Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (4 page)

P.S. I'm dying to call Cecily, but I keep thinking she'll call me. I'm also tempted to tell Mom about Cecily's mom, but she'd probably take Mrs. Hausner's side. And I could never admit that I hung up on her three times!

Dear Diary,

Dad came home from work with a big package. For a second I was hoping he had brought Matt and me a present for no reason (not that he ever has). But he handed it right to Mom.

Off came the wrapping paper and out came a bunch of tulips.

It was a little disappointing.

Not for Mom, though. She loves tulips. She kissed Dad right on the lips and said, “Aren't these the prettiest things you've ever seen?”

“No,” Matt said. He probably thinks Lily upstairs is the prettiest thing he's ever seen. They've been in love since they were born. Last week they wrote their names in big dark purple letters on the sidewalk. They wrote
using mulberries from the tree outside our building. The letters have faded to a light brown, but you can still read them.

Anyway, the tulips are really fancy. When Mom buys tulips at the corner grocer, she gets the cheap kind that looks like green sticks with Easter eggs on top. She buys them all January and February because she says they remind her that spring (and spring break) is coming.

Dad's tulips bend and curve gracefully, and their petals look like frilly, colorful feathers, all lacy around the edges.

He said he had to go to a special florist to get them.

“What came over you?” Mom asked.

“Holland is the tulip capital of the world,” Dad
said. Mom looked puzzled, so Dad admitted, “It was Helen's idea.” Helen is Dad's assistant.

“I should have guessed,” Mom said, but she didn't seem to mind.

Mom arranged the tulips in a vase, one at a time, and told Matt and me to go get our art kits. Vacation or not, Mom can't help being an art teacher.

Next thing you know, I heard a
and Mom and Dad were drinking champagne and talking about frequent-flier miles, and Matt and I were drinking ginger ale and drawing tulips.

Matt, by the way, is a horrible artist.

Mom used to look at his pictures and say things like, “I love the colors you chose! Tell me about this.” Well, trust me. “Tell me about this” is art-teacher language for “I have no clue what this big messy blob is. A car? A dog? Give me a hint!”

Matt never even got offended. He'd just patiently explain his pathetic picture to her. “Here's the dinosaur and here's the rocket ship and here's the moon and here's the sun.”

And you know what? Mom never said, “There were no rocket ships in dinosaur days!” or “You can't stick the moon next to the sun!” Never. Not once. Mom said, “The moon next to the sun! Oh Matt, that's soooo creative!”

Matt still stinks at drawing, but at least now you can tell what he's trying to draw. It's not a total guessing game.

Me, I'm an excellent artist, if I do say so myself. I think I'm as good as Cecily.

Mom thinks I should always carry a sketch pad. I like carrying a diary instead.

Anyway, we sketched and sketched and colored and colored, and then Mom put our work up in the Gallery. That's what she calls the doors of our coat closet.

“These pictures are beautiful,” she said.

I thought mine was and Matt's wasn't, but I didn't say anything. Now that they're hanging side by side, it's pretty obvious whose is better.

Tonight Mom came to tuck me in and said she loved my drawing.

“I bet you said the same exact thing to Matt,” I said. Mom smiled, so I asked, “Do you love me more than Matt?”

I ask her that a lot. I don't know why because the question annoys her and she never says yes.

Tonight, though, she was in such a good mood, she didn't get annoyed. She just kissed me and said, “I love you both with all my heart.”

She was about to leave, but I said, “You took a long time with Matt. Take a long time with me.”

So Mom sort of stroked my hair and said she thinks we're going to have a wonderful time in Holland. Then she said, “You can write a little more, but don't stay up too late, okay?”

I said I wouldn't. And see? I didn't.

Dear Diary,

Mom gave me Anne Frank:
The Diary of a Young Girl
. It was the copy that she had when she was a teenager. She said that I could read it alone or she could read it to me or both. I picked both.

Mom said Anne's story is very sad and very important
and that she'll explain it to me as we go along. Anne was a girl who had to hide during World War II to save her life. We will visit the place in Holland where she hid with her family.

Today we read just a few pages. Anne Frank started her diary on her thirteenth birthday (well, two days after) and she wrote, “I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”

Diaries are good for that.

Friends are too.

Happy Almost Independence Day,

Dear Diary,

Matt asked, “What color M&M's do you like best?”

I said, “Brown, then red, then yellow, in that order.”

“I like blue.”

“I hate blue!”

“Why?”

“Because food should not be blue, except for blueberries.”

“Blue is my
favorite
food color! Blue cotton candy and blue jelly beans and blue ice pops.”

“Yeah, well, you're a doo-doo head.” (That sort of slipped out.)

“Well, you're an E.B.S.” (That means Evil Big Sister.)

“Only because you're an A.L.B.” (That means An noying Little Brother.) “Hey, Melanie, how come Cecily hasn't been over?” Matt asked. “Are you guys in a fight?”

Out loud I said, “No.”

But inside, I started to feel… blue blue blue.

Bluely yours,

M&M