The Diary of Melanie Martin (2 page)

March 13

Dear Diary,

School was so so so embarrassing today! At lunch there was a potato bar so I asked for a baked potato with bacon bits, and I also got peach slices and milk. But somehow I tripped and fell and dropped my tray, and my potato rolled off and the milk splattered, and as if all that wasn't bad enough, it was Norbert who came running over to ask if I was okay and to help me pick up my potato and everything. I wish I could have flown away to Italy that very second.

Mortified,

March 18

Dear Diary,

Tonight Dad and I couldn't find Matt anywhere. Mom was at a meeting, and Dad and I were calling “Matt! Matt! Matt!” at the top of our lungs.

When Matt finally walked in, Dad yelled at him (hee hee). Matt had gone up in the elevator of our apartment building by himself
without asking permission
. He said he wanted to say good-bye to Lily. Lily is in first grade with him and she and Matt are madly in love.

At bedtime Dad tucked me in but left the light on so I could write. I kind of like it better when Mom tucks me in, even though she can be too mushy and says stuff like “Sleep tight, Precious” and “Sweet dreams, Sweet Pea.”

Lately she's been teaching me Italian words. Some words are easy. Like spaghetti is
spaghetti
(Spa Get Tee). Impossible is
impossibile
(Im Po See Bee Lay). But most words are hard. To say good morning, you have to say
buon giorno
(Bwone Jor No). Good night is
buona notte
(Bwo Na Note Tay).

The reason why Dad tucks me in faster than Mom is because he usually has work to do or a book to read or a game to watch. Tonight, though, he sat on my bed and started talking. He said he is counting on me to be well behaved in Italy. He said he expects me to help take care of Matt because it's a big deal that we're going
overseas and most parents in their right minds would not take kids with them on such an adult trip. He said that since Matt is always wandering off, he wants me to help keep an eye on him.

I'm excited about going on a grown-up trip and everything, but I
am
still a kid. If Mom and Dad can hardly keep track of Matt, what makes them think I can? Sometimes I can't even keep track of my glasses or homework or stuffed animals.

Yours,

March 19

Dear Diary,

We're on the plane, and we're about to take off, and I have to go to the bathroom really really really badly, but the Fasten Your Seat Belts light is still on.

I told Mom, and she said I should have gone at the airport when everyone else did.

Thanks a lot, Mom.

I can't believe I'm stuck sitting next to Matt for eight whole hours. At least I got the window seat. Matt has the airplane headphones on. He wants to play
Go
Fish, but we have to keep our tray tables in the upright and locked position. I'm a little old for Go Fish anyway.

We're up in the air. Outside I saw the tops of skyscrapers, and now I can see a whole blanket of clouds. It looks like snow out there. It looks like you could put on boots and go tromping around. I showed Matt,
but it worries him to be up so high—he keeps asking me to pull down the window shade.

He also keeps asking me to play Twenty Questions. I'd be happy to play Twenty Questions with a normal person, but Matt always picks Snoopy or Bamm-Bamm or Tony the Tiger, and then he can't even answer the most basic question, like “Dead or alive?” or “Man or woman?” Talk about pathetic.

Dad came over and showed us a map in the airline magazine. Right now we are flying over the Atlantic Ocean. Next stop: Italy!

But first there's going to be a movie.

I finally went to the bathroom. When I got to the back of the plane, one door said Vacant and one said Occupied, and for a second I wasn't sure which meant what, but I figured it out and went in the vacant one.

Good thing there was a vacant one.

It was a close call.

It was also a tiny little bathroom, and when I flushed, the noise was so loud, I almost freaked out.

Matt and I have already played War and Crazy Eights, and now he's coloring and making puppets
out of barf bags. I used to like to do that. Now I'd rather play Hangman with Mom, but she's sitting with Dad. He's organizing his new travel wallet.

The flight attendants gave us little bags of pretzels, and Matt tried to make his bag last longer than mine, but I hid my last pretzel, so I won. We are about to have dinner. I hope it's Chinese food.

It wasn't. It was salmon or chicken, so I ordered chicken, but it was rubbery white chicken (I like dark meat) with disgusting mushroom gravy. Also, the fork and knife were freezing cold. Also, the plane started bumping up and down, and that made Matt spill some of his peas, and a few landed on me.

The pilot said the bumps were because of air pockets. Pants pockets, I understand. But air pockets? Matt gripped my arm so hard, he left fingernail marks. I was tempted to yell at him, but I didn't since he was scared. Dad said we probably just bumped into a cloud. Then he told me to pass my chicken if I wasn't going to eat it. (Sometimes Dad can be a Big Pig.)

I hope we don't run out of gas up here.

Mom told me not to worry. She also made us ask for milk, which I didn't think was fair considering there was Sprite and Mom and Dad asked for champagne. The champagne was free because we're on an international flight.

I hope Mom and Dad are not drunk. They're all smiley and stuff. They keep saying this trip is like a honeymoon—only with kids. Their anniversary is next week. They have been married thirteen years.

Uh-oh. Thirteen is an unlucky number!

Mom and Dad are now asleep.

Matt is too. He looks goofy because his mouth is wide open.

I'm too excited to sleep. Mom told me to try to sleep so I don't get jet-lagged.

You see, when we left New York, people in Italy were
already
asleep. And when we arrive, even though to us it will feel like the middle of the night, in Italy it will be the morning of a new day. Why? Because the sun rises in the east, and we're flying east.

Maybe I will try to sleep after all. I hope I don't miss the movie.

March 20 in a car

Dear Diary,

I missed the movie. I woke up right when we landed, and my ears were plugged and I could barely hear, but they finally popped while we were standing around waiting for our luggage.

Right before they popped, I could hear gurgling noises inside my head. I could also hear Matt asking, “Why is it taking so long to clean our baggage?”

Get it? Baggage
claim?
Baggage
clean?
What a dumdum. Like people were really back there scrub-a-dub-dub-bing our luggage for us.

When we got our baggage in Rome—excuse me,
Roma
(Ro Ma)—I dug out Hedgehog, and Matt dug out Dog-Dog.
I love Hedgehog so much. She is the fluffiest, softest, cutest stuffed animal ever. Matt loves DogDog too. Dog-Dog is tan with big floppy ears. Matt thinks DogDog sleeps all day and guards him all night.

I must admit that our trip got off to a pretty bad start.

After claiming our baggage, we had to go through customs and show our passports.

Whenever Mom and Dad call each other “honey” and “sweetheart,” you can tell they're annoyed.

Well, Mom started looking in her purse, and Dad started looking in his travel wallet, and they both started looking in their pockets, and Matt started looking like he was going to burst into tears.

And then he did.

It didn't help that to all of us it felt like the middle of the night.

To distract Matt, I said, “Did you know that I have a magic tongue?”

I pressed my nose, and out popped my tongue. I pulled my right earlobe, and my tongue pointed right. I pulled my left earlobe, and my tongue pointed left. I pressed my nose again and made my tongue disappear.

“See?” I said.

Matt smiled, and I felt like a good big sister, except then I noticed these two girls who looked like fifth graders staring at me as though I were an alien. I was completely embarrassed.

Just then Mom found the passports, dorky photos and all.

Matt and I said, “Hurray!” but Dad just said, “I knew you had them.” He was being a grump, and I didn't know whether to try to cheer him up or keep my distance.

We got back on line, and the customs people stamped our passports, checked our luggage, and let us in.

To Italy!

The first thing Mom and Dad did was go to an airport coffee shop. Mom ordered
due cappuccini
(Doo Ay Ca Poo Chee Nee), which means two cappuccinos. Then Mom
told the waiter it was
delizioso
(Day Leet See Oh Zo), which means delicious. She said it over and over. You'd think it was Gummi Bears or M&M's the way she was acting.

I think Mom just likes to practice her Italian. Almost everyone here speaks Italian—even kids. Except the tourists. They speak English and Japanese and German and French and other languages too.

People seem nice, but I don't know what anyone is saying, so I can't eavesdrop, which stinks because I like to eavesdrop.

Mom and Dad ordered us apple pastries, and I wolfed mine down. Matt was too sleepy to eat his.

Mom said, “Matt, you didn't touch your pastry.” So Matt touched it by poking it with his finger.

Matt can be pretty cute sometimes. Or dumb. It depends on my mood. Last year at a Japanese restaurant, the waiter gave us hot washcloths for our hands, and Matt took off his sandals and started using his washcloth to clean his feet! Mom and Dad yelled at him, but I thought it was kind of cute and kind of dumb.

Mostly, though, I think Cecily lucked out since she's an only child.

Anyway, 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 the
D 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