electricity. “You’ll need the perfect serving tray,” he said.
That’s the thing about the manny. He really gets it.
We told Mom that we had “business to takecare of” and hopped right into the Eurovan. The manny said that this would be good practice for next year, when he was going to be Sarah Jessica Parker’s personal shopper. I don’t know who Sarah Jessica Parker is, but I guess she needs help carrying her shopping bags.
We drove to a store that was full of stationery, martini shakers, and books about throwing parties. There was one called
Be My Guest
that had beautiful table settings and overdressed people laughing as though the photographer had just said, “Pretend that somebody said something funny.”
I want to go to a party like that.
The manny flipped through the book while I carefully tested each breakfast-in-bed tray. I tested for the perfect weight, beauty, and shine. The man at the shop was a friend of the manny’s, so he showed me all the good deals. I chose a black lacquered tray with gold trim. It wasn’t too heavy to carry, and it would hold a breakfast plate, a juice glass, and the morning paper.
“Excellent choice,” said the manny’s friend. “Donatella Versace was just in here and bought the same one for her mother.”
I saw a picture of Donatella Versace in one of Mom’s
Vogue
magazines. She pushes out her lipslike she’s getting ready to kiss somebody. I pushed my lips out the rest of the time I was in the shop.
The manny’s friend wrapped the tray in beautiful silver wrapping paper and put a dark purple velvet ribbon around it. The manny said that it looked pretty enough to give to the queen of England.
I pulled my allowance money and some old candy wrappers out of my pocket to pay. The candy wrappers dropped on the floor, and I started to bend down to pick them up.
“Don’t you dare,” said the manny’s friend. “Do you think that Donatella Versace picked up the candy wrappers that fell out of her pockets? It’s my job to pick up after the important people who come into my shop.”
I laughed, but when he wasn’t looking, I picked up the candy wrappers and put them back in my pocket.
The manny bought something too, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said it was a surprise.
As we walked out of the store, I looked up at the manny. He had his lips pushed out too.
When we got home, Mom was putting away the ironing board. I sneaked around the back ofthe house and up into my room so that she wouldn’t see. I hid Mom’s present underneath my bed. I was hiding it from Mom and from Belly. Whenever Belly finds a wrapped present, she opens it. Last Christmas we left her alone in the living room for ten minutes one night, and she opened every single present under the Christmas tree. She came into the kitchen wearing a diamond bracelet that Dad had gotten for Mom.
After dinner that night the manny handed me a brown leather book wrapped in a white satin ribbon. I had picked it up and looked at it at the manny’s friend’s shop.
“It’s a journal,” said the manny. “You’re supposed to write all your secret thoughts inside of it. It’s sort of like Lulu’s ‘The Manny Files,’ except nicer.”
Lulu looked mortified and said, “I’ll use it as evidence someday.”
I thanked the manny for my journal and went to my room. The journal smelled like Dad’s leather coat and felt expensive when I rubbed it against my cheek. The pages were blank and completely clean. They weren’t white. They were that cream color that fancy stationery is made of.
On the first page I wrote:
If you are reading this and your name is not Keats Rufus Dalinger, then may you suffer the guilt of knowing that you are reading somebody else’s private thoughts. READ NO FURTHER UNLESS YOU ARE WILLING TO ADMIT THAT YOU HAVE A CRIMINAL MIND.
I turned the page and began my first entry into my journal.
May 11
Today during recess I went to my secret spot behind the Dumpster
That’s the thing about the manny. He really gets it.
We told Mom that we had “business to takecare of” and hopped right into the Eurovan. The manny said that this would be good practice for next year, when he was going to be Sarah Jessica Parker’s personal shopper. I don’t know who Sarah Jessica Parker is, but I guess she needs help carrying her shopping bags.
We drove to a store that was full of stationery, martini shakers, and books about throwing parties. There was one called
Be My Guest
that had beautiful table settings and overdressed people laughing as though the photographer had just said, “Pretend that somebody said something funny.”
I want to go to a party like that.
The manny flipped through the book while I carefully tested each breakfast-in-bed tray. I tested for the perfect weight, beauty, and shine. The man at the shop was a friend of the manny’s, so he showed me all the good deals. I chose a black lacquered tray with gold trim. It wasn’t too heavy to carry, and it would hold a breakfast plate, a juice glass, and the morning paper.
“Excellent choice,” said the manny’s friend. “Donatella Versace was just in here and bought the same one for her mother.”
I saw a picture of Donatella Versace in one of Mom’s
Vogue
magazines. She pushes out her lipslike she’s getting ready to kiss somebody. I pushed my lips out the rest of the time I was in the shop.
The manny’s friend wrapped the tray in beautiful silver wrapping paper and put a dark purple velvet ribbon around it. The manny said that it looked pretty enough to give to the queen of England.
I pulled my allowance money and some old candy wrappers out of my pocket to pay. The candy wrappers dropped on the floor, and I started to bend down to pick them up.
“Don’t you dare,” said the manny’s friend. “Do you think that Donatella Versace picked up the candy wrappers that fell out of her pockets? It’s my job to pick up after the important people who come into my shop.”
I laughed, but when he wasn’t looking, I picked up the candy wrappers and put them back in my pocket.
The manny bought something too, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said it was a surprise.
As we walked out of the store, I looked up at the manny. He had his lips pushed out too.
When we got home, Mom was putting away the ironing board. I sneaked around the back ofthe house and up into my room so that she wouldn’t see. I hid Mom’s present underneath my bed. I was hiding it from Mom and from Belly. Whenever Belly finds a wrapped present, she opens it. Last Christmas we left her alone in the living room for ten minutes one night, and she opened every single present under the Christmas tree. She came into the kitchen wearing a diamond bracelet that Dad had gotten for Mom.
After dinner that night the manny handed me a brown leather book wrapped in a white satin ribbon. I had picked it up and looked at it at the manny’s friend’s shop.
“It’s a journal,” said the manny. “You’re supposed to write all your secret thoughts inside of it. It’s sort of like Lulu’s ‘The Manny Files,’ except nicer.”
Lulu looked mortified and said, “I’ll use it as evidence someday.”
I thanked the manny for my journal and went to my room. The journal smelled like Dad’s leather coat and felt expensive when I rubbed it against my cheek. The pages were blank and completely clean. They weren’t white. They were that cream color that fancy stationery is made of.
On the first page I wrote:
If you are reading this and your name is not Keats Rufus Dalinger, then may you suffer the guilt of knowing that you are reading somebody else’s private thoughts. READ NO FURTHER UNLESS YOU ARE WILLING TO ADMIT THAT YOU HAVE A CRIMINAL MIND.
I turned the page and began my first entry into my journal.
May 11
Today during recess I went to my secret spot behind the Dumpster
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