Too Good to Be True Read online

  © 2014 by Laurie Friedman

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

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  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 12/17.

  Typeface provided by Linotype AG.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Friedman, Laurie B., 1964–

  Too good to be true / by Laurie Friedman.

  pages cm. — (The mostly miserable life of April Sinclair ; #2)

  Summary: Diaries entries record eighth-grader April’s attempts to fix

  her friendships new and old.

  ISBN 978–1–4677–0926–2 (trade hard cover : alk. paper)

  ISBN 978–1–4677–2422–7 (eBook)

  [1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction.

  3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Diaries—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.F89773To 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2013026434

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1 – BP – 7/15/14

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-2422-7 (pdf)

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-4034-0 (ePub)

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-4033-3 (mobi)

  This is a new year. A new beginning. And things will change.

  —Taylor Swift

  Tuesday, August 13, 9:47 P.M.

  I’d call 911

  If they could help

  They can’t

  Today was an unfortunate mix of surprisingly good and the kind of bad you never quite get over. I’d start with the good, but I’m so traumatized by tonight’s horrible ending that it’s all I can think about. It was the most embarrassing moment to date of my thirteen-year-almost-four-month existence, which is saying a lot, because I’ve suffered a lot of embarrassing moments. But they all pale in comparison to what happened tonight. I’ll get to the beginning of the story in a minute, but the main point is that my best friend heard, smelled, and practically saw my dad take a dump.

  It was even more horrible than it sounds.

  The whole thing started this afternoon when my mom called Brynn’s mom to see if the Stephenses wanted to go with us to try the Crawfish Cafe. It’s not that often that anything opens in Faraway, Alabama, especially a new restaurant, so everyone was excited to try it. Particularly Dad. Actually, he was more than excited. In the car on the way to the restaurant, he was literally blabbering the whole way about the restaurant business and how hard it is to get it right, and how the Crawfish Cafe originated in New Orleans and is a big hit there. “I’m anxious to see what they did with the place,” he told Mom.

  May and June and I were in the backseat. May leaned forward. “Dad, why do you care what they did with the place?”

  “Yeah, Dad, why do you care what they did with the place?” repeated June.

  Dad smiled into the rearview mirror and shrugged like he suddenly didn’t want to seem so anxious. “They’re our competition now,” he explained. “There are a limited number of dining-out dollars in Faraway, and I want to make sure I know what the Love Doctor Diner is up against.”

  Now that Dad owns a restaurant, I get why he thought it was important to check out the competition. What I didn’t get was how weird he acted once we got to the Crawfish Cafe.

  The minute we sat down, Dad started ordering food like he had a serious case of the munchies. “We’ll have the crawfish,” Dad said with a smile. He ordered it every way they offered it. Boiled. Sautéed. Étouffée. Gumbo. Beignets.

  Mom gave Dad her I-don’t-think-that’s-such-a-good-idea look, but Dad kept going.

  “We’d also like the fried shrimp, the crab bisque, and the lobster pie,” he told the waitress.

  She raised an eyebrow. Brynn’s parents looked at each other. “We can come back, Rex,” Mom said gently.

  But Dad was a train that couldn’t be stopped. He ordered sides and salads like the end of the world was near.

  When the food came, Dad was even more jacked than when he ordered. He was eating everything, and he wasn’t even talking to anyone at the table. Food was going in. Crumbs were flying out. People at the next table were staring at him.

  I could tell Mom thought he should slow down. “Owning and managing the diner can be stressful,” she said to the Stephenses like that justified his behavior. But I knew what she was really trying to do was send Dad a message to STOP EATING LIKE A PIG! Even my little sisters thought he was over the top.

  “Dad, you better slow down or you’re going to get a tummy ache,” said May.

  “Yeah, Dad, you’re going to get a tummy ache,” repeated June. I don’t like how, at age seven, June continues to repeat everything she hears, but she was justified in saying what she did.

  I decided to ignore the human shovel at our table and started talking to Brynn about eighth grade, which starts next Monday. At some point while Brynn and I were discussing what shoes we wanted to get, Dad left the table. I didn’t know where he was going. I was just relieved he was taking his hyper energy with him. I think everyone else was too.

  “April, how do you feel about starting eighth grade?” Brynn’s dad asked me. Brynn and I have been best friends since kindergarten, and Mr. Stephens always calls me his other daughter.

  “It has to be better than being in sixth or seventh grade,” I told him. He laughed like he understood where I was coming from.

  Then Brynn said she’s excited for this year because she’s the editor of the school paper and can’t wait to “speak the journalistic truth,” and then our moms jumped in, saying that they can’t believe we’re in our last year of middle school. Brynn’s mom actually got teary-eyed as they were talking. That’s when Brynn pinched my leg, which I knew was my cue for us to get up and go to the bathroom.

  It’s also when my nightmare began.

  Brynn and I left the table and went down the hall to the door that had a big sign that said Crawladies. Right when we walked in, there was a terrible smell. I actually thought I might pass out. I pointed to the stall where it was coming from, and Brynn waved her hand in front of her nose, trying to clear her airspace.

  Then we heard a sound—more like a string of sounds. A grunt, a few groans, and then . . . I don’t even want to write this. The person in the stall had terrible diarrhea, and Brynn and I heard the whole thing. I looked at Brynn. Even though the bathroom smelled disgusting, it was pretty funny listening to what was coming out of the stall. Brynn put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. I tried to cover my mouth too, but I started laughing. I couldn’t stop myself. “We should go,” I tried to say quietly to Brynn, but I guess it wasn’t quiet enough because the other person in the bathroom heard me.

  “April?” said a voice from inside the stall. I froze. It was bad enough that the voice coming from inside the stall said my name. But it was even worse that the voice seemed to be coming from a man. A man I know!

  Brynn’s jaw dropped. “April, is that your dad?” she said.

  And the next thing I knew, he walked out of the stall and there we all were. Me, my best friend, and my dad who’d just had a serious case of the runs. He seemed confused. “What are you girls doing in the men’s room?” he asked.

  Brynn was speechless. I wasn’t! “Dad, this is the
ladies room! The sign on the door said Crawladies.”

  My dad actually nodded and sort of half-smiled like that explanation made sense. “I guess I was in too big of a hurry. I thought the sign said Crawdaddies. I’m sorry, girls,” he said. Then he turned on the faucet to wash his hands, like that apology could make up for what just happened.

  But here’s a fact: there’s nothing he could have done (or can ever do) that could make up for what happened in the ladies room tonight!

  I mean, in what world (except for mine) does your dad eat too much, crap his brains out in front of your best friend, and then act like it was no big deal? Shouldn’t a responsible father of three know NOT to do that sort of thing? And who eats so much so fast that they don’t even take the time to read a simple sign? I was mortified and horribly grossed out and still am. Brynn was too. She’s my best friend, but even a friend who has been around as long as she has shouldn’t have to experience what she did. I just have two words to describe tonight: IT STUNK!

  10:09 P.M.

  I was so upset that I forgot to write about the surprisingly good thing that happened today: Billy and I had our one-month anniversary! Billy texted me early this morning (at 6:04 A.M. to be exact) to say happy anniversary. What he actually texted was “Hey BFGF, guess who I thought of as soon as I woke up? Can’t believe it has been a month.”

  If most boys texted something like that, especially at 6:04 in the morning, it would seem kind of stalkerish. But it didn’t seem creepy at all when it came from Billy. It seemed like he meant it, and that’s what’s so cool about Billy. He’s fine saying exactly what he feels. Like calling me his Best Friend Girl Friend and saying, “Who wouldn’t want both rolled into one?” I love that he thinks about me that way. I also love how we celebrated our anniversary.

  We went on a bike ride and then for ice cream, and when we got back to Billy’s house, he gave me the giant-sized Hershey’s kiss his parents brought him back from their trip to New York this summer. “All my kisses are for you, April Sinclair,” he said. Then he kissed me and laughed.

  It made me laugh too. I knew he was just joking around, but it was sweet. “You’re so weird,” I said.

  Billy poked me in the ribs, which tickled. “Weird in a good way, I hope.”

  I nodded, smiling. Then Billy said he had another present for me. He gave me a stuffed bear with a big yellow bow around its neck. “We’re going to call him Rat,” Billy said.

  “What kind of name is that for a bear?” I asked.

  “It’s a perfect name for this bear because it looks more like a rat than a bear. And the other name I thought of, Mr. Snuggles, didn’t suit him at all.”

  I looked at the bear and saw exactly what he meant. “Why would you give me a bear that looks like a rat?” I asked Billy.

  “Any guy could give you a bear that looks like a bear, but where would you ever find another boyfriend that would give you a bear that looks like a rat?”

  It made perfect sense, and at that moment, sitting on Billy’s bed, I knew I loved Rat and I knew I loved having a boyfriend who doesn’t do what most people do.

  Friday, August 16, 6:45 P.M.

  Just home from Gaga’s

  My grandmother called an emergency family meeting this afternoon. Everyone in my family dropped whatever it was they were doing and rushed to her house, where she announced that her bridge group had decided it was time to do something different, so they started the Happiness Movement. “We’re on a crusade to help people find their inner peace,” Gaga said.

  I didn’t see how Gaga and her lady friends could suddenly become poster children for happiness, and I don’t think anyone else did either. “It sounds like a weird cult,” said my cousin Harry, who’s in tenth grade and is probably a two out of ten on the happiness scale.

  “I think she’s starting to lose it,” mumbled my Uncle Dusty.

  “Mom, do you need to go to a hospital?” asked my Aunt Lila, getting up to take a closer look at Gaga.

  “Why do we all need to be here?” my Uncle Drew wanted to know. He stood up, ready to leave.

  Gaga asked us all to sit and then started answering our questions. “I’ve never felt better,” she said. “And the last thing I need is a hospital. The reason I wanted all of my children and grandchildren here for this announcement is because what I’m about to say affects each one of you personally.”

  I have two aunts, two uncles, four first cousins, and two sisters plus my own parents, and I could tell that not one of these people had any clue how Gaga’s announcement affected them personally. But we didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “My dear family, I’ve been playing the same card game with the same ladies for the last twenty-three years, and it took us all this time to discover the meaning of life, which is that everyone should be happy.”

  My Uncle Dusty looked at my Uncle Drew and rolled his eyes. I think they both feel like they took on a crazy lady in Gaga when they married my aunts, and to be fair, their views are somewhat warranted.

  My cousin Harry raised his hand. “How can you just be happy?” he asked.

  But Gaga had an explanation for that too. “Choose to be positive,” said Gaga. “Positive attitude plus positive action makes you part of the Happiness Movement.” Then she told us that out of the goodness of her heart and her inherent faith in each of us to lead our lives in a positive manner, she was going to go ahead and make everyone in our family members of the Happiness Movement.

  Harry told Gaga he didn’t want to be a member especially if there were any hidden membership fees or weird initiation rituals, but Gaga assured him there were no fees, only free T-shirts. With that, Gaga opened up a big box that was sitting on her dining room table and started taking out bright yellow T-shirts with a big happy face on the front and lettering on the back that said, “Proud member of the Happiness Movement.”

  She made us all put them on before we left, but no one was happy about it.

  “I hate bright yellow,” said my cousin Amanda.

  Uncle Drew shook his head like there was no way he was wearing that T-shirt.

  Even my aunts and my mom, who always try to be patient with Gaga, weren’t too happy about it. “Mom, don’t you think this is a bit much?” Aunt Lilly asked.

  But Gaga just said, “Part of being positive is ignoring the naysayers.” Then she announced that my cousins Charlotte and Izzy were to accompany her on Saturday to Winn-Dixie, where she and the other members of the Happiness Movement will be spreading their message of positivity.

  As we left, Gaga asked each one of us to please say what we were happy about. I told her I’d have to get back to her on that one. I didn’t think she’d like hearing that what I was happy about was that I didn’t have to go to Winn-Dixie with Charlotte and Izzy on Saturday.

  Sunday, August 18, 10:45 P.M.

  Where I am: at my desk

  Where I should be: in my bed

  I can’t sleep. School starts in the morning, and even though my brain doesn’t have to officially start thinking until 8:30 A.M. tomorrow, it’s working overtime right now. So many thoughts are flying through my head. Mostly, what this year will be like. I really want it to be good, but it’s hard to imagine it will be when I think about how badly seventh grade ended.

  It’s like a loop that keeps playing in my head.

  Billy kissed me. I told Brynn. She got mad, but she got over it. Billy found out I told Brynn, and he got mad. Then Matt Parker (who had just moved in next door) kissed me. To top things off, my parents made me stay home from camp and go on a family vacation, because they didn’t like the way I was acting. Billy and Brynn went to camp without me, and I had no clue what they were doing or saying or what things would be like when they got back. But then they came home, and everything with Brynn was cool, and Billy asked me to be his girlfriend. It was like I snapped my fingers and everything instantly changed from bad to good and it’s been mostly that way ever since.

  I think about what Gaga said abou
t being part of the Happiness Movement. It sounds kind of stupid, but I’ve actually been happy for the past month, and it would be nice to stay that way. But how do you do that? Is there a way to make this a good year? If I have a positive attitude and act positively, will I just stay happy?

  The good news is that I have things to be happy about, like a great boyfriend, a great best friend, and two boobs that are the same size. This wasn’t always the case. About two weeks ago, I went to bed one night and it’s like my left boob decided to catch up with my right one while I was sleeping.

  I credit my sister June and Greek yogurt for this awesome change. June told me she read that Kim Kardashian eats Greek yogurt. Why my seven-year-old sister was reading anything about Kim Kardashian, I don’t know. But when June told me Kim eats yogurt, I did a very simple analysis.

  Kim has a big butt (in a good way).

  Kim eats yogurt.

  I have no butt.

  I eat no yogurt.

  I want a butt like Kim’s.

  I need to eat yogurt.

  It made perfect sense. So I started eating Greek yogurt every morning for breakfast. It didn’t give me the butt I was hoping for, but my left boob caught up with my right one and the only thing that changed was what I was eating.

  I should take this as a sign that my life has turned a corner and I’m entering the happy phase. Maybe there’s an old me and a new me. The old me would have worried that writing that sort of thing would bring me bad luck. But the new me just needs to stay positive and believe that if I do, good things will happen. Why not? My boob grew! What are the odds of that? Maybe when someone goes through a phase like I did this summer where everything went wrong, whoever it is that’s dishing out the things-going-wrong stuff realizes you’ve had your share and it’s time to move on to someone else.

  Who knows? But that’s my theory and I, April Elizabeth Sinclair, am sticking with it.

  Up, Up, Up!

  It’s going to be a big, big, big day!