guess what we said.
same day
Matt made me promise not to tell, but I don't think it counts as breaking the promise if I tell you.
He got lost on purpose!
(He didn't mean to get so so so lost.)
When he first told me, I was about to say, “Well, that was stupid!” but I'm glad I didn't, because he said he stomped off because Mom and Dad weren't paying attention to him and I was always calling him stupid.
I was going to say, “Oh, so now it's mmmyyyy fault?”but instead I said, “I just call you stupid because you're my little brother. All fourth graders call their little brothers stupid.”
“Well, it hurts my feelings,” he said. “And I don't like when you call me Matt the Brat either.”
I was going to say, “What should I call you? Matt the Gnat?” but instead I told him that I said nice things about him in my diary too. Which is a tiny bit true.
“Yeah, right.” I could tell he didn't believe me.
“I do.”
“Prove it.”
I showed him where I wrote, “Matt can be pretty cute sometimes.” (I covered up where I wrote, “Or dumb. It depends on my mood.”)
“See?” I said.
“Even in school some kids are mean to me.”
“Like who?”
“Like Kurt. He laughs at me just like you do. Once I fell in the playground, and he laughed so hard I wanted to kick him, but I couldn't because the principal was there.”
“Oh, Matt,” I said, “You're a good kid. You're just a brat sometimes.” I even put my arm around him.
I don't know who was more surprised—me or Matt.
“You're a brat sometimes too,” he said, and looked at me with his blue eyes and long lashes.
For some reason we both laughed. I mean, Matt can annoy me and worry me, but I wouldn't really trade him in.
“Kurt is a twerpy pea-brain,” I said. “You don't like him, so who cares if he doesn't like you?” I was mad at Kurt for being mean to Matt, and I was proud of myself for not being an E.B.S. “When someone says something mean, let it be like a ball that bounces off you instead of like gum that sticks to you,” I said, sounding like Mom. Matt sort of nodded. “What matters,” I said, “is what your friends think of you.”
“My friends like me.”
“There you go,” I said. “Like Luke and Lily.”
“Especially Lily,” Matt said, and smiled.
“Especially Lily,” I repeated. “Want me to give you a postcard to send her?”
“Okay,” Matt said.
If I don't watch out, I'm going to get the P.B.S. award for Perfect Big Sister.
Then I'll get on P.B.S. with Bert and Barney. (Get it? P.B.S.?)
Matt and I both think Barney is
stupido
. So I started singing that song you can't get out of your head, and Matt joined in:
I hate you
,
You hate me
,
We're a stupid family
With a bang! bang! bang!
Barney's on the floor— No more purple dinosaur
.
I'm about to turn off the lights in Matt's and my room. I'm also about to say to him, “Don't ever get lost again.”
That'll be pretty mushy—for me.
Dear Diary,
I went to the bathroom and fell in because Stupid Matt left the stupid seat up. I was going to wake him and yell at him, but he's fast asleep, his mouth flopped open like a fish, and he still doesn't have DogDog. So I'm leaving him alone. This time.
March 27
DogDog is back. Matt is happy as can be. A bellhop delivered DogDog in a package, and Matt is holding him so tightly that if he were a real dog, he'd be dead as a doornail.
I don't know how old the bellhop was, but he didn't seem very old at all. He was tall and cute, with brown eyes and hair that was sort of messy, as though he'd just rubbed it with a balloon. He seemed friendly, so Idecided to
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