labeled “Diary” and clicked on “Dinah stuff,” surprised to see my name on anything
Dear Dodo,
Dodo was Claire’s nickname for me, the way I called her Cuckoo. It was one of those inside jokes that wasn’t very funny but stuck. Dodos are extinct, and cuckoos leave their eggs for someone else to raise—we were a couple of birds who didn’t belong. When we lived next door to each other, Claire would barge in and unload on me whenever she needed to talk. Once I moved, she apparently made a digital Dinah to talk to.
Mom and Dad don’t poke their heads in as much when they hear typing as they do when I’m on my phone. Thisway, they think I’m doing my summer “prep” homework. (As if.)
This is what I wanted to tell you before. Last weekend, I met Brooks Walden—who IS NOT a girl, tyvm, so let’s not even go down that road again, okay? Good.
Brooks was behind me in line at the food court. I was a dollar short and couldn’t pay for my Jilly Juice. (Daddy won’t let me have my own plastic for another year >.<)
*Kicks Daddy*
Brooks rescued me. Total knight-in-shiny-armor moment.
I didn’t know he was a Lowry boy at first. I mean, he wasn’t really dressed like it. Yes, I’m the stupid blond girl who expects private school boys to wear their unis even during the summer. (Shut up, Dodo, I can hear you laughing.)
And you can stop worrying. I told him my fifteenth was in a month (He thought I was sixteen!!!), so he should be able to figure out how old I am, and … he invited me to the Point on Saturday. (I told Mom I’m going with Shauna from choir, so don’t you dare rat me out when I tell you this for real.)
Freeman’s Point is the all-purpose (and often only) free gathering place for kids during the summer. Equal parts lake, fairground, and time warp, it’s one of those weird places where it doesn’t matter what part of town you come from; everyone mixes. And no matter how the world outside evolves, the Point manages to keep itself exactly as it was in 1962, when the drive-in movie theater was shut down.
They took out the parking lot but kept the screen, and when school’s out, they play old movies on the weekends. You can either watch on the grass, if you want to hear the movie, or head for the lake and use the film as background lighting to make out.
The Claire I knew wouldn’t have even considered the second option.
No, I don’t have a picture (yet). I got close, though—I snapped him with my phone, but he caught me. When he tried to get a look at it, he pressed the wrong button and the phone ate it. :-(
Now it’s like a game: avoid Claire’s photo op. He thinks it’s cute, but I wish he’d stop. I want you to see him. He’s not as tall as Brucey, but he’s got black hair, dark eyes, and … he’s gorgeous!
She sounded so happy. It was worse that I could hear her voice chirping away in my head giving excuses as to why she couldn’t send me pictures: Brooks was “Internet safe” and only posted drawings to his public profile; Brooks was camera shy. She thought I’d really like him.…
I looked everywhere I could think of for her phone—including unscrewing the air vents—just in case she’d managed to catch me some proof, but I never found any.
I’m nervous, Dodo. He’s a jr. and I’m just a fishstick … what if I end up acting like a stupid kid? If I blow this, I’ll never be able to set foot in Lowry. I’ll have to run away and hitch out to Oregon to find the real you, and then I’ll get eaten by badgers.
Why did you have to move? You’re supposed to be here so I can talk to you about this stuff!
I hate that I have to hide this thing inside my stupid cat toy because Mom snoops and Dad can open any files I save to my computer. I hate that I can’t even dust off my old email account (assuming I could remember the login, and I can’t) because Daddy has one of those parent watchdogs on my stuff. AND I HATE AUNT STACY FOR TAKING MY DODO AWAY FROM ME!
That
Dear Dodo,
Dodo was Claire’s nickname for me, the way I called her Cuckoo. It was one of those inside jokes that wasn’t very funny but stuck. Dodos are extinct, and cuckoos leave their eggs for someone else to raise—we were a couple of birds who didn’t belong. When we lived next door to each other, Claire would barge in and unload on me whenever she needed to talk. Once I moved, she apparently made a digital Dinah to talk to.
Mom and Dad don’t poke their heads in as much when they hear typing as they do when I’m on my phone. Thisway, they think I’m doing my summer “prep” homework. (As if.)
This is what I wanted to tell you before. Last weekend, I met Brooks Walden—who IS NOT a girl, tyvm, so let’s not even go down that road again, okay? Good.
Brooks was behind me in line at the food court. I was a dollar short and couldn’t pay for my Jilly Juice. (Daddy won’t let me have my own plastic for another year >.<)
*Kicks Daddy*
Brooks rescued me. Total knight-in-shiny-armor moment.
I didn’t know he was a Lowry boy at first. I mean, he wasn’t really dressed like it. Yes, I’m the stupid blond girl who expects private school boys to wear their unis even during the summer. (Shut up, Dodo, I can hear you laughing.)
And you can stop worrying. I told him my fifteenth was in a month (He thought I was sixteen!!!), so he should be able to figure out how old I am, and … he invited me to the Point on Saturday. (I told Mom I’m going with Shauna from choir, so don’t you dare rat me out when I tell you this for real.)
Freeman’s Point is the all-purpose (and often only) free gathering place for kids during the summer. Equal parts lake, fairground, and time warp, it’s one of those weird places where it doesn’t matter what part of town you come from; everyone mixes. And no matter how the world outside evolves, the Point manages to keep itself exactly as it was in 1962, when the drive-in movie theater was shut down.
They took out the parking lot but kept the screen, and when school’s out, they play old movies on the weekends. You can either watch on the grass, if you want to hear the movie, or head for the lake and use the film as background lighting to make out.
The Claire I knew wouldn’t have even considered the second option.
No, I don’t have a picture (yet). I got close, though—I snapped him with my phone, but he caught me. When he tried to get a look at it, he pressed the wrong button and the phone ate it. :-(
Now it’s like a game: avoid Claire’s photo op. He thinks it’s cute, but I wish he’d stop. I want you to see him. He’s not as tall as Brucey, but he’s got black hair, dark eyes, and … he’s gorgeous!
She sounded so happy. It was worse that I could hear her voice chirping away in my head giving excuses as to why she couldn’t send me pictures: Brooks was “Internet safe” and only posted drawings to his public profile; Brooks was camera shy. She thought I’d really like him.…
I looked everywhere I could think of for her phone—including unscrewing the air vents—just in case she’d managed to catch me some proof, but I never found any.
I’m nervous, Dodo. He’s a jr. and I’m just a fishstick … what if I end up acting like a stupid kid? If I blow this, I’ll never be able to set foot in Lowry. I’ll have to run away and hitch out to Oregon to find the real you, and then I’ll get eaten by badgers.
Why did you have to move? You’re supposed to be here so I can talk to you about this stuff!
I hate that I have to hide this thing inside my stupid cat toy because Mom snoops and Dad can open any files I save to my computer. I hate that I can’t even dust off my old email account (assuming I could remember the login, and I can’t) because Daddy has one of those parent watchdogs on my stuff. AND I HATE AUNT STACY FOR TAKING MY DODO AWAY FROM ME!
That
Similar Books
