This is what Laurel is writing in her diary:
I hate my mum.
She sucks.
She looks like a whore.
I wish she would act her age, instead of trying to be cool.
She thinks for a moment, then adds:
I hate boys, too.
They suck.
Especially Bryan Whittaker.
She looks over what she has written, then scribbles it all out. The words are too frank, too bold, too...she can’t imagine anyone else except for herself reading them. It’s a diary. No one else is supposed to read it. Duh. But somehow the words just seem so wrong sitting there on paper for all the world to see.
She thinks about this for a moment, about diaries, then she rewrites everything, and she adds:
And I also hate Milo.
He is a jerk.
And a moron.
He is extremely overrated.
And what kind of buffoon is named Milo, anyways?
She doesn’t scribble this paragraph out because it says exactly what she wants to say.
And...I hate my name.
It sounds like Laura and Corel mixed together.
Ew.
If my mum wasn’t such a bad-baby-naming-whore, I wouldn’t be named Laurel.
I would be named something nice and pretty, like Isabella, or Elizabeth.
But then again, would I really be me, then?
Pondering this, she sets down her pen and gets up from her bedroom floor where she has been leaning against her bed. She crosses the room slowly to the window seat and looks outside, at the birds in the tree outside her window. Oh well, at least I have a window seat.
A knock comes at her door, disturbing her thoughts. A voice follows the knock. “Laurel, sweetums, Milo is here.”
“Bah,” Laurel says quietly.
“Don’t you want to come down and say hello to Milo, honeybunch?”
“No.”
Minutes later, she is downstairs, staring at Milo. He is wearing a suit. He has his arm around Laurel’s mother. They are smiling. They are happy. They’re probably thinking about the smooching they’ll do later.
“Laurel, I brought you a present.”
“Bah.”
“It’s a necklace.”
Now the buffoon is holding a small jewelry box out for her. It is gray and velvety looking. Fake velvet, of course, because Milo is just that classy.
“Open the box, Laurel.” As if there was anything else she could do with the box.
It is a necklace. Surprise! It’s silver with some sort of green pendant in the middle. It’s not pretty in any way. In fact, it’s hideous.
“Say thank-you, Laurel.”
“Thank you.”
“It was nothing.” The big doofus is grinning at her. “You are very special to me. You both are. I hope you realize how much you mean to me.”
Laurel’s mum looks at Milo as though he is God. They kiss. Laurel looks away. It is disgusting. How can she kiss him? His stubble looks scratchy, and his teeth look yellow. Even his suit looks moth-eaten.
“You are so sweet,” Laurel’s mum says to Milo, tweaking his nose. They giggle. Milo is not an attractive giggler. He snorts when he giggles. His giggle sounds like a pig choking on some corn.
“Laurel, why don’t you give Milo a hug?”
Laurel looks away again. She looks at a spot on the wall. It is brown. It is from a time when she and her best friend had a food fight and her friend threw a chocolate cake at her and it hit the wall. It was a funny time, but not when her mother saw the cake crumbled on the carpet.
Milo has his arms outstretched and is reaching for her. She squirms and tries to get away, but soon she is pressed up against his big, smelly body—which isn’t so smelly after all—and his big arms are around her.
And she is surprised.
He is warm, like a big teddy bear. He smells like peppermint and a musty, manly smell that she cannot identify. She can feel his heart beating through his suit jacket, and he gives her a small squeeze before letting her go.
Then he looks into her eyes. His eyes are a rich, chocolate brown, like liquid stones. They are filled with hope and sadness and nervousness. In that moment, an understanding passes between them. He gives her a small smile.
And she smiles back.
