The Extremely Embarrassing Life of Lottie Brooks

Wednesday, August 11

(Day 19 of summer Vacation)

Molly has only been gone for twenty-seven and a half hours, and no one seems to have any idea how much I miss her. It feels a bit like my insides have been ripped out, sloshed around in the washing machine, then stuffed back in again.

My parents are absolutely zero help. I guess, being friendless themselves, they have no clue what it’s like to have your BFF move all the way to Australia. They just say stuff like, “You’ll make plenty of new friends in no time, Lottie.”

Like, how old do they think I am? Three? It’s not like it was in preschool, where you’d just bounce up to someone and say, “Let’s do some gluing!” then bond in-stantly over a shared tube of Elmer’s. People are mean out there!

Here’s an example of how my parents treat me like a kid: We just had drive-through McDonald’s for lunch, as a treat to “cheer me up,” and Dad tried to order me a Happy Meal! I mean . . . what was he even thinking?!

I did manage to negotiate a Big Mac meal for myself, but the annoying thing was that it just tasted horrible and dry and got stuck in my throat. Mom said maybe it was because my taste buds were finally starting to mature, but really it’s because my heart is broken. I didn’t even enjoy my milkshake that much. It had already melted a bit by the time we got home and was more milky and less ice-creamy than usual, you know? Then I got sweet-and-sour sauce down the front of my fa-vorite T-shirt, and it felt like the final nail in the coffin.

Anyway, with Molly off enjoying the sun and the surfer boys Down Under, I’ve de-cided to start writing a diary, and here it is. TA-DA!

I guess it’ll feel a bit like having someone to talk to over this long, lonely summer. I’m going to illustrate it too, because I love drawing cartoons. When I’m older, I’m going to be a comic-strip artist for a newspaper or a magazine. Might as well get some practice in while I have NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

Here is a picture of my family.

(Note: We don’t all walk around naked. It’s just that drawing clothes takes SO long and TBH I can’t be bothered.)

I guess, as parents go, mine aren’t too bad--that’s if you don’t count them nagging me about my screen time 24/7! My grubby little seven-year-old brother is another matter though. Wow, that kid is annoying. Which reminds me . . . IF YOU ARE READING THIS, TOBY, IT IS PRIVATE PROPERTY AND I WILL GET YOU!

Hmmm . . . What else can I tell you about myself?

Ahhh, I haven’t told you about my hamsters yet, have I? Here they are!

I’ve had these guys for about eight months now. They live in my room and they are a bit noisy, but I don’t really mind, as they give great advice. Sometimes I tell them about how bad my day was and they just keep going around on their wheel and cramming their cheeks full of food, as if to say, “Don’t sweat the small stuff, babe. There’s plenty of bigger stuff going on in the world right now!” and they are so right. They always make me feel better.

Best not to ask about what happened to Fuzzball the 1st and Fuzzball the 2nd though. RIP, guys.

So, yeah. That’s my life in a nutshell. I’ve been almost totally abandoned in this big, wide, scary world, and in a few weeks I’m going to have to start secondary school TOTALLY ALONE. Oh, and my name is Lottie Brooks. And I live by the sea in Bright-on, in the UK. And I’m eleven and three quarters. I guess you might like to know that too.

Thursday, August 12

I suppose you’re wondering why I only have one friend? Or maybe not, as pieces of paper don’t really wonder about things . . . But I’ll tell you anyway because that’s what you’re here for, right?

When I was four years old, I had to wear a patch to correct a lazy eye. I quite liked it at first. I used to pretend I was a pirate sailing the seven seas in search of buried treasure, and I called myself Matey McLobster Legs, which I thought was pretty funny.

That all changed when I started elementary school though. I told some of my classmates about being Matey McLobster Legs, and the nickname stuck. Soon eve-ryone was making fun of me. First it was my patch, then it was my clothes, then my freckles, then the way I spoke . . . I just never seemed to get it right.

There was one girl named Eliza, who had perfect braids every day, and she was the worst. She spread lots of horrible rumors about me.

None of it was even true. Eliza made it all up. (Mom said I was fully potty-trained by two and a half!)

I felt so lonely and confused. Why didn’t people like me? Why did I have to be the only kid in the class with an eyepatch? And just how did Eliza get her braids so stinkin’ neat?!

Then Molly joined our school and everything changed. I don’t know what I would have done without her. On her first day, she plopped down next to me with her Minnie Mouse lunch box, offered me a cheese puff, and told Eliza-with-the-perfect-braids to leave me alone. Molly was so funny and confident that she could have been friends with anyone, but she chose me.

Look at how cute we were back then.

From that moment, we were inseparable #BFFS4EVA!

But now Molly’s gone, and I’m so scared about what I’m going to do without her.

You see, other kids have things going for them--like being loud or sporty or drop-dead gorgeous. Me? I just go bright red whenever anyone talks to me. I spend most of my free time alone, drawing silly cartoons, and that’s not exactly cool, is it? I also have the most mundane mud-brown hair in the entire history of the world. If I’m honest, I’m pretty sure my hair’s to blame for most of my problems. I’d do anything to swap hair with Molly. She has incredible red curls--but the funny thing is that she hates her hair too! I don’t know. Maybe we always hate what we’ve got? Mom says I’m beautiful, but you can’t trust parents to be objective. She’d probably say that if I were an actual potato.

It’s all very well saying that I’ll make plenty of friends soon, but what my parents don’t realize is that most people don’t really want to be friends with a potato. I mean, what have potatoes got going for them? I suppose they can become fries, and fries are good . . . but I’m not sure that fries make for great conversationalists.

Friday, August 13

WhatsApp conversation with Molly:

ME: Hey, BFF. I miss you soooooooooooooooooo much! How’s it going over there?

MOLLY: I miss you mooooooooooore!! It’s OK. Haven’t seen any cute surfer boys yet though. They all look pretty much like they do in England.

ME: That sucks. You’ve only been there a day though, so maybe they’re just hid-ing?!

MOLLY: I guess. It’s also pretty hot, even though it’s supposed to be winter. No idea why my parents thought it would be a good idea to live in Australia when our fami-ly looks like a bunch of milk bottles wearing ginger wigs!

ME: I know. Did they not even think about the risk of skin cancer?!

MOLLY: Clearly not. I’ll probably end up dead, and then they’ll be sorry!

ME: Yeah, that’d serve them right.

MOLLY: It would!

ME: Bit extreme though . . . I’d miss you if you were dead!

MOLLY: Ahhh, I’d miss you too. Will keep slathering on the SPF 50 then (for a while at least).

ME: xxx

I had thought that chatting with Molly would cheer me up, but it just made me feel sadder than ever. I can’t believe her mom and dad had to ruin both of our lives for a “really exciting new job opportunity.”

Thought of the day:

Why do parents always put their own selfish career goals ahead of their kids’ friendships?!

Saturday, August 14

3:34 p.m.

It is now Day 22 of summer vacation and I am officially BORED TO DEATH.

I mean, that may be a slight exaggeration, but still.

I wonder if it is technically possible to die of boredom? Probably.

Nothing AT ALL has happened.

This afternoon I ate two slices of toast with Nutella and six Oreos one after the other (sorry, Mom), then I felt sick and watched some contouring tutorials on YouTube. Contouring seems like a lot of effort, but the results are impressive if you have a big nose and two hours to spare each day. Dad scolded me for being on YouTube too much because apparently it will rot my brain cells. I pointed out that Toby had been playing Minecraft all day and perhaps that wasn’t good for him ei-ther, and Dad said, “Toby’s only been playing for half an hour, and Minecraft is more educational than makeup tutorials, especially considering you aren’t even al-lowed to wear makeup!”

Toby had actually been on his iPad for, like, seven hours! You should have seen the look he gave me as soon as Dad’s back was turned.

Personally, I think Dad is in denial about his parenting capabilities and would bene-fit from a bit of contouring himself.

7:11 p.m.

Had spaghetti Bolognese for dinner and it was full of carrots. I mean, it must have been about 95 percent carrots. Why must parents try and put vegetables in every-thing? If Mom tells me one more time that carrots make you able to see in the dark, I think I might have to flush my own head down the toilet.

I said, “Mom, listen. I can’t eat this. It’s just not agreeing with my constitution.”

I thought it sounded sort of intelligent to use a big word, and it was better than saying “Ewwwww, gross!” which is what Toby does, but Mom looked like she was about to burst into tears. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, but she seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I mean, chill out. It’s just dinner.

Dad said, “Lottie, don’t be rude. Your mom’s gone to a lot of trouble to make this lovely meal, and the least you can do is sit there and eat it quietly.”

“But, Dad, I’m sorry. I just can’t. It’s making me feel all queasy.”

“Give me one good reason why you can’t eat your dinner, young lady.”

“Well, I’ve decided to go vegetarian actually!”

This is in fact something I’ve been considering for a while because I love animals. The main problem, though, is that vegetarians aren’t allowed to eat bacon, which seems terribly unfair because bacon is just SO delicious!

Dad said, “That’s funny, seeing as how you hate eating vegetables.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “I like fries and they are a vegetable. And I like tomato sauce. So these days it’s pretty easy to be a vegetarian even if you don’t like vege-tables! There’s loads you can eat.”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Ummmm, Margherita pizza.”

TBH I could quite happily live off Margherita pizza for the rest of my life.

Anyway, the most important thing I wanted to tell you about today was that I’ve come up with a plan. Drumroll, please!

Are you on the edge of your seat?

No?

Oh well.

Here goes . . .

THE PLAN: I am going to reinvent myself over the summer and become a new Lot-tie! More confident and that sort of thing, so that I can start sixth grade and be-come instantly popular and worshipped by all of my adoring fans!

Or I’d also settle for just flying under the radar but having someone to eat lunch with, so that I don’t have to stuff my sandwiches into my mouth as quickly as possi-ble, then hide in the bathroom for the rest of the period.

Will anyone actually be able to look past my potato-ness, my skinny legs, and my complete lack of social skills? We’ll see.

Sunday, August 15

5:22 p.m.

Life’s been pretty tough since I became an accidental vegetarian.

Today started badly. I woke up to the smell of bacon. Dad was cooking it down-stairs and wafting it through the house with a magazine. “Mmmmm, bacon!” he kept calling out. “Sooooo crispy and delicious!”

Sometimes I don’t know who’s the kid and who’s the grown-up around here.

I poured myself a bowl of shredded wheat and pretended to really enjoy it because I didn’t want to give Dad the satisfaction of thinking he had won.

“Mmmmm, shredded wheat!” I said, rubbing my tummy. “Sooooo nutritious and . . . brown.” But I don’t think I really convinced anyone--especially not after I nearly choked on a particularly dry mouthful.

Unfortunately for me, Dad left a spare bit of bacon out on the kitchen counter. I tried to ignore it, but it kept winking at me. I couldn’t help myself. I quickly stuffed it into a roll, covered it with ketchup, and was just about to take a massive bite when Dad jumped out from behind the fridge. He’d caught me red-handed.

Argh! Why do principles suck so much?!

I put that bacon roll down, thanking Dad graciously for his concern.

I didn’t give up. No, not me. I don’t fall at the first hurdle. I just kept charging on and on. By lunchtime I realized that no meat had passed these lips for ONE WHOLE DAY!*

*If you don’t count the fact that I ate a Slim Jim from the fridge this afternoon without thinking . . . Oops. How much meat is even in a Slim Jim anyway? I mean, maybe they are just a salami-flavored meat substitute?

Just googled it. They are THREE different kinds of meat, so possibly the least vege-tarian thing you can eat. Darn it.

As I said though, it was an accident. So: YAY! GO, ME!

6:45 p.m.

I was doing so well. I was so proud of myself.

Then Mom went and ruined it all by shouting up the stairs, “Lottie! I’m making chicken nuggets and fries for dinner. Do you want me to make you some broccoli, since you won’t be able to eat the chicken?”

I didn’t want to be difficult, so I just said, “Oh, I guess I’ll eat the chicken nuggets if you’ve already made them . . .”

“It’s fine,” she replied. “I haven’t started cooking them yet, so it’s very easy to boil veggies for you instead.”