The Diary of Melanie Martin Read Free

we rented a car, and it cost one million
lire
(Lee Ray)! One million
lire!
Think of all the M&M's you could buy with that much money!
    I was worried we were going to run out of money before we even started our family honeymoon, but Mom said things are not as expensive as they sound and we brought enough.
    I hope so. I didn't bring any. Mine is scrunched up in my kitty bank in New York.
    Well, we are now in the car driving north to Tuscany for four hours. We'll spend four nights at a hotel and take little day trips.
    Mom is looking out the window. She is saying things like, “Do you see those cypress trees?” “Isn't that a pretty vineyard?” “Look at those magnificent old olive trees!”
    I'm
trying
to look.
    Matt's just sleeping with his mouth hanging open. I hereby nominate him for Dork of the Year award.
    Dad says he can't concentrate on the countryside because Italians drive really really really fast. Like a hundred miles an hour. Except they use kilometers, not miles. So far, Dad has cursed three times (the H curse once and theD curse twice). The first two times, Mom frowned and said, “Honey!” The third time, she didn't say anything.
    Personally, I can't believe I'm spending eight hours in a plane and four hours in a car today. That's twelve hours—and a day has only twenty-four.
    If I were Sabrina the Teenage Witch, I could have gotten here by magic. If I were Judy Jetson, I could have gotten here in minutes. But I'm just plain Melanie Martin, and it took forever to get from home to Rome.
    Hey, that's another poem! I'll call it “Romeward Bound” (like “Homeward Bound”).

    same day

    Dear Diary,
    I showed Matt my poem.
He said it was stupid.
I say he's stupid.
    We're at our hotel, but it's not really a hotel. It's more like a B&B, or Bed and Breakfast, only here it's called a
pensione
(Pen See Own Ay). You see, there's this nice lady, Paola (Pow La), who lives in a giant house, but her kids are all grown up, so now she makes money by renting out rooms. Our room is big and has two beds, one for Mom and Dad and one for Matt and me. It also has a desk and a chair and a radiator and lacy white curtains. Outside, you can see lines of cypress trees. They are tall and skinny and shaped like candle flames. You can also see pear trees with white blossoms. And a vineyard, even though the vines have no grapes yet.
    My only complaint is that I wish our room had one of those little hotel refrigerators in it.
    I am so sleepy, but Mom and Dad say we have topush ourselves to get on Italian time. They say we're not allowed to go to bed, because here it's only four in the afternoon.
    Can you believe I have been begging to go to bed?
    Dad said we should go see the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Pee Za).
    Matt said, “The Leaning Tower of Pizza?!”
    I said, “
Pisa
, you moron. But I don't want to go. I'm too tired.”
    Mom said, “You have to, because we can't leave you alone.”
    I said, “I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.”
    Dad said, “You most certainly do, because this is a family trip. Don't you remember our little talk?”
    I said, “Well, I'm staying in the car, because I'm pooped.”
    Dad said, “Suit yourself.”
    Can you believe we are going to get back in our car?
    Mom said, “You'll get your second wind.”
    Dad said, “It's okay with me if she wants to miss one of the most famous buildings in the world.”
    Matt said, “I'm not one bit tired.”
    Well, of course Matt isn't! He's been napping like a newborn!
    Tired as h—ll,

    same day
in the car again
    Dear Diary,
    Dad parked the car very near the Leaning Tower, but I'm still not getting out.
    I'm just going to sit here all alone. I'm just going to wait in this new-smelling car with the doors locked until they come back.
    I sneaked a peek at the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
    It's big and lopsided and all tilted over. It looks fake. Disneylandy.
    People aren't allowed to climb up it anymore, but I wouldn't mind going a little closer.
    What should