Excerpt

October 3rd My Birthday

I can tell Im getting older. Long gone are the days of baby dolls and lacey hair bows. Now that Im thirteen, my grandmother gives me gift certificates instead of handpicked items because she doesnt know my taste anymore. Its not her fault. Ive changed and gotten picky. Especially about clothes. They have to be just right in seventh grade.

Still, there is something exciting about ripping open lots of brightly wrapped packages. Sometimes Im thrilled when I open them, but other times its a big thud. The wrapping can be better than the gift.

Speaking of packages, the main birthday gift from my parents today was this new software Im using right now called Jazzy Journal. I guess that means I can write things, then jazz them up with goofy clip art. I cant say that I am thrilled with this gift, but its not a big thud either. My parents cant fool me. Theyre very practical. Leave it to them to pick out a birthday present that will help improve my writing skills (they hope).

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October 4th My Bad Day

One day, you can be flying high, on top of the world. The next day, you crash. Heres my story.

Last night, after I wrote in this Jazzy Journal, my best friend Cassie came by with a gift for me. It was a CD that I desperately wanted (a musical CD not more educational software). Its the latest release from A.L. Jack, my favorite group. They are soooo good and very cute. We listened to it together, and I was SO EXCITED!

After Cassie left, the UPS man came by with a package addressed to Jan Pisaro. Thats me. It was from my cousin Alice. Shes away at college, and I havent seen her in over a month. She is way cool and totally understands me. I thought it was sweet that she sent me a birthday gift because I know that she is on a very tight budget. This was an AWESOME present! It was a navy and white shirt from The Ledge, a place where the popular kids like to shop. With its uneven wavy stripes, its an unusual sweater, like someone painted it freehand. I liked the idea of being a little different, but still fitting in. I tried it on and felt good about the way I looked. I laid it out on my desk chair before I went to bed, and couldnt wait to wear it. That was the top of the world part.

This morning, I hummed to my A.L. Jack CD as I put on my new sweater and favorite jeans. I dont know what it is about jeans. Theyre either right or wrong. They have to be in style and fit your body well. My mother wants to order my jeans from the kinds of catalogs that offer practical, durable clothing. Theyre the kind that fit right but dont look cool. I hate the way they look. My mother used to try to get me to wear those kinds of jeans, but she finally gave up because they would just sit in the closet. She realized she was wasting her money. Jeans from the cool stores are always in style, but its hard to get them to fit your body right, especially when youre thirteen. Thats why, when you get a pair that are cool and fit right, they become your favorite jeans.

Anyway, when I got to school, I was in a really good mood. I still felt on top of the world. My mood sailed over the droning of Mr. Berlin, my first period Social Studies teacher. I kept up that mood throughout the next three periods, despite the stupid jokes of Mrs. Parm, my fourth-period math teacher. I even kept up my happy mood during a field hockey game in gym (field hockey is my least favorite sport). Then came the crash.

I was sitting at lunch with Cassie and my two other good friends, Diedra and Marcella. We were having a conversation, but I was distracted by girls at the next table who seemed to be smiling and pointing at me. One of them was Cheryl Hiskel, who used to be a friend of mine back at Preston Elementary. Once we started middle school last year, however, we drifted. Well, more than drifted. Somehow, she ended up with the popular crowd, and I ended up, well, just a regular kid. She even stopped saying hi to me in the hallways sort of looks past me like I dont exist. Thats why I was puzzled by this sudden attention from her.

Anyway, after these popular girls finished their lunch, they walked by our table, and Cheryl said in a shrill voice, Look at Jans shirt. Its like, so geeky! How weird can you get?! Her whole gang giggled as they scurried past me. Diedra stopped talking mid-sentence. Marcella almost choked on her chicken nuggets. Cassie just gaped with her mouth wide open. I could feel all the kids from surrounding tables gawking at me and my shirt. My special, I-am-different shirt, from a cool person and a cool store. Time froze. Zap. Boom. Crash.

It was at that moment that I wished I were three years old, like my brother Jim. When he doesnt want people to see him, he closes his eyes. He thinks if he cant see anything himself, he must be invisible to everyone else. I wanted to evaporate.

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