Melanie Martin Goes Dutch Read Free Page B

who lives across the street was batter and his baby-sitter was keeping an eye on all of us. Well, the second grader kept taking practice swings and I guess Matt must have been standing too close to him because suddenly the bat bonked Matt
right in the nose
. He started to
wail
.
    At first I thought Matt's nose had gone flying off or something! Blood was gushing all down his face. None of us knew whether his nose was broken or his teeth were bashed in or what.
    The baby-sitter took us right home. Matt was crying and bleeding, but by then at least I could tell that his nose was still on his face and his teeth were still in his mouth.
    It turned out that he got hurt right between his nostrils. That little piece of skin that sort of holds noses down got ripped.
    Fortunately, Mom was home. She cleaned Matt up and stuck big cotton balls in his nostrils. (I have to say, he looked pretty weird.) Then she called the doctor, and next thing you know, all three of us were in a taxi.
    Matt said, “I can't breathe. Am I going to die?”
    Mom said, “No, sweetie! You'll be fine. Just breathe through your mouth,” and cuddled him extra close.
    Matt looked relieved. It was as if mouth breathing had never occurred to him.
    The doctor sewed in three stitches (Matt's first) and said Matt would have swelling and bruises but he'd be fine.
    When we got back home, Dad was already there. He even had a stuffed animal—a walrus—for Matt.
    Dad never gives me anything unless it's my birthday.
    Since you're my diary and I can tell you anything, I have a terrible awful confession. At first I was all worried about Matt, but now I'm already getting sick of hearing him tell everyone on the phone about his life-or-death accident.
    When I hurt my eyebrow, my family didn't make this much fuss.
    Not one friend or relative telephoned. (We were in Italy, but
still
.)
    And I got seven stitches. Not three.
    I should probably not think like this, right?
    Well, maybe I'm not as good a person as I should be.
    I mean, most of me is very nice.
    But maybe a tiny speck of me is not so nice.
    Or maybe a small chunk?
    I can't believe I'm admitting this. Even to you.

Dear Diary,
    Cecily and I were playing with her Magic 8 Ball. It tells fortunes. We like to ask it questions like “Will I be famous when I grow up?” or “Will there be a lot of homework in fifth grade?” or “Will I marry Christopher?” It gives answers like “Cannot Predict Now” or “Outlook Good” or “Don't Count on It.”
    I was thinking of asking “Am I a good enough person?” but I didn't want to say that out loud. Since Cecily hadn't said anything about her mother, I asked if she wanted to ask about her mom.
    “I don't even want to do this anymore,” Cecilysaid. She put the 8 Ball back on her shelf under her collage of magazine celebrities. Then she started brushing her hair and looking at herself in her mirror.
    I looked too, and her reflection sort of caught me by surprise. Cecily has gotten taller. And prettier. She's even developing a little.
    I'm still the exact same as always. I think.
    Anyway, I can't believe my family is about to temporarily adopt my BFF—Best Friend Forever!

    P.S. Matt's face is still greenish-bluish-purplish, but the bruises are fading. At the grocery store, the cashier joked, “Did you slug your little brother?” I answered, “No, but sometimes I feel like it!” She laughed laughed laughed, but Mom looked unamused.

Dear Diary,
    I just beat Dad at Hangman. I hanged him with the word “phlegm.” I almost hanged him with the word “diarrhea.”
    I can't believe I hanged Dad! He didn't mind, though. I think he was impressed. He said my vocabulary was expanding. He didn't know I knew that phlegm is the gross stuff people cough up.
    Speaking of disgusting substances (like phlegm and diarrhea), yesterday Matt stepped in dog doo and today a bird pooped on his arm. A runny little white-and-black poop landed right on him! Yuck! (And hee hee!)
    I never knew