Read an Excerpt
diary of a REAL PAYNE
TRUE STORY
By Annie Tipton Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Copyright © 2013 Barbour Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62416-131-5
CHAPTER 1
July 20
Dear Diary,
Hey, hi. How's it going? (I never know how to start things like this.)
Let's be honest: It's weird that I'm writing a letter to a blank book inside of that blank book. I know you can't write back to me, Diary, but here I am, writing to you. Why? Because Mom thinks keeping a diary will be a "good outlet" for me. What does "good outlet" mean? I have no idea. I know there's a "bad outlet" in our guest bedroom. I found it last wee k when I plugged the vacuum in and it wouldn't turn on. Mom thought I was just trying to get out of chores (again), but the outlet really was broken. It did get me out of vacuuming for a few minutes, though. I counted it as a big win for EJ. Who's EJ? That's me. Emma Jean Payne. EJ for short.
Since I'm going to be writing in you a lot, Diary, let me tell you a little bit about me: I'm 10. I've got freckles on my nose, elbows, and knee s. My eyes are light green and my hair is ... well, my hair is hard to describe. The best way I know how to explain it is that it's shoulder length, not-quite-blond-but-not-quite-brown, and not-quite-straight-but-not-quite-curly. All of that is bad enough, but here's the worst part: Mom keeps my bangs trimmed a little too short because she hates it when hair falls in my eyes. The second she sees me blowing my bangs off my face, her scissors appear out of nowhere for a "trim" that ends in a bangs massacre.
My hair is basically a tragedy.
I'll be in the fourth grade at Spooner Elementary School this fall. Spooner, as in, Spooner, Wisconsin—the single most boringest place in the universe. I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. For a town that has an entire museum that's "dedicated exclusively to the heritage of the canoe," the word boring might even be too nice.
Here are the things I love:
1. My family. Dad's the pastor at Vine Street Community Church. He loves God, and he loves people. And he loves games. If he were a superhero, his superpower would be that he could make a game out of anything. This one time, when we were standing in a hugely long and boring line at the grocery store, he made a game out of guessing how many candy bars were in each box at the checkout. He even got some of the other people waiting in line to play. An old guy wearing flannel, who had a scraggly beard tucked into his belt, won the game in a tiebreaker by correctly guessing there were eleven Butterfingers in the box. Dad let him pick out any candy bar he wanted as a prize. You would've thought the guy had won a new car, he was that happy. I don't think I'll ever forget the wide grin on that whiskery face as he clutched the king-size Snickers in his fist.
Mom teaches second grade at Spooner Elementary. There are a lot of great things about her, but one amazing thing is her hair. It's long and blond and beautiful and perfectly straight, and she puts it up by twisting it into a knot and sticking pens in it (or pencils, or chopsticks, or big paper clips, or whatever else is handy—we never know what she's going to find in there!). Once on a Sunday morning right before the worship service was about to start, Mom saved the day by fixing the busted button on Dad's pants with a red pipe cleaner she found in her hair. Why was there a pipe cleaner in her hair? Pipe cleaners were part of the kids' church craft that morning—and it did a great job keeping her hair out of the way. Thanks to Mom's sweet hairdo, Dad preached that morning without worrying that his pants would end up around his ankles.
I have a Cockapoo mix named Matt hew Cuthbert T-Rex Payne, but I call him Bert for short. Mom and Dad gave him to me as a puppy for my eighth birthday, and even though Bert is my dog, they made me let my little brother help name him. So I gave the first two names (Matt hew Cuthbert is a character in Anne of Green Gables—more on that superb work of fiction later), and my dork of a brother loves dinosaurs, hence "T-Rex." (Seriously, though, what kind of a name is that for a dog? A dumb one.) Some dogs look like they're smiling and other dogs may have a bored-looking face, but Bert is different. He has at least ten unique fee lings he shows on his face. Here are my favorite six:
1. Happy—"It's playtime!"
2. Guilty—"I'm sorry, EJ.... Mom's begonias looked like they wanted to be dug up."
3. Hungry—"If you don't fee d me that piece of bacon from your plate, I literally will fall over and die of hunger this very moment."
4. Curious—"What is it? What does it smell like? What does it taste like? Can I play with it? Can I? Can I? Can I?"
5. Proud—"I saw that you left a bag of trash sitting on the kitchen floor, so I figured that meant you wanted me to help you sort through it. As you can see, I did a great job shredding the bag and organizing what was inside, all over the floor. You're welcome."
6. Loving—"EJ, you're the bestest friend a pooch could ever ask for. Can we snuggle and watch movies?"
Bert is an adventurer at heart, and he's game for anything. As dogs go, he's fantastic. And then there's Isaac. I do love my little brother, but there are some moments I'm not sure I like him. He's five and about to start kindergarten. He likes dinosaurs and cars and dirt and boy things and being nauseatingly cute with his blond curls and little-boy smiles. He knows one joke, and he tell s it ALL THE TIME.
Isaac: Knock-Knock.
Willing Participant: Who's there?
Isaac: Noah.
Willing Participant: Noah who?
Isaac: Noah good joke? (Outburst of crazy laughter that goes on entirely too long for such a lame joke.)
I call Isaac "The Space Invader" because that's what he does—gets up in my space—every moment of every day he possibly can. Mom says he likes me and just wants to play with me. I say he just wants to annoy me until I snap.
2. Reading. I read cereal boxes, comic strips, books, magazines, encyclopedias—I love it all! My favorite books are Little House on the Prairie (How coo l would it be to travel in a covered wagon like Laura Ingalls Wilder?), the Chronicles of Narnia (Every time I see a wardrobe, I have to open the door and stick my head inside. Hey, Narnia could be just behind those hanging clothes!), Little Women (Confession: I've only see n the movie of this one, but it's on my list to read!), and Anne of Green Gables (Ann e Shirley's carrot-colored hair might be even more tragic than mine).
3. Dreaming. Not sleep dreams (although some of those are pretty great, too) but pretending, imagining, traveling to another time and another place with just the creativity in my mind. Mom and Dad encourage me to be imaginative, but they've been on this kick lately of telling me to "be where you are when you're there, EJ." I'm still not completely sure what that's supposed to mean, but I do admit that I spend a lot of time daydreaming about ... well ... everything! I imagine the big, important, amazing adventures that are just waiting for me when I'm an adult and can get out of here. See, here's the deal: My plans are bigger than Spooner, Wisconsin. There are so many things I want to be and do that the list is already five notebook pages long (front and back—college ruled!). And the truth is, what I want to be when I grow up changes at least twice a day. It's a big, beautiful world, Diary, and I want to experience all of it!
So here's to this new thing I'm trying—writing in you, Diary. Hold on to your hat. Or your spine. Or your cover. Or whatever it is a diary has to hold on to. It's going to be an adventure!
(Continues...)
Excerpted from diary of a REAL PAYNE by Annie Tipton. Copyright © 2013 Barbour Publishing, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Barbour Publishing, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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