Dork Diaries 5: Tales From a Not-So-Smart Miss Know-It-All Read online

  “Zimmerman here. No, never! I’ll go to jail before I reveal my source.”

  He grabbed the papers off his desk and began stuffing them into his already overflowing bag while yelling into the phone. “And just for the record, I have no idea how my socks got inside that microwave . . . !”

  As he hurried away, I anxiously chased after him.

  ME, CHASING MR. ZIMMERMAN!!

  I had finally caught up with him and was just about to show him the sign-up sheet when . . .

  SLAM!

  That was the sound of the door he slammed right in my face as he rushed out of the classroom.

  I just stood there blinking my eyes with the sign-up sheet dangling in my hand.

  I looked around the room for help, but everyone was busily working with their partners on their projects.

  Well, everyone except MacKenzie.

  I could feel her beady little eyes staring at me from across the room.

  But I didn’t care anymore!

  I’d had quite enough of the newspaper, thank you!

  I grabbed my notepad and pen and was about to leave when she sashayed over.

  But I didn’t say a word. I just walked right past her.

  “Well, it looks like YOUR day was a total waste of makeup,” she snarled. “TOO BAD!”

  I couldn’t believe MacKenzie had so coldly and cruelly crushed all of my hopes and dreams beneath the bloodred sole of her designer shoe.

  That girl is beyond RUTHLESS!

  First she UNDERMINED my WCD scholarship by convincing HER dad to offer MY dad a job at Hollister Holdings, Inc.

  And now she’s UNDERMINED my plan for getting on the school newspaper by crossing my name off the sign-up sheet.

  What am I going to do now?!

  My life is HOPELESS!!

  !!

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 16

  All day I’ve been depressed and feeling like a complete and utter FAILURE.

  After that mental BEATDOWN by MacKenzie during the newspaper meeting, my self-esteem is pretty much pulverized.

  Chloe and Zoey must have sensed I was really down in the dumps.

  Because during library they kept needling me about WHY I had changed my mind about joining the newspaper staff.

  FINALLY I broke down and told them the truth. Well, part of the truth, anyway.

  MacKenzie had single-handedly gotten me kicked out before I’d even had a chance to get in.

  And Zimmerman was a certified LOONEY TUNE!

  Well, Chloe and Zoey weren’t having it. And boy, were those two totally ticked off!

  I just stared at them in disbelief! I could not believe they had actually said all of that stuff.

  OMG! Those were two of the nicest compliments I’d EVER received in my entire LIFE.

  I do not deserve friends like Chloe and Zoey.

  They’re, like, the BEST friends EVER!

  They marched me right over to Zimmerman’s classroom.

  Then they both looked me in the eye and said if I didn’t get in there and demand a position on the newspaper, they were going to kick my BUTT.

  It was SO funny. Because of course they were joking.

  I think.

  As I stood outside Zimmerman’s door, it was reassuring to know my BFFs had my back and were there gently cheering me on . . . .

  OMG! I was so nervous I was practically shaking. I felt like I was Dorothy going to visit that scary Wizard of Oz guy or something.

  When Zimmerman saw me walk in, he just muttered, “So, I hope you finally made it to the bathroom . . . . ”

  “Actually, I didn’t. I’m here because you missed me when you assigned jobs at the last newspaper meeting. Somehow my name got accidentally crossed off the list or something. See, it’s right here . . . . ” I handed him the paper.

  “Is that so?” Zimmerman read it over and then glanced up at the board. “Looks like you’re right. The only problem is there’s no more room for you. I had two additional people join yesterday. And I made them Lauren’s assistants. Now maybe she’ll be able to get my coffee to me before it gets cold.”

  “There HAS to be something I can do!” I pleaded. “To be honest, I have this big problem, and the only way I can straighten it out is to get on the newspaper staff. My friends are counting on me, and I don’t want to let them down. PLEASE!”

  “Hey, slow your roll, kiddo! I feel your pain. But I’m really sorry . . . . ”

  Zimmerman popped three candies into his mouth and munched on them loudly while checking his watch.

  I could not believe this guy!

  What a cruddy teacher! I had come to him with a problem, and he had the nerve to just sit there and ignore me like I was one of his empty coffee cups . . . .

  ME, AS ONE OF THE PAPER CUPS LITTERING MR. ZIMMERMAN’S OFFICE

  “Well, thanks for talking to me.” I sighed loudly and turned to leave as I blinked back a wave of tears.

  Zimmerman suddenly leaned back in his chair, stared into space, and scratched his fuzzy chin.

  “Hold on! I might have something for you, Sparky. But it’s going to be a lot of work. We’re going to bring back the WCD advice column. Just for you!”

  “Advice column? Just for m-me?” I stammered. My anger melted and was quickly replaced by raging insecurity. I was back to a sniveling rookie. “You mean, I’ll be doing this all alone? With no mentor?”

  “That’s right,” he answered. “I have a feeling you have the spunk to pull it off. Either that, or you’ll single-handedly destroy the newspaper’s reputation and give me a heart attack. But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you, Sparky?”

  “Well, I dunno . . . . ” I gulped.

  “Of course you wouldn’t!”

  “I’m not that good at dishing out advice. What if kids don’t like my answers? They might get mad at me and say nasty things.”

  “There’s always that possibility. So when you write, you might want to use a pseudonym.”

  “Um, okay. But I don’t think I have one. Is that like a computer?”

  Zimmerman chuckled. “Sparky, you remind me a lot of myself when I was just getting started. Not much knowledge, but a lot of heart. Nope, it’s not a computer. It’s just a pen name.”

  “Oh, I get it! Pseudonym is a brand of ink pens.”

  Zimmerman looked annoyed and popped two candies into his mouth.

  “Okay, let’s start over. Now, pay close attention, Sparky. ‘Pseudonym’ is just a fancy word for writing with a phony name. You know, so your readers won’t harass you, hunt you down, or send you gross stuff in the mail. You’d NEVER believe the stuff I’ve gotten in the mail from disgruntled readers. Of course Lauren and I will keep your identity a secret, and we’ll tell the staff you’re our new assistant.”

  “Oh! Now I understand. I’ll need to make up a catchy name.”

  “Exactly! See that bottom drawer of my file cabinet? Your stuff will be under lock and key in a black metal box. Check there tomorrow morning and you’ll find everything you need to get started.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Zimmerman. You have no idea how much this means to—”

  “Now get out of my classroom. I have something important to do. SpongeBob comes on in two minutes. You know, he’s the last Great American Hero.” He waved his hand to shoo me away. “Good luck, kiddo.”

  His Royal KOOKINESS had spoken!

  Starting tomorrow, I was going to become the WCD version of Dr. Phil. But with hoop earrings, lip gloss, a few pimples, and most dangerously, no experience WHATSOEVER.

  And if I screwed it up, it was gonna be . . .

  OFF WITH MY HEAD!

  I was SO excited, I did my Snoopy “happy dance” all the way back to the library.

  Chloe and Zoey are going to be superproud of me.

  Am I qualified to give advice to my peers? Of course not! I can’t even decide on milk or OJ in the morning.

  But when my gut tells me something, it’s usually right. So I’ll do my very best to help people NOT mess up
their lives. Guts, don’t fail me now!!

  Eww . . . that sounded kinda gross, didn’t it?

  Anyway, I’m about to make a major comeback!

  And not even the evil forces of the DIVA OF DOOM (also known as MacKenzie) can stop me.

  !!

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 17

  Today was officially my first day on the job as a staff writer for the WCD newspaper as my advice expert alter ego, Miss Know-It-All.

  Mr. Zimmerman made an announcement over the school PA system yesterday about the return of the advice column and instructed students to leave their letters to Miss Know-It-All in a special mailbox outside the newspaper room.

  I couldn’t wait to see how many letters I’d gotten. For once in my life, I got out of bed BEFORE my alarm clock went off.

  I hopped into the shower, brushed my teeth, and threw on some clothes. Then I ran to the kitchen to grab a granola bar for breakfast.

  “Good morning, dear!” Mom smiled. “Up already?”

  “Yep,” I said, shoving the granola bar into my mouth. “I’m working on a newspaper project! Mom, do you think you could take me to school extra early?”

  When I got to the newspaper room, Lauren was busy reading over both the print and online versions of the school paper before they were released for publication.

  All newspaper staff had access to them too, which very conveniently allowed me to monitor MacKenzie’s Fashion and Current Events column.

  If she tried to publish anything untrue about me or my friends, I’d report her to Zimmerman so fast it would make her head spin.

  “Good morning!” I said cheerfully. “I’m ready to get started on my advice column. What does my mail look like?”

  “Hi, Nikki! Well, let’s check your mailbox,” Lauren said as she picked up a metal box right outside the door and set it on her desk.

  The box was covered with a thick layer of dust.

  “It looks like this thing hasn’t been used in years!” she said as she brushed her dusty hands on her pants and unlocked the box with a key.

  My heart pounded as I waited to see how many letters I’d gotten—ten, twenty, maybe even fifty. But it dropped when I saw what students had left for me in the box. . . .

  “OMG!” I gasped as I stared in disbelief at a broken pencil, a candy wrapper, a wad of gum, and a used tissue.

  “Gross! Some kids are SO immature!” I fumed, trying to pretend I wasn’t as disappointed as I felt. “This is NOT a trash can!”

  “I’m sorry,” Lauren said. “But our reader feedback has been almost nonexistent. We’re hoping your column will change things. But it looks like the paper is going to take some time to catch on.”

  I didn’t want to say it, but I was worried our paper would never “catch on.” Other than Brandon’s amazing photographs, the articles were dullsville.

  The one time I did read an issue, there was a page-long interview with the lunch lady on nutrition. Yawn!

  First of all, how exciting could her interview be? Second, what would she know about nutrition, serving us imitation Spam on a moldy bun?

  After Lauren left the room, I collapsed in a chair and blinked back my tears. I felt as worthless as that trash in my advice box !

  I decided to update Chloe and Zoey by text: “Bad news!! My Miss Know-It-All advice column was a total FLOP! No letters, just trash!”

  I got the exact same text from both of them: “!”

  I sighed and tried to swallow the huge lump in my throat.

  At some point I was going to have to tell them the truth.

  MacKenzie was going to make sure we were suspended from school for the Great Toilet Paper Caper and for egging her house unless WE convinced Brandon to invite MacKenzie and Jessica to his party.

  Who would have guessed that MacKenzie’s diverse talents include a keen fashion sense, pathological lying, and blackmailing?

  That girl was basically a middle school mafioso in lip gloss and hoop earrings.

  It was quite obvious she really, really liked attending parties.

  That’s when I got a text from Chloe to Zoey and me: “Just finished COOLEST book ever. Shy girl decides to run for student council president and her opponent/crush becomes her campaign manager.”

  I knew Chloe LOVED to read, but I was in the middle of a MAJOR life crisis! For once, couldn’t she just try focusing on ME instead of her stupid book characters?!

  Then Chloe sent us both a third text: “Snarfing down breakfast. Zoey, call me right NOW! Nikki, meet us in the library in fifteen minutes!”

  Just GREAT !

  Like I wanted to start off my disastrous morning sitting in the library listening to Chloe gush over yet another of her teen romance novels.

  I was already in the library sulking and having a pity party for myself when Zoey arrived loaded down with empty shoe boxes and poster paper.

  Chloe was not far behind, lugging a big bag stuffed with scissors, glue, construction paper, paint, and glitter.

  “What’s g-going on?” I sniffed sadly.

  “We’re here to save our FAVE advice columnist, Miss Know-It-All . . . ,” Chloe explained excitedly, and gave me jazz hands.

  “We came up with the idea of putting up posters with supercute help boxes all around the school,” Zoey said. “So . . . what do you think?”

  “I THINK . . . you guys are AWESOME!” I squealed.

  Then I watched in amazement as my BFFs worked their magic with glitter and glue. . . .

  Thanks to Chloe and Zoey, I now have four fabulously cool posters with help boxes AND a catchy new slogan.

  Luckily, we managed to get everything done and posted in the hallways just before students started to arrive for class . . . .

  One thing is for certain, Chloe and Zoey’s chic marketing campaign for Miss Know-It-All really created a buzz.

  By lunchtime, the ENTIRE school was gossiping about it.

  And since the identity of Miss Know-It-All is a big secret, everyone was trying to guess who she was.

  Not a single person would EVER suspect it was ME!

  I just hope I start getting letters real soon.

  Because if Mr. Zimmerman cancels the advice column again due to lack of interest, I won’t be able to stop MacKenzie from printing her pack of lies in the school newspaper, and we could all end up KICKED OUT OF SCHOOL!

  !!

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 18

  ARGH!!

  I feel just like I’m back in Madame Fufu’s beginning dance class again!

  WHY?!

  Because Brianna’s dance school is having its annual fund-raiser to pay for all of those frilly little dance costumes they wear for recitals.

  Each student has to sell sixty candy bars.

  At first I felt kind of sorry for her.

  Until my parents told me I had to go door-to-door in our neighborhood to help Brianna and keep an eye on her. Now I feel sorry for ME!

  “Hey! Why do I have to sell candy?” I grumped. “I don’t need a frilly little dance costume!”

  ME, WEARING A FRILLY BALLET COSTUME THAT I DON’T NEED FOR A CLASS I’M NOT IN

  But I guess they didn’t understand my logic.

  “What’s a fund-raiser?” Brianna asked as we trudged through the snow in our driveway.

  “It’s what we’re doing right now,” I muttered.

  I was exhausted, and I hadn’t even made it out of our yard yet.

  Those two bags of chocolate bars seemed to weigh one hundred pounds each.

  I started to wonder if each candy bar was actually filled with a nutty caramel center or CEMENT.

  “I don’t get it!” Brianna said.

  I sighed. “A fund-raiser is when you sell stuff to get money for something important.”

  “We’re going to get MONEY for these candy bars?!” Brianna exclaimed. “Goody gumdrops! I’m gonna use my money to buy me a baby unicorn!”

  “No! You DON’T get to keep it. You have to give it to your dance school.”

  “Tha
t’s not fair! Why should I sell stuff if I can’t keep the money?” Brianna complained.

  “Just . . . because! You’re asking too many questions. Let’s walk over to the next block so no one I know will see us—I mean, so we can cover more ground.”

  I rang the doorbell of the first house on the block.

  “Just let me do the talking, okay, Brianna?”

  “But they’re MY candy bars!” she shot back. “You’re NOT the boss of me!”

  “You’ll only mess things up! Just keep quiet so we can sell this junk to some unsuspecting fools and go home!” I yelled at her.

  “Uh . . . can I help you?”

  Brianna and I both jumped. A man was standing at the door in exercise gear that was way too tight around his stomach.

  We hadn’t noticed him there while we were fighting. He had an irritated frown on his face.

  “Oh, sorry!” I cleared my throat. “Actually, we’re here to see if you would be interested in buying a delicious gourmet chocolate bar to support fine arts for children. It’s only three dollars.”

  “Only three dollars?” The man laughed sarcastically. “You must think I’M some unsuspecting FOOL! No thanks. Besides, I’m on a strict diet . . . unless you’re selling dark chocolate. . . .”

  “Actually, we are!” I said as I smiled and held up two bars. “Would you like the one with nuts or the one without nu—”

  That’s when Brianna rudely interrupted my sales pitch.

  “WOW!! YOUR BELLY JIGGLES JUST LIKE SANTA CLAUS! ARE YOU GUYS RELATED?” she blurted out.

  The man glared at us and turned beet red.

  Then he said some not-so-nice words and slammed the door right in our faces!

  “Brianna! Why did you have to open your big mouth?” I scolded. “Look what you did!”

  “It was a compliment! Why’d he get so mad?” she asked, scratching her head.

  Sometimes I wonder if Brianna is really that naive. Or does she just enjoy aggravating me in hopes that one day I’ll burst an artery and drop DEAD so she can get my bedroom and new cell phone?