The Nightmare Room #5: Dear Diary, I'm Dead (Nightmare Room)
Book Jacket

Rating: 

Tags: 
Fiction, General, Social Issues, Juvenile Fiction, Ages 9-12 Fiction, Children's Books, Social Issues - General, Children: Grades 3-4, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories, Horror & Ghost Stories, Horror stories, Diaries, Gambling, Horror fiction

	EDITORIAL REVIEW:
	You hold in your hand the key to a shadow world of shivers and screams. Take a step away from the safe, comfortable world you know. Unlock the door to terror. There's always room for one more in...*The Nightmare Room.*
	That's Alex Smith rushing past you, hurrying home to check out his journal. Why? Because Alex has never written a word in his journal, but yesterday, a mysterious entry appeared in te book—one that told Alex about the future. Alex can't wait to read the journal tonight to find out if there's anything new inside. Too bad he doesn't realize that be opening that book, he's opening the door to...*The Nightmare Room.*
	What will you find in *The Nightmare Room* next time? Check out book 6: *They Call Me Creature.*

	
	Go ahead and scream. 
	No one can hear you. You’re no
	longer in the safe world you know. 
	You’ve taken a terrifying step . . . 
	into the darkest corners of your
	imagination. 
	You’ve opened the door to . . . 

	Dear Diary, 
	I’m Dead
	R.L . S T I N E
	AVON BOOKS
	An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers
	Dear Diary, I’m Dead
	Copyright © 2000 by Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. 
	Go Deeper Into This Nightmare . . . © 2000 Parachute Publishing, L.L.C. 
	All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in 
	any manner whatsoever without written permission except in 
	the case of brief quotations embodied in critical 
	articles or reviews. 
	R.L. Stine asserts the moral right 
	to be identified as the author of this work. 
	Adobe Acrobat E-reader edition v 1. March 2001 ISBN 0-06-624006-9
	First print edition, 2000. ISBN 0-06-44093-1. 
	Welcome... 
	Hello, I’m R.L. Stine. Do you ever wish you could
	see into the future? Would it make you happy to
	know what questions are on tomorrow’s history test? 
	Or which team is going to win the basketball game
	Friday night? 
	Knowing the future made Alex Smith very happy. 
	You see, Alex has a bad habit. He likes to make bets
	with his friends. 
	One day, Alex finds a very special diary. The diary
	tells Alex the future—all he needs to know to win
	every bet. 
	Alex thinks he’s lucky. 
	But sometimes it doesn’t help to know the future. 
	Sometimes the future holds some terrifying surprises. 
	You see, when Alex opened the cover to the diary, he
	opened the door . . . to THE NIGHTMARE ROOM. 
	v
	Contents
	One
	Two
	Three
	Four
	Five
	Six
	Seven
	Eight
	Nine
	Ten
	Eleven
	Twelve
	Thirteen
	Fourteen
	Fifteen
	Sixteen
	Seventeen
	Eighteen
	Nineteen
	Twenty
	Twenty-one
	Twenty-two
	Twenty-three
	Twenty-four
	Twenty-five
	Twenty-six
	Twenty-seven
	Twenty-eight
	Twenty-nine
	Thirty
	Go Deeper into this Nightmare . . . 
	About the Author
	Take a Look at What’s Ahead
	Credits
	About the Publisher
	
	DEAR DIARY, 
	My hands are shaking so badly, I don’t know if I
	can write in you today. I was so scared last night. I’m
	still trembling. 
	Maybe I should start at the beginning. You know
	my friends Chip and Shawn and I have been talking
	about camping out in Full Moon Woods for nearly a
	year. Well, last night we finally did it. 
	What a mistake! 
	We thought it was going to be cool. We loaded all
	our gear into my dad’s van, and he dropped us off at
	the dirt path that leads into the woods. 
	“Stick to the path, Alex,” Dad called. “It will lead
	you to the creek. I’ll pick you up right here tomorrow
	morning.” The tires spun in the dirt as he drove
	away. 
	It was a cloudy afternoon. As soon as we stepped
	into the woods, it grew even darker. Our backpacks
	were bulging. And the canvas tent weighed a ton. 
	1
	But we didn’t mind. We were finally on our own
	in the woods. We walked quickly, following the path, 
	making our way toward the creek. 
	Shawn started to sing an old Beatles song. Chip
	and I joined in. I loved the way our voices echoed off
	the trees. 
	“We should have brought our guitars,” I said. All
	three of us play guitar, and we’re starting a band. 
	Chip laughed. “Great idea, Alex. Where would we
	plug them in?” 
	“We’d need a very long extension cord!” I replied. 
	We were laughing and singing, enjoying the fresh
	cool air and the crunch of our shoes over the carpet
	of fat brown leaves. 
	The path ended, but we kept walking. I was pretty sure the creek was straight ahead. It grew even
	darker, and a cold wind swirled around us. 
	We walked for at least an hour before we realized
	we were totally lost. 
	“We should be able to hear the creek,” Shawn
	said. He set down his backpack and stretched. 
	“Where is it? Did we go in the right direction?” 
	“We’ll never find it now,” Chip sighed. “It’s too
	dark.” 
	A gust of wind sent dead leaves flying all around
	us. “Are there bears in these woods?” Shawn asked. 
	He sounded a little frightened. 
	“No. But there are bunny rabbits that can chew
	you to bits!” I joked. 
	2
	Chip laughed but Shawn didn’t. I shivered and
	wrapped my yellow windbreaker tighter around me. 
	“Which way is the path?” Shawn asked, turning
	back. He pointed. “Is that the way we came? Maybe
	we should go back that way.” 
	A hooting sound made me jump. A bird on a low
	tree branch. It hooted again, peering down at us. 
	“I don’t want to go back,” I said. “Let’s keep
	going. The creek is this way. I know it.” 
	But Shawn and Chip wanted to stay right there
	and pitch the tent. It wasn’t a bad place. A circle of
	tall grass surrounded by tall trees. So I agreed. 
	We tossed our backpacks in a pile and started to
	unroll the tent. 
	That’s when I had the feeling for the first time—
	the feeling that we were being watched. 
	I felt a prickling on the back of my neck. I heard
	a snapping sound behind us, like someone stepping
	on dry twigs. 
	I spun around. But I didn’t see anyone. The trees
	tilted toward each other, as if closing in on us. 
	“What’s your problem?” Shawn asked. “Did you
	see an animal?” 
	I laughed. “Yeah. A herd of buffalo.” 
	We struggled with the tent. The gusting wind kept
	blowing it out of our hands. We finally got it to stand. 
	But then the wind kept blowing out our campfire. 
	By the time we finished dinner, it was late. All
	three of us were yawning. My shoulders ached from
	3
	carrying the heavy backpack. 
	We decided to climb into the tent and go to sleep. 
	Shawn and Chip crawled inside. I started to follow
	them—then stopped. 
	I had the strange feeling again. The prickling on
	the back of my neck. Who was watching us? 
	I squinted through the misty darkness. I sucked
	in my breath when I saw dull gray circles—several
	pairs of them—floating low between the trees. 
	Eyes? 
	I dove into the tent. We slept in our clothes under
	wool blankets. The wool felt scratchy. The tent was
	damp from dew. 
	We couldn’t sleep. We started to tell each other
	jokes. We were kidding around and laughing a lot. 
	But we stopped laughing when the howls started. 
	They were low at first, like ambulance sirens far
	in the distance. But then they sounded closer, louder. 
	And we knew they were animal howls. 
	“I . . . hope it’s dogs!” Shawn exclaimed. “Maybe
	it’s just some wild dogs.” 
	We huddled close together. We all knew we
	weren’t hearing dogs. We were hearing wolf howls. 
	So close. . . . So close we could hear the harsh, 
	shallow breaths between the howls. 
	And then the soft crunch of footsteps outside the
	tent. 
	They were here! The howling creatures! The tent
	flap blew open. 
	4
	My friends and I let out screams. 
	Two men in black leather jackets leaned down to
	peer into our tent. One of them raised a flashlight. He
	moved the light slowly from face to face. “Are you
	kids okay?” he asked. 
	“Wh-who are you?” I asked. 
	“Forest Patrol,” the other man said. 
	“Yeah. Right. Forest Patrol,” his partner repeated. 
	They both stared at us so hard. Their eyes were
	cold, not friendly at all. 
	“The woods really aren’t safe,” the man with the
	flashlight said. “Not safe at all.” 
	His partner nodded. “First thing in the morning, 
	you should get yourselves to the road. It’s right up
	there.” He pointed. 
	We promised we would. We thanked them for
	checking on us. 
	But I didn’t like the way they stared. They didn’t
	look like forest rangers. And as soon as they left, the
	frightening howls started up again. Howls all around
	us. 
	We didn’t sleep at all that night. We lay awake, 
	staring up at the tent walls, listening to the animal
	howls. 
	The next morning, as soon as sunlight began
	trickling down through the trees, we jumped up. We
	hurried out of the tent and began to pack. 
	I started to fold up the tent—but stopped when I
	saw something strange on the ground. “Hey—!” I
	5
	called out to Chip and Shawn. “Look!” 
	I pointed to the footprints in the soft dirt. Two
	pairs that led from the woods to the front of our tent. 
	The Forest Rangers’ prints. 
	All three of us stared, stared in shock and horror. 
	Their prints weren’t human. They were animal
	paws. 
	Animal paws in the dirt. 
	Wolf prints! 
	6
	
	“Alex, is any of that true?” Miss Gold asked. 
	I rolled the pages of my story between my hands. 
	“No,” I told her. “I made it all up.” 
	“You and Chip and Shawn never went camping?” 
	she asked, peering at me over the rims of her glasses. 
	“No. Never,” I said. 
	“He’s afraid of poison ivy!” Chip called out. 
	The whole class laughed. 
	“He’s afraid of trees!” another kid chimed in. 
	The whole class laughed even harder. 
	“He’s afraid of bugs!” Shawn added. 
	No one laughed at that. No one ever laughs at
	Shawn’s jokes. He’s a good guy, but he just isn’t
	funny. 
	“Well, that is an excellent short story,” Miss Gold
	said. “One of the best we’ve heard this week. Thank
	you for sharing it with the class, Alex. Very good
	work.” 
	She waved me back to my seat. But I didn’t move
	7
	from the front of the classroom. “Aren’t you going to
	tell me my grade?” I crossed my fingers behind my
	back. 
	“Oh. Right.” Miss Gold pushed the glasses up on
	her nose. “I’ll give you a B-plus.” 
	“Huh?” I let out a groan. “Not an A?” 
	“B-plus,” she repeated. 
	“But—why?” I demanded. 
	She brushed her blond hair off her forehead. 
	“Well . . . you did very well with the plot. But I think
	you need to work on describing your characters 
	better. We don’t really know what Chip and Shawn
	look like—do we?” 
	“But they’re sitting right there!” I protested, pointing at my two friends. “You know what they look 
	like!” 
	“Real ugly!” a kid shouted from the back of the
	room. 
	Big laughter. 
	But I wasn’t laughing. I needed an A. 
	“You need to describe them in the story,” Miss
	Gold continued. “And we don’t know what’s different
	about them. You didn’t give them real personalities.” 
	“But—” I started. 
	“And I think you need more description of the
	woods,” she said. “More detail. You know, Alex, the
	more little details you add to a story, the more real it 
	becomes.” 
	Tessa Wayne was waving her hand frantically in
	8
	the air. “There’s something I don’t understand,” she
	said. “If the two men were wolves, where did they get
	the leather jackets? I mean, they were completely
	dressed, right? But they’re wolves? And how did they
	get the flashlight?” 
	“Good questions, Tessa,” Miss Gold said. 
	I rolled my eyes. Tessa always asks the good
	questions. That’s why I hate her guts. 
	“The men were werewolves,” I explained, sighing. 
	“Not regular wolves.” 
	“Well, the bell is about to ring,” Miss Gold said, 
	gazing up at the wall clock. She turned back to me. 
	“I just had an idea. You did such a good job with the
	diary format. I mean, writing your story as a diary
	entry was very clever.” 
	“Thanks,” I said weakly. So why didn’t she give
	me an A? 
	“You should keep a real diary, Alex,” she continued. “Write in it every day. You can hand it in at 
	the end of the year for extra credit.” 
	“Really?” I said. “Okay. Thanks.” 
	I saw Tessa’s hand fly up. I knew what she was
	going to say. 
	“Miss Gold, I want to start a diary too. Can I do
	a diary for extra credit?” 
	“Yes,” Miss Gold replied. “Anyone in class can
	keep a diary. Very good idea.” 
	The bell rang. 
	I hurried to my seat and started to shove my story
	9
	into my backpack. I felt a sharp tap on my back. I
	knew who it was. 
	“Pay up, Alex,” Tessa said. She stuck her hand in
	front of my face. 
	“Excuse me?” I tried to play innocent. 
	“Pay up,” she insisted. “You bet me five dollars
	you’d get an A on that story. You lost.” 
	“A B-plus is almost an A,” I said. 
	She waved the hand in my face. “Pay up.” 
	I reached into my jeans pocket. “But . . . I only
	have three dollars,” I said. 
	“Then why did you bet me?” Tessa demanded. 
	“You know you never win a bet against me. You
	always lose.” 
	“Wait a sec,” I said. I caught up with Chip and
	Shawn at the door. “Pay up,” I said, blocking their
	way. 
	They both groaned. Then they reached into their
	pockets, and each of them handed me a dollar bill. 
	I hurried back to Tessa. “Okay, I’ve got the five,” 
	I said. I handed it to her. 
	“What was that about?” she asked, motioning 
	toward Chip and Shawn. 
	“I bet them each a dollar that after you heard my
	story, you’d want to write in a diary too.” 
	Tessa blushed. Her cheeks turned an angry red. 
	“Big deal,” she muttered. “So you won two bucks
	from your friends. But you’re such a loser, Alex. Now
	you’re totally broke—right?” 
	10
	I pulled out my pockets. Empty. “Yeah. I’m
	broke.” 
	Tessa grinned. “I love making bets with you,” she
	said. She held the money up in front of my face and
	counted the five dollars one by one. “It’s like taking
	candy from a baby.” 
	“Wait a minute—” I told her. 
	An idea had flashed into my mind. An awesome
	idea. An idea that would turn me from a loser into a
	winner. 
	“I want to make one more bet with you,” I told
	Tessa. “A really big bet.” 
	11
	
	“You did what?” Shawn screamed. “Alex, are you 
	totally whacked?” 
	“I’m going to win this one,” I said. 
	“But you never win a bet with Tessa,” Chip said. 
	“How could you bet a hundred dollars?” 
	We were in Chip’s garage after school, tuning up
	our guitars. The garage had only one electrical outlet, 
	so we could plug in only two amps. That meant that
	one of us had to play acoustic, even though we all
	had electric guitars. 
	“I won’t need a hundred dollars,” I said, “because
	I’m going to win.” 
	Sproinnnng. 
	I broke a string. I let out a groan. “I’ll just play
	without it,” I muttered. 
	Shawn shook his head. “You’re crazy, Alex. After
	what happened with McArthur and the flag . . .” 
	“That was a sure thing!” I cried. “I should have
	won that bet!” 
	12
	Just thinking about it made me angry. 
	A few weeks ago, I made a deal with Mr. 
	McArthur. He’s one of the janitors at school. Except
	he’s not called a janitor. He’s called a maintenance
	engineer. 
	McArthur is a nice guy. He and I kid around
	sometimes. So I made a deal with him. 
	He raises the flag every morning on the flagpole
	in front of our school. So I paid him five dollars to
	raise it upside down on Wednesday morning. 
	Then I dragged Tessa to school early and bet her
	ten dollars that he would raise the flag upside down. 
	“You’re crazy, Alex,” Tessa said, rolling her eyes. 
	“McArthur has never slipped up like that.” 
	He will this morning, I thought happily. I started 
	planning how I’d spend Tessa’s ten bucks. 
	How was I to know that Mrs. Juarez, the principal, would arrive at school just when McArthur was
	raising the flag? 
	She came walking up the steps and saw
	McArthur. So she stopped in front of the pole, raised
	her hand to her heart, and waited to watch the flag
	go up. 
	Of course McArthur chickened out. He raised the
	flag right side up. 
	I didn’t blame him. What could he do with her
	standing right there? 
	But I had to pay Tessa the ten bucks. And then
	McArthur said he’d pay me back my five dollars in a
	13
	week or so. Not a good day. 
	“It’s my turn,” I told my two friends. “Tessa has
	won about three hundred bets in a row. So it’s definitely my turn!” 
	“But why did you bet her that your diary would
	be more exciting than hers?” Shawn asked. 
	“Because it will be,” I said. “Tessa is real smart
	and gets perfect grades. That’s because all she does
	is study. She spends all her time on homework and
	projects for extra credit. She’s so totally boring! So
	her diary can’t be exciting. No way!” 
	“Who’s going to decide whose diary is the best?” 
	Chip asked. 
	“We’re going to let Miss Gold decide,” I said. “But
	it won’t be a hard choice for her. This is one bet I’m
	not going to lose.” 
	“Want to bet?” Chip asked. 
	I squinted across the garage at him. “Excuse me?” 
	“Bet you five dollars Tessa wins this bet too.” 
	“You’re on!” I said. I slapped him a high-five. 
	“Count me in,” Shawn said. “Five bucks on
	Tessa.” 
	“You guys are real losers,” I groaned. “Let’s play. 
	What’s the first song?” 
	“How about ‘Purple Haze’?” Chip suggested. “It’s
	our best song.” 
	“It’s our only song,” I muttered. 
	We counted off, tapping our feet, and started to
	play “Purple Haze.” We played for about ten seconds, 
	14
	when we heard a loud, crackling pop. 
	The music stopped and the lights went out. 
	We’d blown the fuses again. 
	A short while later, I dragged my guitar case into
	the house. Mom greeted me at the door. “I’ve been
	waiting for you,” she said. “I have a surprise.” 
	I tossed my backpack onto the floor. Then I
	tossed my jacket on top of it. 
	“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” I said. “I’ll bet you
	five dollars it’s a puppy. You finally bought me that
	puppy I asked for when I was six?” 
	Mom shook her head. “No puppy. You know your
	dad is allergic.” 
	“He can breathe at work,” I said. “Why does he
	have to breathe at home?” 
	Mom laughed. She thinks I’m a riot. She laughs
	at just about everything I say. 
	“I’ll bet five dollars it’s . . . a DVD player!” I
	exclaimed. 
	Mom shook her head. “No way, Alex. And stop
	betting every second. That’s such a bad habit. Is that
	why you’re broke all the time?” 
	I didn’t answer that question. “What’s the surprise?” I asked. 
	“Come on. I’ll show you.” Mom pulled me
	upstairs to my bedroom. I could see she was excited. 
	She moved behind me and pushed me into the
	room. “Check it out, Alex!” 
	15
	I stared at the big desk against the wall. It was
	made of dark wood and it had two rows of drawers
	on the sides. 
	I stepped up to it. The desktop had a million little
	scratches and cracks in it. 
	“It’s . . . it’s old!” I said. 
	“Yes, it’s an antique,” Mom replied. “Your dad
	and I found it at that little antiques store on
	Montrose near the library.” 
	I ran my hand over the old wood. Then I sniffed
	a couple of times. “It’s kind of smelly,” I murmured. 
	“It won’t be smelly after we polish it up,” Mom
	said. “It will be like new. It’s a beautiful old desk. So
	big and roomy. You’ll have space for your computer
	and your PlayStation, and all your homework supplies.” 
	“I guess,” I said. 
	Mom gave me a playful shove. “Just say ‘Thank
	you, Mom. It’s a nice surprise. I really needed a desk
	like this.’” 
	“Thank you, Mom,” I repeated. “It’s a nice surprise. I really needed a desk like this.” 
	She laughed. “Go ahead. Sit down. Try it out.” 
	She wheeled a new desk chair over to the desk. It
	was chrome with red leather. 
	“What an awesome chair!” I said. “Does it tilt
	back? Does it go up and down?” 
	“Yes, it does everything,” Mom said. “It’s a thrill
	ride!” 
	16
	“Cool!” I dropped into the chair and wheeled it
	up to the old desk. 
	The phone rang downstairs. Mom hurried to
	answer it. 
	I tilted the chair back. Then I leaned forward, 
	smoothing my hands over the desk’s dark wood. I
	wonder who owned it before me, I thought. 
	I pulled open the top desk drawer. It jammed at
	first. I had to tug hard to slide it open. The drawer
	was empty. 
	I slid open the next drawer. The next. Both empty. 
	The air inside the drawers was kind of sour smelling. 
	I leaned down and pulled open the bottom drawer. 
	“Hey—what’s that?” 
	Something hidden at the back of the drawer. A
	small, square black book. 
	I reached in and lifted it from the drawer. 
	Then I blew the thick layer of dust off the cover
	and raised it close to see what it was. 
	A diary! 
	17
	
	I stared at the dusty book, turning it over in my
	hands. What a strange coincidence! 
	I rubbed my hand over the black leather cover. 
	Then I opened the book and flipped quickly through
	the pages. 
	They were completely blank. 
	I’ll use this to write my diary for Miss Gold, I
	decided. I’ll write my first entry tonight. And I’ll write
	it in ink. Miss Gold will like that. 
	I set the diary down on the desk and thought
	about what I would write. 
	First, I’ll describe my friends, I decided. Miss
	Gold said I needed more description, more details. I
	stared at the old diary and planned what I would say. 
	I’ll start with me. How would I describe myself? 
	Well, I’m tall and kind of wiry. I have wild brown
	hair that I hate because it won’t stay down. My mom
	says I’m always fidgeting. I can’t sit still. My dad says
	I talk too fast and too much. 
	18
	What else? Hmmm . . . I’m kind of smart. I like to
	hang out with my friends and make them laugh. I’m
	a pretty good guitar player. I’d like to make a lot of
	money and get really rich because I’m always broke, 
	and I hate it. 
	That’s enough about me. What about Chip? How
	would I describe Chip? 
	Well . . . he’s short. He’s chubby. He has really
	short brown hair and a round baby face. He looks
	about six, even though he’s twelve like me. 
	Chip wears baggy clothes. He likes to wrestle
	around and pretend to fight. He’s always in a good
	mood, always ready to laugh. He’s a terrible guitar
	player, but he thinks he’s Jimi Hendrix. 
	Shawn is very different from Chip. He’s very
	intense, very serious. He worries a lot. He’s not a
	wimp or anything. He just worries. 
	Shawn has brown eyes, orangy hair that’s almost
	carrot colored, and lots of freckles. He gets better
	grades in school than Chip and me because he works
	a lot harder. 
	Who else should I describe? Do I have to describe
	Tessa? Yes, I guess I should. She’ll probably pop up
	in the diary from time to time. 
	I guess Tessa is kind of cute. But she’s so stuckup, who cares? 
	She has straight blond hair, green eyes, a turnedup nose like an elf nose, and a little red heart-shaped
	mouth. She’s very preppy and perfect-looking. 
	19
	Yes. That’s good. Tessa wants to be perfect all the
	time. And she hangs out only with girls who are just
	like her. 
	I flipped through the empty diary one more time. 
	I’m pretty good at description, I decided. I couldn’t
	wait to write this stuff down. 
	And what else should I write about? I’ll write
	about how my parents bought me a new desk, and
	how I found a blank diary in the bottom drawer just
	when I needed a diary. Very cool! 
	I leaned back in the new desk chair, very pleased
	with myself. I tilted the chair back a few times. Then
	I raised and lowered the seat, just to see how it
	worked. 
	I heard Dad come home. Then I heard Mom calling me to dinner. I tucked the diary into the top desk
	drawer and hurried down to the dining room. 
	“How’s the new desk?” Dad asked. 
	“Excellent,” I told him. “Thanks, Dad.” 
	He passed the bowl of spaghetti. “Did you have
	band practice this afternoon?” 
	“Yes, kind of,” I replied. “We blew the fuses
	again. We really need a better place to rehearse.” 
	Mom chuckled. “Your band needs a lot of things. 
	Like a singer, for example. None of you guys can sing
	a note. And how about someone who doesn’t play 
	guitar?” 
	I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the encouragement, 
	Mom.” 
	20
	Dad laughed too. “What do you call your band? 
	Strings and More Strings?” 
	“Ha-ha,” I said. Dad has such a lame sense of
	humor. He’s not even as funny as Shawn, who is
	never funny! 
	“Bet you ten dollars that we get good enough to
	win the junior high talent contest,” I said. 
	“Alex, no betting,” Mom said sternly. 
	They started talking to each other, and I concentrated on my spaghetti and turkey meatballs. We
	used to have real meatballs. But Mom became a
	health freak. And now all of our meat is made out of
	turkey. 
	After dinner, I practically flew upstairs to get 
	started on my diary. I found a black marker pen to
	write with. Then I sat down in the new desk chair
	and pulled the diary out of the drawer. 
	I’ll start with an introduction about how I found
	the diary, I decided. Then I’ll describe my friends and
	me. 
	I opened the diary to the first page. And let out a
	gasp. 
	The page had been completely blank when I
	found the book this afternoon. But now it was covered with writing. There was already a diary entry
	there! 
	At the top of the page, a date was written: Tuesday, 
	January 16. 
	“Huh?” I squinted hard at it. Today’s date was
	21
	Monday the fifteenth. 
	“This is too weird!” I said out loud. 
	A diary entry for tomorrow? 
	My eyes ran over the handwritten words. I couldn’t
	focus. I was too surprised and confused. 
	And then I uttered another gasp when I made
	another impossible discovery. 
	The diary entry was written in my handwriting! 
	A diary entry for tomorrow in my handwriting? 
	How can that be? I wondered. 
	My hands were shaking. So I set the open book
	down on the desktop. Then I leaned over it and
	eagerly started to read. 
	22
	
	DEAR DIARY, 
	The diary war has started, and I know I’m going to
	win. I can’t wait to see the look on Tessa’s face when
	she has to hand over one hundred big ones to me. 
	I ran into Tessa in the hall at school, and I
	started teasing her about our diaries. I said that
	she and I should share what we’re writing—just for
	fun. I’ll read hers, and she could read mine. 
	Tessa said no way. She said she doesn’t want
	me stealing her ideas. I said, “Whatever.” I was just
	trying to give her a break and let her see how much
	better my diary is going to be than hers. 
	Then I went into geography class, and Mrs. Hoff
	horrified everyone by giving a surprise test on

	chapter eight. No one had studied chapter eight. 
	And the test was really hard—two essay questions and twenty multiple choice. 
	Why does Mrs. Hoff think it’s so much fun to
	surprise us like that? 
	23
	The diary entry ended there. I stared at the words
	until they became a blur. 
	My hands were still shaking. My forehead was
	chilled by a cold sweat. 
	My handwriting. And it sounded like the way I
	wrote. 
	But how could that be? How did an entry for
	tomorrow get in there? 
	I read it again. Then I flipped through the book, 
	turning the pages carefully, scanning each one. 
	Blank. All blank. The rest of the pages were
	blank. 
	I turned back to tomorrow’s entry and read it for
	a third time. 
	Was it true? It couldn’t be—could it? 
	What if it is? I asked myself. What if Mrs. Hoff
	does spring a surprise test on us? Then, I’d be the 
	only one who knew about it. 
	I’d be the only one to pass the test. 
	I closed the diary and shoved it into the desk
	drawer. Then I found my geography textbook, 

	opened it to chapter eight, and studied it for the next
	two hours. 
	The next morning, I ran into Tessa in the hall 
	outside Mrs. Hoff’s room. “Nice shirt, Alex,” she
	sneered, turning up her already-turned-up nose. 
	“Did you puke on it this morning, or is that just the
	color?” 
	24
	“I borrowed it from you—remember?” I shot 
	back. Pretty good reply, huh? 
	“How is your diary coming?” Tessa asked. “Or do
	you want to give up and just pay me the hundred
	dollars now?” She waved to two of her friends across
	the hall, two girls who look just like her. 
	“My diary is going to be awesome,” I said. “I
	wrote twelve pages in it last night.” 
	I know, I know. That was a lie. I just wanted to
	see Tessa react. 
	She sneered at me. “Twelve pages? You don’t
	know that many words!” She laughed at her own
	joke. 
	“I have an idea,” I said. “Why don’t we share
	each other’s diaries?” 
	She frowned at me. “Excuse me?” 
	“I’ll read your diary, and you can read mine,” I
	said. “You know. Just for fun.” 
	“Fun?” She made a disgusted face at me, puckering up that tiny heart-shaped mouth. “No way, Alex. 
	I’m not showing you my diary. I don’t want you stealing my ideas!” 
	Oh wow. 
	Oh wow! 
	That’s just what Tessa said in the diary entry. 
	Was the diary entry coming true? Was it all really
	going to happen? 
	I suddenly felt dizzy, weak. How could a book
	predict the future? 
	25
	I shook my head hard, trying to shake the dizziness away. 
	“Alex? Are you okay?” Tessa asked. “You look so
	weird all of a sudden. What’s wrong with you?” 
	“Uh . . . nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.” 
	The bell was about to ring. I gazed into Mrs. 
	Hoff’s classroom. It was filling up with kids. 
	I turned back to Tessa. “Uh . . . you haven’t read

	chapter eight yet, have you?” I asked. 
	“No. Not yet,” Tessa replied. “Why?” 
	“No reason,” I said, trying to hide my grin. 
	I followed her into the room. I waved to Chip and
	Shawn. Then I dropped my backpack to the floor and
	slid into my seat at the back of the room. 
	Mrs. Hoff was leaning over her desk, shuffling
	through a pile of folders. She has straight black hair
	and flour-white skin, and she always wears black. 
	Some kids call her Hoff the Goth. But that doesn’t
	make sense, and it doesn’t even rhyme. 
	I sat stiffly in my seat, watching her, tapping my
	fingers tensely on the desktop. My heart started to
	race. 
	Is she going to give the test? I wondered. 
	Is the rest of the diary entry going to come true? 
	26
	
	My heart thudded in my chest. I leaned forward
	so far, I nearly fell off my seat. 
	Is she going to announce the test? Is she? 
	Gripping the desktop with both hands, I held my
	breath and watched her. 
	“Let’s all settle down now,” Mrs. Hoff said, 
	straightening one sleeve of her black sweater. “We
	are going to have a busy morning.” 
	A busy morning? What did that mean? 
	A test? 
	I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I let it out
	in a long whoosh. 
	“Please clear your desks,” Mrs. Hoff said. “Take

	out paper and pencils, everyone. We’re having a surprise test on chapter eight.” 
	“YESSSS!” I cried. 
	My shout rose up over the groans and moans of
	all the other kids. 
	Everyone turned to gape at me. 
	27
	I could feel my face growing hot. I knew that I
	was blushing. 
	Mrs. Hoff tossed back her black hair and snickered. “Since when do you like tests, Alex?” 
	“I . . . uh . . . didn’t hear you right,” I answered, 
	thinking fast. “I thought you said we were going to
	have a rest!” 
	The whole class burst out laughing. 
	I like making people laugh—but I hate being
	laughed at. At least it got me off the hook. 
	Mrs. Hoff handed around the test papers. I
	checked mine out carefully. Two essay questions and
	twenty multiple choice. 
	Yes! Just like in the diary entry. 
	It was all true. All of it! 
	The diary predicted the future. 
	Several times I had to stop myself from humming
	as I took the test. This was sweet, so sweet! I knew
	everything! It was going to be my best geography
	score ever. 
	I could hear the other kids moaning unhappily. 
	Across the room, Shawn was slapping his forehead, 
	frowning down at his test paper. 
	I finished ten minutes before the bell rang. The
	other kids were still writing like crazy, groaning in
	misery, scratching their heads. 
	When the bell rang, the room was silent. Kids
	slowly handed in their test papers. Their faces were
	green, sick looking. 
	28
	“I flunked it,” Chip sighed out in the hall. “I totally
	flunked it.” 
	Shawn slumped behind him. “I didn’t know
	enough to flunk it!” he declared. 
	A pretty good joke for Shawn. Only I don’t think
	he was joking. 
	“How did you do, Alex?” he asked. 
	“Not bad,” I said. “I might have aced it.” 
	I turned away from their shocked stares to greet
	Tessa. 
	She slunk into the hall, defeated, wrung out. Even
	her hair looked wilted. 
	“That was rough,” she groaned. “Why didn’t she

	tell us to study that chapter?” 
	I couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across my
	face. “Tessa, bet you five dollars I aced it,” I said. 
	Her mouth dropped open. 
	“Alex, save your money!” Shawn warned. “That’s
	crazy. You know you never win a bet against Tessa.” 
	“You can’t win that bet!” Chip chimed in. 
	“Five bucks,” I repeated, ignoring them. “Want to
	bet, Tessa?” 
	She narrowed her eyes at me. She studied me
	hard. “You want to bet me that you aced that surprise test?” 
	My grin grew wider. I tried to keep a straight face. 
	But I just couldn’t. 
	“I don’t like that grin,” Tessa said. “No bet.” 
	“But, Tessa—” I started. 
	29
	She spun away and trotted around the corner, her
	blond hair sagging limply behind her. 
	“Alex, you can’t win against her,” Shawn said. 
	“Why do you keep trying?” 
	“Maybe I can win,” I told him. “Maybe I’m going
	to start winning big-time.” 
	“Are we going to practice after school?” Chip
	asked. “I found a better extension cord for the
	garage. Maybe it won’t blow the fuses.” 
	“We need to learn some new songs,” Shawn said. 
	“I downloaded the chords for ‘Stairway to Heaven.’” 
	“Cool,” Chip said. He began strumming his stomach, humming the melody, doing a loud air-guitar
	version of the old Led Zeppelin song. 
	“Uh . . . I can’t do it after school,” I said. “I have
	to get home.” 
	They both groaned with disappointment. But I
	didn’t care. 
	I had to get home to check the diary. I had to see
	if another entry had appeared. 
	Would it be there, waiting for me? Waiting to tell
	me about tomorrow? 
	30
	
	I saw Tessa watching me as I left school that
	afternoon. She was talking to another girl, but she
	had her eyes on me. 
	I didn’t stop to talk to her. 
	I ran out the front doors and leaped down the
	front steps. It was a blustery, wintry day. Heavy, dark
	clouds covered the sky. 
	I was so eager to get home, I hadn’t zipped my
	parka. As I ran, it billowed up behind me like a cape. 
	I’m a superhero! I thought. And what is my superpower? The ability to know the future! 
	The gusting wind helped to carry me the four
	blocks to my house. I felt as if I were flying. 
	I was half a block from home when I saw the little
	orange kitten dart into the street. 
	“Help! Get him! Get him!” a little red-faced boy
	came running frantically to the curb. I recognized
	him. Billy Miller, a kid I baby-sat for sometimes. 
	Billy’s kitten was always running away. 
	31
	Alex to the rescue! I thought. I was feeling like a
	superhero. I flew into the street, scooped up the kitten easily, spun around, and ran it back to Billy. 
	Billy was so happy to have the kitten back in his
	hands, he nearly squeezed it to death! He thanked me
	a hundred times and went running back to his house. 
	A few seconds later, I trotted up our gravel driveway. I stopped at the kitchen door. I swallowed hard, 
	trying to catch my breath. 
	I had been feeling like a superhero. But now
	unpleasant thoughts forced their way into my mind. 
	The wind died, and my coat drooped around me. 
	I suddenly felt as heavy as a rock. 
	Will the diary have an entry about tomorrow? I
	wondered. 
	Will it tell me the future every day? 
	Or was that some kind of accident or coincidence? 
	Why was that entry in the diary in the first place? 
	And why was it written in my handwriting? 
	I didn’t want to think about those two questions. 
	They were kind of scary. 
	I crossed my fingers on both hands. “Please, 
	please—show me another entry,” I muttered. 
	Knowing the future was so totally cool. It meant
	that my grades were going to be better than ever. It
	meant that I could win a thousand bets with everyone! I could be rich by the end of the school year! 
	Rich! How sweet! 
	How totally sweet! 
	32
	It meant that I’d never be broke again. It meant
	that I’d be a winner. A winner—and everyone would
	know it. 
	And . . . it meant that I’d always be one day ahead
	of Tessa. 
	I’d had the diary for only one day. One single day. 
	But already I knew that I needed it. 
	Needed it! 
	My heart was racing as I tore open the back door
	and burst into the house. Clara, our housekeeper, was
	at the sink. I called “hi” to her and ran to the front stairs. 
	Then I pulled myself up the stairs two at a time. 
	I stumbled on the top step and nearly fell on my
	face. My backpack slid off my shoulders and bumped
	to the floor. 
	I didn’t bother to pick it up. 
	I ran to my room. 
	And dove for the desk. 
	I pulled out the black leather diary. 
	“Please . . . please . . .” I muttered, gasping for
	breath. 
	I flipped open the cover. Gazed at the first page—
	the entry for today. So true. All of it, so true. 
	And what about tomorrow? 
	Breathing hard, I carefully turned to the next
	page. 
	I stared wide-eyed at the page. And let out a cry. 
	Nothing. 
	Nothing there. 
	33
	
	I shuffled through the pages. All blank. 
	I closed the book and opened it again. But still
	the only entry was the first one. 
	I tossed the diary down and pounded my fists on
	the wooden desktop. 
	I felt so disappointed. As if someone had given
	me a really awesome Christmas present and then
	taken it away the next day. 
	I sat there for a few minutes, staring at the diary, 
	trying to get over my disappointment. Then I dragged
	my backpack into my room and tried to do some
	math homework. 
	But it was hard to think about algebra. 
	Every five or ten minutes, I reached for the diary. 
	And I opened it, hoping to find an entry about tomorrow. 
	At dinner, Mom and Dad were talking about
	going on a winter vacation to some island. They
	expected me to be excited about it. 
	34
	
	But I barely heard a word they said. I kept thinking about the diary. 
	“Alex, are you feeling okay?” Mom asked, clearing my half-eaten dinner away. “You’re very quiet
	tonight. That’s not like you.” 
	“I’m just thinking,” I replied. 
	Dad laughed. “That’s not like you either!” he
	joked. 
	Ha-ha. 
	I slid my chair back. “May I be excused?” 
	I didn’t wait for an answer. I took off, running up
	the stairs to my room. I dove to the desk and grabbed
	the diary. 
	“Yes!” I cried happily. “Yes!” I did a wild dance
	around my room. 
	A new entry had appeared about tomorrow. Again, 
	it was in my handwriting. 
	How is this happening? I asked myself. Is it some
	kind of strange magic? Do the new pages always
	arrive after dinner? 
	My hands were shaking from excitement. What is
	going to happen tomorrow? 
	I held the book steady in both hands and eagerly
	read:
	DEAR DIARY, 
	Wow! What a great day! Chip, Shawn, and I went to
	the basketball game after school. And it was amazing! The Ravens won in overtime! 
	35
	Everyone in the gym went crazy. I thought they
	were going to tear the building down! 
	“Whoa!” I murmured. My heart was pounding. I
	read that first part again. 
	Our team will win in overtime tomorrow. And
	then the diary gave me the final score of the game. 
	Wow! 
	I can win a few bets with that information! 
	If the diary tells me the score of every game
	before it happens, I’ll never lose another bet! I’ll be 
	the richest kid in school! 
	And everyone will think I’m some kind of genius! 
	I turned back to the diary:
	Tessa is suspicious about the geography test. I
	saw her watching me. She is very curious about how I
	did so well on the test when everyone else flunked. 
	I’m going to have to be a lot more careful around
	Tessa. I don’t want her to know about this diary. 
	She would ruin everything for me if she found out. 
	I know she would. 
	I heard a cough. 
	From behind me. 
	“Huh?” I turned quickly—and gasped. 
	Tessa stood in the doorway, scowling at me. Her
	eyes were on the diary. 
	36
	
	I slammed the book shut and shoved it into the
	top desk drawer. Then I jumped to my feet, ready to
	protect the diary from Tessa. 
	She stepped into the room, shaking her head. 
	“I’m not interested in your stupid diary,” she said. 
	“You don’t have to hide it, Alex. I wouldn’t read it if
	you paid me!” 
	I let out a sigh of relief. But I didn’t move away
	from the desk. I didn’t trust her. 
	“I—I haven’t started my diary entry for today
	yet,” I said. That was kind of true. “I’m going to write 
	it tonight.” 
	“Don’t bother,” Tessa replied. “It won’t be as good
	as mine.” 
	“Why did you come over?” I asked. And then I
	flashed her an evil grin. “Need help with your geography homework?” 
	She groaned and narrowed her eyes at me. “How
	did you know about that test this morning, Alex?” 
	37
	she asked. Her green eyes burned into mine. 
	“Uh . . . what makes you think I knew about it?” 
	I said. 
	“You knew about it,” she replied, still studying
	me. “You had to know about it. Or else you never
	would have passed it.” 
	Wow! Tomorrow’s diary entry is already coming
	true, I thought. 
	I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s stupid,” 
	I said. “How would I know about a surprise test?” 
	“That’s what I’m asking you,” she replied, tossing
	back her blond hair with a snap of her head. “Are
	you going to tell me?” 
	“I . . . just had a hunch,” I replied. “Just a weird

	hunch. So I read over chapter eight last night. You
	know. Just in case my hunch was right.” 
	She twisted up her heart-shaped lips and squinted
	hard at me. “A hunch?” She snickered. “You cheated
	somehow. I know you cheated. Did Mrs. Hoff tell you
	about the test in advance?” 
	“Huh?” I made a face at Tessa. “Why would Mrs. 
	Hoff tell me anything? It was a wild hunch. Really.” 
	I uncrossed my arms, feeling a little more relaxed. 
	“Is that what you came over to ask me?” 
	Tessa seemed to relax too. “No. Not really . . .” 
	She dropped down on the arm of a chair. “I was talking to Shawn. . . .” 
	“About what?” 
	“About your band,” she said. “You see, I’m a really
	38
	good singer, and I’ve always wanted to sing with a
	band. And I know you guys don’t have a singer. So—” 
	“You like to sing?” I interrupted. I couldn’t picture
	it. Tessa was so stiff, so serious. 
	My stomach suddenly knotted in dread. Tessa
	wants to join our band. No! Please—no! 
	“I sing along to CDs all the time,” she said. “And
	everyone says I’m very good. I’m really into pop, and
	I can sing oldies too. I’ve never tried rap, but—” 
	“Please!” I cried out. I couldn’t help myself. The
	idea of Tessa singing rap made my stomach churn. 
	She jumped to her feet. “So do you think I could
	be in your band?” 
	“Well . . .” I swallowed hard. “Maybe,” I said. 
	“Maybe?” 
	“I’ll talk to Chip and Shawn. We’ll take a vote or
	something. Then I’ll let you know—okay?” 
	She seemed a little disappointed. She started to
	the door. “Okay,” she said softly. “Thanks.” 
	I couldn’t wait for her to leave. As soon as I heard
	the door slam behind her, I pulled out the diary. And I
	read the entry about tomorrow five or six more times. 
	I memorized the score of tomorrow’s Ravens
	game. And I made a plan for betting my friends on
	the game. 
	I was so excited, it took me a long time to fall
	asleep. When I finally drifted off, I dreamed about
	the diary. 
	I dreamed I was sitting at my desk. Thunder
	39
	roared outside, and lightning flashed in my bedroom
	window. The white light flickered in my room. 
	I lifted the diary from my desk drawer and began
	to read it by the flashing lightning. 
	In the dream, I turned the pages slowly. They
	were all filled in, but I didn’t stop to read them. 
	Until I got to the last page. 
	Thunder boomed all around me. I raised the last
	page close to my face to read it. 
	And I saw one word on the page. Only one word, 
	in bold black ink. 
	In the dream, I stared at the word as the lightning
	made it flicker on the page:
	DEAD. 
	One word on the last page of the diary:
	DEAD. 
	In my handwriting:
	DEAD. 
	The dream ended in a blinding white flash of
	lightning. 
	I opened my eyes and sat straight up in bed. 
	Drenched with sweat, my pajamas stuck wetly to
	my skin. 
	Morning sunlight poured into the room. Mom stood
	at my bedroom doorway. She smiled at me. “Alex, 
	you’re already up? I came to wake you for school.” 
	“Mom?” I asked, my voice hoarse from sleep. “Do
	dreams ever come true?” 
	40
	
	“Move over,” Chip boomed. He bumped me hard, 
	forcing me to slide along the bleacher seat. Then he
	bumped me again, even harder, making me bounce
	into the guy next to me. 
	Chip laughed. He just likes bumping people. It’s
	kind of his hobby. 
	The bleachers in the gym were filling up with kids
	and parents and a few teachers. Everyone cheered as
	the Ravens came running onto the floor in their black
	and gold uniforms, each player dribbling across the
	court. 
	The other team came running out of the visitor
	locker room. Their uniforms were yellow, and they
	were called the Hummingbirds. 
	Chip bumped me hard in the ribs with his elbow. 
	“What a geeky name for a basketball team,” he said. 
	“The Hummingbirds.” 
	“Yeah. Tweet-tweet,” I said. 
	Shawn turned around from the bench below us. 
	41
	“It’s not so bad,” he insisted. “Hummingbirds are
	very fast. And some people think they bring good
	luck.” 
	Good old Shawn. He always has all the info. 
	Chip reached down and messed up Shawn’s hair. 
	Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and
	shouted at the Hummingbirds as they warmed up. 
	“Tweet-tweet! Tweet-tweet!” 
	Some other kids laughed and joined in, until the
	chant spread across the gym. 
	The Hummingbirds were making most of their
	warm-up shots. One of their players was a giant. He
	had to be seven feet tall! 
	“Who is that guy?” I asked. 
	“His name is Hooper,” Shawn said, turning
	around again. 
	Chip laughed. “He plays basketball and his name
	is Hooper? Cool!” 
	“He’s only in seventh grade, and he’s already six
	foot three,” Shawn reported. 
	“Wow. He’s a big Hummingbird!” I said. 
	A lot of kids laughed at that. 
	The game was about to start. I knew it was time
	to get serious. 
	“We’re going to beat these birds,” I said. “Anyone
	want to bet on it?” 
	Shawn turned around again. “Alex, you want to
	bet on the Ravens? Look at this guy Hooper. They’re
	going to stuff us!” 
	42
	“Yeah. This guy Hooper can block every shot,” 
	Chip said. “Look at him. He’s a tree!” 
	A guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder. 
	“You want to take the Ravens? I’ll take the
	Hummingbirds. How much do you want to bet?” 
	“Yeah. I’ll take the Hummingbirds too,” Chip
	said. “Bet you five bucks.” 
	This is too easy, I thought. Way too easy. 
	I had a plan. It was time to put it into gear. 
	“I don’t want that bet,” I said. “I want to do
	another kind of bet.” 
	About a dozen kids were leaning in, listening to
	me now. 
	The referee’s whistle echoed off the gym walls. 
	Kids were cheering and shouting. The teams were
	gathering at center court. 
	“I’ll bet anyone five dollars that this game goes
	into overtime,” I announced. 
	“Huh?” 
	“Get serious!” 
	“Overtime? No way!” 
	I heard cries of disbelief all around. 
	“Alex, that’s stupid,” Shawn whispered. “Don’t
	throw away your money.” 
	“Who’s got five dollars?” I called out. “Five dollars
	says the game goes into overtime. If it doesn’t, I pay
	you five bucks.” 
	More cries of disbelief. Guys were muttering that
	I’d totally lost it. 
	43
	But ten kids took the bet. Ten times five. That’s
	fifty bucks I was about to win. 
	If the diary’s prediction came true . . . 
	I sat on the edge of the bench the entire game. My
	muscles were all tensed and I kept my hands
	clenched together in my lap. 
	The Hummingbirds got out to an early lead. The
	Ravens had a lot of trouble scoring because of
	Hooper. He stood under the basket and batted away
	just about every shot the Ravens took. 
	At halftime, the ’Birds were ahead by eight points. 
	It looked pretty bad. 
	Chip, Shawn, and the other eight guys who bet
	against me all had big grins on their faces. “No way
	this game goes into overtime,” Chip said, and he
	bumped me so hard, I fell into the aisle. 
	“We’ll see,” I said. But my stomach was doing
	flip-flops. I knew I didn’t have fifty dollars to pay off
	the bet if I lost. In fact, I had only six dollars to my
	name. 
	The diary had to be right. Or else I was dead! 
	Dead. 
	The frightening dream suddenly flashed back into
	my mind. Once again I saw the single word written in
	big, bold script on the back page:
	DEAD. 
	I blinked the picture away. Then I leaned forward
	and concentrated on the game, which had started up
	again. 
	44
	The ’Birds scored first. Hooper hardly had to
	jump to slam-dunk the ball through the net. 
	I let out a groan. The Ravens were down by ten
	points now. If the game was going into overtime, they
	had to get to work. 
	I crossed my fingers on both hands and watched
	the game intently. I barely breathed. I kept seeing
	those ten guys with their hands stuck in my face, 
	demanding their five dollars. 
	With a few minutes to go in the game, the Ravens
	had pulled to within two points. The seconds ticked
	by. The teams moved up and down the court. 
	A shot—and a miss. 
	A bad pass out of bounds. 
	Only a few seconds left. The Ravens had the ball. 
	The kid with the ball drove right at Hooper. Hooper
	tripped. The Raven sent up a short layup. 
	Yes! 
	The Ravens tied the score at twenty-six just as the
	final buzzer went off. The game was going into overtime. 
	The gym practically exploded with cheers and
	startled cries. Kids stamped their feet so hard, the
	bleachers creaked and shook. 
	I leaped up and began jumping up and down on
	the bleacher floor. I pumped my fists in the air. 
	“Overtime! Overtime! I win! I win BIG-time!” 
	I went around and made everyone pay up. Ten
	times five. My biggest win ever. 
	45
	How did it feel? Try great! 
	Chip was grumbling to Shawn. “This didn’t happen,” he muttered. “How could Alex know it would
	go into overtime?” 
	“So he got lucky once,” Shawn replied. 
	Time for part two of my plan. 
	I stood up and turned to the guys who had bet
	me. “I’ll give you a chance to win your money back,” 
	I announced. “I’ll bet five dollars that the final score
	is 34 to 30, Ravens.” 
	They were even more surprised at this bet. Some
	of them laughed really hard. The others just shook
	their heads. 
	“Come on, guys,” I urged, “I’m giving you a
	chance. If the score isn’t 34 to 30, I’ll pay you back
	your money.” 
	Only eight guys took this bet. The other two said
	they didn’t have any more money to lose. 
	“You’re crazy,” Shawn told me. “You’re totally
	whacked.” But he took the bet anyway. 
	I sat back and concentrated on the game. 
	Would the diary come through again? So far, it
	had been totally right each time. 
	The overtime period was only five minutes. I didn’t
	have long to wait. 
	Kids were screaming and cheering and stomping
	their feet. The game was tied at thirty. Then the
	Ravens scored two straight baskets right over
	Hooper’s head. 
	46
	Now the screams were so loud, I had to cover my
	ears with my hands. 
	I gazed at the scoreboard: 34 to 30, Ravens. Only
	five seconds left to play. 
	“Pay up, guys!” I shouted. “Check out the score! 
	Alex the Great wins again!” 
	Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hooper move
	to the basket. He sent up a long jump shot just as the
	buzzer rang out. 
	Swish! It dropped through! 
	Final score: Ravens, 34 to 32! 
	I lost the bet. 
	47
	
	I paid the guys their money. They were laughing
	and goofing, slapping me on the back. 
	Chip kept chanting, “Alex the Great! Alex the
	Great!” He wrapped me in a headlock and rubbed
	his knuckles against the top of my head until my
	skull throbbed. 
	I finally pulled free and hurried down the bleacher
	steps. I saw Tessa watching me from the other
	bleacher. I waved to her, but I didn’t stop. 
	I pushed through the crowd and made my way
	out of the school building. I had to get home to check
	the diary. 
	I ran all the way. I was totally out of breath, my
	right side aching, by the time I got to my room. 
	I pulled the diary from its drawer and turned to
	the second entry, the page for today. 
	I ran my finger down the page until I came to the
	final score of the basketball game. Yes. The final
	score in the diary was 34 to 32. 
	48
	The diary had it right. 
	You see, I had deliberately lost the bet. I’d bet on
	the wrong score on purpose. I’d let them win. 
	The idea was to sucker them all. 
	I wanted them to think that I was crazy, that I
	didn’t have a clue. So, the next time, they wouldn’t
	be suspicious at all. 
	Next time, they’d take any bet I offered. 
	And I’d clean them out. 
	I closed the diary and gave the cover a big kiss. 
	I was feeling great. 
	Sure, I’d just lost big-time. I’d won fifty dollars, 
	then lost forty. 
	But I was still ten dollars ahead. And there was
	plenty more where that came from. As long as the
	diary told the truth. 
	I’ll be a millionaire by the end of the year, I
	thought. 
	A millionaire! 
	I didn’t check the diary again until after dinner. 
	That’s when the new entries seemed to appear. 
	“Why do you keep grinning like that?” Dad
	asked. We were having ice cream sundaes for
	dessert. I didn’t realize I was grinning. 
	I shrugged. “Just grinning.” 
	“Who won the basketball game today?” he asked. 
	I wiped chocolate sauce from my chin. “We did. 
	In overtime. It was awesome.” 
	49
	“I heard a rumor,” Mom said, frowning at me. “I
	heard that kids in your school have been betting on
	the basketball games. Is that true?” 
	I swallowed a lump of ice cream. “That’s dumb,” 
	I said. 
	Mom squinted at me. “The rumor is dumb? Or
	betting on the games is dumb?” 
	“Both,” I said. 
	I don’t like to lie to my parents. I always try to be
	as honest as I can. 
	“The school should clamp down on kids who
	bet,” Dad said, squirting more Reddi-wip on his ice
	cream. “You’re too young for that.” 
	Mom kept staring at me. Did she suspect something? Did someone tell her that I was the one making the bets? 
	I grinned at her. “Bet you ten dollars the school
	catches those kids!” I said. 
	Mom and Dad both burst out laughing. When
	things start to get tense, I can always make them
	laugh. 
	I finished my sundae and hurried up to my room
	to read the diary. 
	Would it tell me about tomorrow? 
	As I opened the diary, my hands shook with
	excitement. 
	This was so totally cool! Knowing things that no
	one else knew was just about the most awesome
	thing that could happen! 
	50
	Little did I realize as I began to scan the words in
	the entry for tomorrow . . . little did I realize that
	sometimes knowing things can be really bad news. 
	51
	
	I was so excited, the words kept blurring on the
	page. 
	I took a deep breath and held it to calm myself
	down. Then I started to read the entry—in my handwriting—moving my finger over the page, word by
	word. 
	DEAR DIARY, 
	Here is a big surprise. Tessa is in the band! I told
	her she could join. Chip and Shawn were really upset
	about it. They didn’t want Tessa anywhere near our
	band. They didn’t even want her to listen to the band! 
	But then I explained to them why I let her in. 
	You see, Tessa told me about her uncle Jon. Uncle
	Jon has a big garage that’s mostly empty. He told
	Tessa the band could rehearse there. 
	He’s Tessa’s favorite uncle, and I can understand
	why. 
	You see, Uncle Jon owns a restaurant downtown. 
	52
	
	And he told Tessa that if we rehearse a lot, and if he
	thinks our band is good enough, he’ll let us play at his
	restaurant! And he says he’ll pay us! 
	I had no choice. I couldn’t turn that down. I had to
	let Tessa into the band. 
	Such awesome news! I wanted to call Chip and
	Shawn and tell them about it. 
	But I couldn’t tell them until Tessa told me. I had
	to keep things in the right order. Or else I’d get totally
	messed up and confused. 
	I returned to the diary to see what else was going
	to happen tomorrow . . . 
	Mrs. Culter was out sick. Everyone in her algebra
	class was really happy at first. They all thought that
	meant they wouldn’t have the algebra test. 
	But then the substitute teacher came in with the
	algebra test. And we had to take it anyway. 
	I’d better study the algebra problems really hard
	tonight, I decided. Algebra is my worst subject. 
	Having this info about the test tomorrow was really
	helpful. 
	There was one more entry in the diary. I leaned
	over the little book to read it—when the phone rang. 
	I let out a groan. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. 
	I wanted to finish learning about tomorrow. 
	I jerked the telephone off the desktop and raised
	53
	it to my ear. “Hello?” 
	“Hi, Alex.” I recognized Tessa’s voice instantly. 
	“What are you doing?” she asked. 
	“Uh . . . working on my diary,” I said. “I really
	don’t have time to talk. This is the best diary entry
	I’ve ever written. Miss Gold is going to go nuts when
	she reads it!” 
	Tessa laughed. “At least you’re modest.” 
	“I’ve got to go,” I said. 
	“Well, I just want to ask one question,” Tessa
	replied. “Can I be in the band or not? Did you talk to
	Chip and Shawn?” 
	“Yes,” I told her. “You can be in the band, Tessa. 
	If you really can sing.” 
	“Yay!” she cheered. “You won’t be sorry, Alex. 
	Really. I’m good. And guess what?” 
	I’ll bet I can guess, I thought. 
	“I talked to my uncle Jon. And he may have a
	place for us to rehearse.” 
	“That’s great!” I exclaimed, trying to sound surprised. 
	“Uncle Jon wants to hear us,” Tessa said. “He says
	if we’re good enough, we can play at his restaurant.” 
	“Cool,” I said. 
	“Maybe I could come over tonight, and we could
	work on some songs together,” Tessa said. 
	I made a disgusted face at the phone. “No. Not
	tonight,” I told her. “I can’t. I have to study for the
	algebra test.” 
	54
	“Don’t bother,” Tessa replied. 
	“Huh? Don’t bother? What do you mean?” I
	asked. 
	“Mrs. Culter is sick,” Tessa replied. “She came to
	see my mom at her office this afternoon.” 
	Tessa’s mom is a doctor. 
	“Mom says that Mrs. Culter is really sick,” Tessa
	continued. “She won’t be back in school for at least
	the rest of the week. So . . . no way we’ll have the
	algebra test tomorrow.” 
	I almost burst out laughing. I had to smack a
	hand over my mouth to keep silent. 
	“That’s great news,” I managed to choke out. 
	“I’ve been calling everyone and telling them the
	test is off,” Tessa said. 
	“Cool!” I exclaimed. 
	I held my hand over the phone and let out a wild
	giggle. I couldn’t hold it back. 
	That’s one more test that I’ll ace, I told myself. 
	And one more test that Tessa will flunk! 
	I felt so happy, I kissed the diary! 
	It took me a few more minutes to get Tessa off the
	phone. When I finally hung up, I jumped to my feet. 
	And I did another crazy dance around my room. 
	“Tessa flunks!” I chanted, pumping my fists in the
	air. “Tessa flunks! Tessa flunks!” 
	Poor Tessa, I thought. She just doesn’t have the
	right diary. She doesn’t have a diary that can tell her
	the future. 
	55
	I suddenly remembered I hadn’t finished tomorrow’s entry. There was still one last sentence to read. 
	I felt so happy, almost giddy, as I picked up the
	diary from my desk. 
	But my mood changed as my eyes swept over the
	last sentence in tomorrow’s entry. 
	I gasped—and squinted at the words in disbelief . . . 
	Bad news, diary. On my way home from school, I
	was hit by a car. 
	56
	
	“No!” 
	I let out a cry. “No way!” 
	I stared at the words. I blinked a few times, then
	read them again:
	On my way home from school, I was hit by a car. 
	“That is so not going to happen,” I said out loud. 
	The diary must have made a mistake. I’m a really
	careful guy. I never run out in the street without looking. 
	Why did it say that? 
	How could it be wrong when it had been right
	about everything else? 
	I slammed the book shut and slid it into the desk
	drawer. 
	My heart was pounding. I’ll just have to be careful tomorrow, I told myself. I’ll just have to be super
	careful—and make sure the diary prediction doesn’t
	come true. 
	Last night’s frightening dream suddenly flashed
	57
	into my mind. 
	DEAD. . . . The one word glowing in bold black
	ink in the diary. DEAD. . . . 
	Is it going to come true? 
	The diary only says I get hit by a car, I told
	myself, tapping my fingers nervously on the desktop. 
	It doesn’t say how badly I get hurt. Or if . . . if I
	die. 
	Why doesn’t it say? Why does it stop there? 
	Why doesn’t it tell me what happens? 
	I swallowed hard. 
	Is it because there’s nothing more to tell? 
	58
	
	I jerked open the desk drawer and pulled out the
	diary. 
	Maybe it will tell me more, I thought. Maybe it
	will tell me if I’m going to be okay. 
	My hands were so sweaty, the pages stuck to my
	fingers. I finally turned to tomorrow’s entry and read
	it again. 
	Bad news, diary. On my way home from school, I
	was hit by a car. 
	Nothing more. Nothing. 
	Mom came to wake me for school at seven the
	next morning. I groaned and rolled over. 
	“I have an upset stomach,” I moaned. “It hurts. I
	really feel sick.” 
	Mom bit her bottom lip. She leaned over my bed
	and pressed her hand over my forehead. “You don’t
	feel hot. Should I call Dr. Owens?” she asked. 
	“No. I just need to sleep,” I whispered, doing my
	59
	best sick act. “I think I’d better stay home today.” 
	I’d thought about this plan all night. If I stayed
	home, there was no way I could be hit by a car. 
	“Well, okay,” Mom said, frowning at me, studying
	my eyes. “I’ll make you some hot tea. It might settle
	your stomach.” 
	I nodded weakly. I listened to her make her way
	back downstairs. 
	I settled my head into the pillow. You’re pretty
	smart, Alex, I told myself. Stay home all day, and the
	diary will have to be wrong. 
	The phone rang. I picked it up and clicked it on. 
	“Hello?” I asked weakly. 
	“Don’t forget your guitar. Are you psyched? I’m 
	totally psyched!” 
	It was Chip. What was he so excited about? 
	“My guitar?” I croaked. “What—?” 
	“You didn’t forget!” he exclaimed. “You couldn’t
	forget that the three of us are playing in the lunchroom today.” 
	Oh, wow. 
	I did forget. I was so busy worrying about the
	diary. 
	Mrs. Jarvis, the lunchroom supervisor, said we
	could play for everyone at lunchtime. Our first time
	in public! 
	“Can you bring your amp?” Chip asked. “We can
	set up during study hall.” 
	“Uh . . . yeah. Sure,” I replied. 
	60
	I couldn’t let my friends down. I had no choice. I
	had to go to school. 
	And, of course, there was the algebra test first
	period. A test I was ready to ace. 
	Okay, okay. I’m going, I decided, climbing to my
	feet. 
	I’ll just be careful after school, I decided. Real
	careful . . . 
	When I arrived at school carrying my guitar and
	amp, I had a surprise in store. Chip and Shawn were
	not glad to see me. In fact, they were totally steamed. 
	They came stomping toward me, swinging their
	fists tensely at their sides. I set the equipment down
	and turned to face them. 
	Chip bumped me hard with his chest, so hard I
	went sprawling against the wall of lockers. 
	“Hey—good morning to you too!” I said, trying to
	click my shoulder back into place. 
	“Why did you tell Tessa she can be in the band?” 
	Shawn demanded. 
	“Yeah. Why?” Chip repeated. He bumped me
	again, a little harder. “Are you crazy?” 
	“Guys, give me a break,” I pleaded. I raised both
	hands in front of me as a shield. 
	“We don’t want Tessa in the band,” Shawn said. 
	“We don’t like Tessa,” Chip added. 
	“I know, I know,” I said. I dodged away from
	another bump from Chip. The guy was a mountain! 
	61
	“But it’s going to work out,” I told them. “You’ll
	see. We’ll be glad about it.” 
	“Have you lost it?” Chip demanded. “She says
	she’s going to sing with us at lunch. And we haven’t
	even rehearsed with her.” 
	“No problem,” I said. “Did Tessa tell you about
	her uncle Jon?” 
	“We don’t care about her uncle,” Chip said angrily. 
	“We don’t want her messing up our band.” 
	“Did she pay you?” Shawn asked. “How much 
	did she pay you, Alex?” 
	“She didn’t,” I said. “I promise. It’ll work out, 
	guys. Her uncle is going to give us our first big
	break.” 
	“We have to talk about this,” Shawn said, shaking his head. “I know we need a singer. But—Tessa?” 
	“I can’t talk now,” I said, trying to push past
	them. “I’ve got my algebra test first thing.” I grabbed
	my stuff and took off, running down the hall. 
	“Didn’t you hear?” Shawn called after me. “Culter
	is out sick. No test today!” 
	But of course he was wrong and the diary was
	right. 
	You should have heard the other kids groan and
	moan when the substitute passed out the test papers. 
	I watched Tessa turn bright red. Tears filled her
	eyes. 
	She lowered her head and wouldn’t look at anyone. She was so embarrassed! 
	62
	She had called everyone and told them not to
	study. 
	Ha-ha. I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I
	breezed through the test. 
	Score another victory for Alex the Great! 
	I finished early and took my test paper up to the
	substitute. I flashed Tessa a big thumbs-up as I
	walked back to my seat. 
	She scowled and turned away. I could see that
	her test paper was a mess. 
	I dropped back into my seat, feeling really good
	about myself. 
	Our band was excited at lunchtime. 
	Chip, Shawn, and I set up our amps at a side of
	the lunchroom. Tessa brought a list of songs she
	knew, and there were a few on the list the three of us
	could play. 
	We started to tune up. Tessa kept clearing her
	throat. “I’m a little nervous,” she confessed, “since
	we’ve never rehearsed or anything.” 
	“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You’ll be fine.” 
	But she wasn’t fine. 
	In fact, she was horrible! 
	Chip, Shawn, and I played “Purple Haze” to get
	things started. It’s our best song, and the kids in the
	lunchroom seemed to like it. A few kids even clapped. 
	Then Tessa stepped up to sing. But she didn’t
	sing—she screeched! Her singing sounded like fin63
	gernails being scraped down a chalkboard! Only
	more painful. 
	She sounded like a wounded animal howling in
	pain. She couldn’t hit a single note. I couldn’t even
	tell what song she was singing. 
	Kids stopped eating and started to beg for her to
	stop. That made Tessa sing even louder. I saw some
	kids running out of the lunchroom. One boy stuck
	his finger down his throat and pretended to puke. 
	We were supposed to play for half an hour. But
	Mrs. Jarvis stopped us after Tessa’s first song. “Good
	work,” she said. “Pack up quickly—okay?” 
	As we packed up, Chip and Shawn scowled angrily
	at me. 
	But Tessa seemed really cheerful. “That wasn’t
	bad. But I’ll get even better,” she said, smiling at me. 
	“I just need to rehearse a little.” 
	“She embarrassed us for life,” Chip muttered
	sadly as we carried our guitars down the hall. “How
	could you let her in our band?” 
	I didn’t answer. I had other things to think about. 
	Mainly, the diary. 
	Why didn’t the diary say that Tessa was the worst
	singer in history? Why did it leave out that part? 
	When her uncle Jon hears her sing, he won’t let
	us anywhere near his restaurant! I thought bitterly. 
	Why didn’t the diary tell me that? 
	What else did the diary leave out about today? I
	wondered. What else? 
	64
	I felt a shiver of fear. I kept picturing myself hit by
	a car . . . flying into the air . . . flattened, crushed, 
	mangled, wrecked. 
	Was it going to come true? Was I a few hours
	away from my DOOM? 
	65
	
	“Let’s get our bikes and go up to the dirt-bike
	track,” Chip suggested after school. He slapped a
	heavy arm around my shoulders. “How about it, 
	Alex?” 
	“I—I don’t think so,” I said quietly. 
	It was a cool, sunny afternoon. A tag football
	game had already started on the playground. Kids
	were running with their open jackets flapping behind
	them. 
	Everyone was laughing and shouting, happy to
	be out of school. 
	I didn’t feel like laughing. My throat felt tight, and
	my stomach was doing flip-flops. I wanted to walk
	home slowly and carefully, and hide there till the day
	was over. 
	“Yeah, let’s go!” Shawn said. “The track is empty
	during the week. We’ll have it all to ourselves.” 
	Chip laughed at him. “You’ll have to take your
	training wheels off first!” 
	66
	
	“Give me a break,” Shawn muttered. He tried to
	shove Chip, but Chip danced away. 
	“I can’t do it today,” I said. 
	I turned and gazed down the street. 
	Was there a car out there with my name on it? 
	Was there a car on its way right now, roaring down
	the street, coming to nail me? 
	With a shudder, I turned back to my friends. 
	“Here’s another idea. Why don’t you guys bring your
	guitars to my house, and we’ll practice some new
	songs.” 
	Chip grinned at me. “We can’t practice without
	Tessa, your girlfriend—can we?” he asked in a high, 
	teasing voice. 
	Shawn laughed. “Alex and Tessa. What a gruesome twosome!” 
	I rolled my eyes. “You two are so not funny. Come 
	on. Maybe Tessa was just nervous. Maybe we can
	teach her to be a better singer.” 
	“Yeah. Maybe if we tape her mouth shut,” Chip
	muttered. 
	They finally agreed to come over. But they said
	they had to stop at their houses first. 
	I turned and started walking toward home. I kept
	on the grass beside the sidewalk, as far from the
	street as I could get. 
	My legs trembled as I walked. My heart was racing in my chest. 
	“Don’t be dumb. There’s nothing to be scared
	67
	about,” I told myself. “Two more blocks and you’re
	home.” 
	I walked slowly, carefully, keeping my eyes straight
	ahead. 
	I was half a block from home when I saw the little
	orange kitten run into the street. 
	“Not again!” I cried. 
	I heard Billy Miller’s screams before I saw him
	come darting out from behind a hedge. “My kitten! 
	My kitten!” 
	I glimpsed Billy’s frightened face. I saw the little
	cat freeze in the center of the intersection. 
	I had no choice. 
	I had to rescue it. 
	I leaped into the street and started to run. 
	68
	
	“My kitten! Alex—help! Get my kitten!” 
	Running hard, I heard the blast of a car horn. 
	Then the shrill squeal of tires on the pavement. 
	“Uhh.” 
	I felt a hard bump. From behind. 
	My hands flew up. 
	And I was flying, flying through the air. 
	I flew into a bright white light. The street, the
	lawns, the sky—they all disappeared. 
	All colors vanished. I seemed to fly forever. 
	I landed in a shock of pain. The world rushed
	back. Colors and sounds. 
	I heard Billy crying. A car door slammed. A
	woman shouted, “Hey! Hey! Hey!” The same word
	over and over. 
	The sky spun above me, whirled so fast, as if I
	were on some kind of amusement park ride. 
	“Hey! Hey!” 
	The woman bent over me, her face red and twist69
	ed in fear. “Hey—are you all right?” 
	My skin prickled. Something scratched my arms. 
	Blinking, I realized I had landed on a thick evergreen
	bush. 
	I struggled to catch my breath. I gazed up at the
	frightened woman. 
	“Are you all right? I—I almost stopped in time. I
	didn’t hit you hard, but—” 
	“I . . . think I’m okay,” I said. The sky stopped
	spinning above me. I saw Billy holding the kitten in
	his arms. 
	With a groan, I sat up. I pulled bristles off my
	arms and the front of my shirt. The bush had cradled
	my fall. 
	“Does anything hurt?” the woman asked. “Is anything broken? Should I call the police? An ambulance? Can you stand up?” 
	“I . . . think so,” I said. She helped pull me up. 
	I felt shaky but okay. I tested my arms, my legs. I
	twisted my head around. Everything checked out
	okay. Nothing broken, nothing hurting. 
	“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “I almost stopped in time. I . . . I just feel so
	awful.” 
	I pulled more pine needles off my jacket. “It’s
	okay,” I told her. “I knew I was going to be hit by a
	car today.” 
	Her frightened expression faded. She narrowed
	her eyes at me. 
	70
	I knew instantly that I’d said the wrong thing. The
	words had just spilled out. 
	She studied me intently. “We’d better get you to a
	doctor,” she said. 
	Mom and Dad took me to see Dr. Owens. She
	checked me out and said everything was all right. 
	“You might feel a little stiff and sore tomorrow,” she
	said. “But I think you can go to school.” 
	Wow. Hit by a car, and I don’t even get a day off
	from school! 
	On the way home, I slumped in the back of the
	car, feeling really glum. What a lost opportunity, I
	thought bitterly. I really blew it this time. 
	What if I had made a bet with Chip and Shawn? 
	What if I’d bet them that I’d be hit by a car on the
	way home? 
	I could have won big-time! 
	“You were really lucky,” Mom said, turning from
	the passenger seat to face me. “Really lucky.” 
	No, I wasn’t, I thought. What’s lucky about being
	hit by a car and not winning a dime from it? 
	“Next time, Alex, look both ways before running
	out to save a kitten,” Dad said. 
	Ha-ha. Very funny. 
	Chip, Shawn, and Tessa were waiting in the driveway when I got home. They cheered when I told
	them I was perfectly okay. 
	But Tessa tilted her head and stared hard at me. 
	71
	“Alex, I know why you ran out into the street and got
	hit by a car today,” she said. 
	“I do too,” I replied. “To rescue a kitten.” 
	She shook her head. “No. To make sure your
	diary is more interesting than mine. You’ll do any-
	thing to win our bet!” 
	Chip and Shawn laughed. But I didn’t think it was
	funny. 
	“I don’t have to do a lot of crazy things to make
	my diary interesting,” I told Tessa. “Because I’m a
	really good writer.” 
	So far, of course, I hadn’t written a single word in
	the diary. The diary had written it all for me. 
	Thinking about the diary gave me a chill. 
	What would it say about tomorrow? Would it
	have more bad news for me? 
	I suddenly realized I was afraid of the diary. I was
	so excited at first. But knowing the future was really
	creepy. 
	Maybe I shouldn’t open it again, I thought. Maybe
	I should tuck the thing away in a drawer and never
	look at it again. 
	But would that change things? 
	Wouldn’t the same things happen in my life even
	if I didn’t read about them first in the diary? 
	“I talked to my uncle Jon.” Tessa’s words broke
	into my thoughts. “He says his garage is ready. We
	can use it anytime to rehearse in.” 
	“Yaay! That is totally awesome news!” Chip
	72
	exclaimed. “Let’s go right now!” 
	“I can’t,” I said. “I was just in an accident—
	remember?” 
	Chip nodded. “Oh, yeah. Right.” 
	We made a plan to try to rehearse that weekend. 
	Then, feeling sore and achy, I made my way into the
	house for dinner. 
	A noisy thunderstorm struck while we were eating. Lightning crackled over the backyard, and a
	boom of thunder made the house shake. Rain
	poured down. The lights flickered but didn’t go out. 
	Mom and Dad kept glancing at me as I ate. I
	knew they were thinking about the car hitting me. 
	But none of us talked about it. 
	After dinner, I hurried upstairs to my room. I slid
	the diary out from its hiding place in my desk drawer. 
	Then, holding it between my hands, I stared at the
	cover. 
	I didn’t open it. I wondered if I could keep myself
	from opening it. 
	My hands trembled as I held it. I was afraid of it
	now—and I had good reason to be. 
	I knew I was holding some kind of magic. But was
	it evil magic? 
	Diary, what is your secret? I wondered for the
	hundredth time. How do you know what’s going to
	happen tomorrow? 
	And why are you written in my handwriting? 
	My hands moved as if on their own. As if I were
	73
	no longer in control. 
	My hands pried open the diary. 
	I shuffled through the pages. 
	Yes. There it was—an entry for tomorrow. 
	I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t want to know. 
	But I couldn’t help myself. 
	I raised the book close to my face and started to
	read. 
	74
	
	DEAR DIARY, 
	The eighth-graders had their Junior Olympics at
	the running track in back of school today. The track
	was still wet from all the rain last night. Runners kept
	slipping and falling, and a couple of kids really cut up
	their knees. 
	The wind was blowing like a hurricane. Some of the
	javelin throwers had their javelins come flying back at
	them! It was a mess, but we seventh-graders got out
	of school all day to watch them. So we thought it was
	terrific. 
	The blue team won every single event. Except for
	the broad jump, which was a tie. 
	“Excellent!” I cried out loud. I set the diary down
	and pumped my fist above my head. 
	I hope Chip and Shawn and the other guys bring
	lots of money to school tomorrow! I’m going to win it
	all! All! 
	75
	They won’t believe that Blue can win every event. 
	And then, when I bet them the broad jump is a tie, 
	I’ll clean them out! 
	Thinking about all the bets I would win really
	cheered me up. I could forgive the diary for the car
	accident. I suddenly didn’t feel as scared of it. The 
	little book was going to make me rich! 
	I raised it close and began to read the rest of
	tomorrow’s entry. . . . 
	Tessa keeps giving me a hard time. I can’t tell if
	she is teasing me or not. 
	She keeps saying that I’m doing things just to
	make my diary more interesting than hers. She says
	I’ll do anything to win our bet. 
	It isn’t true at all. But what is Tessa going to
	think when she hears the crazy thing I did after
	school? 
	Huh? After school? 
	My heart started to pound. As I gripped the diary, 
	my hands were suddenly cold and wet. 
	What did I do after school? 
	I bent over the diary and read. . . . 
	You should have heard the screams. Everyone was
	in a total panic. 
	Maybe a hundred kids were watching me, and
	more were running over from the playground. 
	76
	I heard kids shouting all down the block and out to
	the street. 
	What an adventure! 
	I don’t even remember climbing up onto the roof of
	the school building. But there I was, teetering on the
	roof edge at the gutter. 
	And then, it’s hard to believe—but I did it. I
	flapped my arms like a bird and jumped off the roof. 
	77
	
	“Ten . . . fifteen . . . twenty . . .” 
	After the Junior Olympics, I stayed in the bleachers
	to count the money I had won. The total came to
	thirty-five dollars. 
	Not a bad day’s work. 
	I jammed the wad of fives into my jeans pocket
	and zipped my denim jacket up to my chin. I shivered. 
	What a cold, dreary day. The sky had been dull
	and gray all afternoon. The ground was still drenched
	from the heavy rains last night. 
	A cold wind kept gusting, swirling, blowing so
	hard, the bleachers behind the school trembled. 
	Leaning into the wind, I made my way into the
	school building. I had spent all afternoon watching
	the Junior Olympics. Cashing in big-time. 
	Now I had to pick up my backpack from my locker
	and walk home. 
	Walk home without climbing up onto the roof of 
	the school. 
	78
	This is one diary prediction that will not come
	true, I decided. 
	I waved to Tessa, who stood talking to a group of
	girls. 
	Tessa made a face and turned away from me. She
	was steamed because she lost ten dollars to me betting that the broad jump wouldn’t be a tie. 
	Ha-ha. My diary is better than yours! I thought. 
	I had been thinking about the diary all day. 
	Of course, I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand how it worked, how it knew the future. 
	It was kind of magical. It was totally scary. 
	But, so far, finding it was the best thing that had
	ever happened to me. 
	The next Ravens basketball game is tomorrow, I
	suddenly remembered. I know the score of the game
	will be waiting for me in tomorrow’s diary entry. 
	I could feel the wad of five-dollar bills in my
	jeans. Maybe I’ll let the guys win a few dollars at
	first, I thought. Just so they don’t get suspicious when
	I totally clean them out again. 
	Yes, the diary was definitely great. Awesome. 
	Fantastic. 
	If only it didn’t bring any more bad news. 
	I felt a cold tingle of fear. Was the diary also evil? 
	I stopped in front of my locker. I shivered again. 
	A frightening thought rolled through my mind. 
	What if the diary was causing these bad things to 
	happen? 
	79
	What if it wasn’t just reporting what happened
	the next day? What if it was causing me to be hit by 
	a car? What if the diary forced me to jump off the 
	roof? 
	No. No way. 
	I shook my head hard, as if trying to shake that
	thought from my mind. 
	What a crazy idea. 
	That little book can’t force me to do anything, I
	decided. 
	I am a free person. I have a mind of my own. I
	can decide what to do and what not to do. 
	No book can tell me what to do! 
	I swung my backpack over my shoulders and
	jogged out the back door of the school. The sky was
	even darker. Another storm was on its way. The air
	felt cold and wet. 
	I saw a couple of guys tossing a football back and
	forth at the edge of the playground. Their shoes
	sloshed in the wet grass. The gusting wind kept carrying the football out of their hands. 
	I turned away from the school. A blast of wind
	sent my hair flying straight up. I brushed it down
	with both hands. Then, leaning into the wind, I 
	started toward home. 
	I had gone only two or three steps, when I heard
	the screams. 
	Frantic screams. 
	“Alex—help me! Help!” 
	80
	
	I froze at the sound of my name. 
	“Alex! Alex! Help me!” 
	I uttered a startled gasp and spun around. 
	A little boy stood in the grass near the back of the
	building, waving frantically. 
	I took a few steps toward him and his face came
	into focus. Billy Miller. 
	Not again! 
	“Alex—help!” 
	I took off running. “Where’s your cat?” I cried. 
	Some other kids were also hurrying over to Billy. 
	The two boys dropped their football and came running. I saw two of Tessa’s friends trotting to help the
	boy. 
	I got to him first. “Where’s your cat?” I repeated
	breathlessly. My eyes searched the playground. 
	“At home,” Billy said. The wind blew his blond
	hair over his face. 
	I gaped at him. “Huh? At home?” 
	81
	“It’s not my kitten!” he wailed. “It’s my Raiders
	cap! My new Raiders cap! Look!” 
	He stuck his arm up, pointing wildly. “Up there. 
	The wind blew it!” 
	“Oh, noooo,” I moaned. I raised my eyes to the
	slanted, black roof of the school. Squinting into the
	gray sky, I could see the black-and-silver Raiders
	cap. It rested on the rain gutter at the edge of the
	roof. 
	I’m not going up there to get it, I told myself. 
	I’m not going to make that diary entry come true. 
	I turned back to Billy. He had tears in his eyes. 
	His face was bright red. His bottom lip kept quivering. “Please?” he whispered. “It’s my brand-new
	cap.” 
	What is up with this kid? I wondered. It’s like he
	is haunting me! He already caused me to get hit by a 
	car. 
	And now . . . 
	“Maybe the wind will blow it back down,” I told
	Billy. “Maybe if you wait long enough . . .” 
	“NOOOO!” he wailed. “I WANT IT! I WANT MY
	CAP!” 
	“Get it for him, Alex,” Nella, one of Tessa’s
	friends, shouted. “Just climb up the drainpipe. It’s
	not hard.” 
	“Uh . . . I’m not a good climber,” I said. “I . . . 
	don’t have the right shoes.” 
	“Help the poor kid,” another girl said. “Look at
	82
	him—he’s crying!” 
	Tears were streaming down Billy’s cheeks. He still
	had his hand raised, pointing to the cap. 
	“Maybe someone else could help,” I said. I
	turned to the crowd of kids who had gathered around
	us. I counted at least twenty kids. “Does anyone else
	like to climb?” 
	“Help him, Alex,” Nella repeated. “Just shinny up
	the drainpipe. It’s not that high.” 
	“Any volunteers?” I pleaded. “Anyone?” 
	No one. 
	“I WANT MY RAIDERS CAP!” Billy shrieked. 
	I swallowed hard. I gazed at the metal drainpipe
	running up the side of the building to the rain gutter
	along the edge of the roof. “Okay, okay,” I muttered. 
	I had no choice. Everyone was staring at me. If I
	just left Billy standing there crying, no one would
	ever let me forget it. 
	So . . . I was doing it. I was heading up to the roof. 
	Kids clapped and cheered. I stepped up to the
	wall and grabbed the metal drainpipe with both
	hands. 
	It felt wet and slippery from all the rain. The wind
	blew, making the gutter above me rattle. 
	I gazed straight up. The building was only two
	stories high at this end. But the roof appeared a mile
	above me! 
	I could see the cap. It was hanging halfway over
	the gutter edge. 
	83
	If only a gust of wind would blow it down and
	save me from having to do this! 
	But . . . no. 
	I took a deep breath and grasped the cold, wet
	drainpipe. I moved my hands high and wrapped my
	legs around the pipe. 
	Kids were still cheering, urging me on. I glimpsed
	Billy standing in front of the crowd. He had finally
	stopped crying. He had his eyes raised to the cap. 
	With a groan, I pulled myself up. My hands
	slipped on the wet metal. But I kept a tight grip on
	the pipe with my legs. 
	Slowly, slowly, I pulled myself up. 
	I was gasping for breath when I reached the roof. 
	I leaned forward carefully and spread my hands onto
	the dark shingles. Then I pulled myself onto the roof. 
	The roof seemed to slant straight up. One slip, I
	realized, and I could roll right off. 
	I was on my hands and knees on the edge of the
	roof. A strong wind fluttered my jacket. 
	My whole body was trembling. My legs felt like
	rubber. I started to crawl forward. So carefully. 
	Planting one hand. Then the other. Sliding one knee
	forward. Then the other knee. 
	The Raiders cap was only a few yards away. But I
	kept slipping on the wet shingles, sliding toward the
	edge of the roof. 
	Each time I slipped, a scream went up from the
	kids below. I turned and glimpsed other kids running
	84
	from the playground. 
	I could hear their excited shouts. I knew they
	were cheering me on. But I couldn’t make out their
	words. 
	I crawled forward, inch by inch. And then I
	stretched out one hand . . . stretched . . . 
	. . . and grabbed the cap. 
	Below, kids were cheering and shouting, slapping
	high-fives. Billy leaped into the air, laughing and
	clapping. 
	“Yes!” I cried, gripping the cap tightly in my fist. 
	“Yes!” I jumped to my feet. 
	Why? 
	Why did I jump to my feet? 
	It was as if I had lost control. Some kind of powerful force had pulled me up. 
	There I was, standing on the edge of the roof, 
	laughing, waving the cap in the air. A victory celebration? 
	No! I didn’t want to be there. What had pulled
	me to the roof edge? 
	I lowered the cap to my side. And stared down, 
	gripped with cold, sudden horror. 
	So far down to the ground. 
	What next? What next? I asked myself. 
	My whole body shuddered. 
	Am I going to flap my arms and jump off? Just as
	the diary said? 
	Is there nothing I can do to save myself? 
	85
	The diary—it’s always right, I realized to my 
	horror. It always tells the truth. 
	And if it says I jump off the roof . . . 
	I’m going to break my neck. Or worse. Because
	the diary is . . . in control. 
	Trembling in the strong wind, I glanced down at
	the crowd again. The kids had grown silent. They all
	stared up at me tensely. No one moved. 
	I stared down at them, my mind swirling like the
	wind. 
	“Get down!” someone shouted. 
	“Alex—be careful!” I heard Nella cry. 
	“Alex—back up! Get back!” 
	Maybe I can make big bucks from this jump, I
	suddenly thought. If I’m going to break all my bones, 
	at least maybe I can win a few bets. 
	I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted down to them. “Does anyone dare me to jump?” 
	The wind blew the words back at me. And before
	anyone down below could reply, my shoes started to
	slide on the wet shingles. 
	“No—!” I gasped. 
	My arms flew up in the air as I lost my balance. 
	My legs slid out from under me. 
	My hands flapped wildly in the air. 
	One shoe caught in the gutter. The other slid over
	the edge. 
	I heard shrill screams. A rush of cold wind. 
	And flailing, kicking, and thrashing, I fell. 
	86
	
	The ground shot up to meet me. 
	It looked like a video game. All bright colors and
	screaming sound, and everything happening in
	jagged slow motion. 
	And then I saw a figure shooting forward. An
	alarmed face. 
	Arms straight out. 
	A hard thud. 
	I bounced. Bounced in someone’s arms. 
	Colors swirled around me. And the screams—the
	screams all around, so shrill, I thought my ears
	would burst. 
	“Huh?” I uttered a choked cry as I realized someone had caught me. 
	A teacher. Mrs. Walker, the art teacher. I landed
	hard on top of her. We both tumbled to the grass. She
	let out a groan, then struggled to untangle herself
	from me. 
	How embarrassing, I thought, still dizzy, still falling
	87
	in my mind. Still feeling the ground rushing up to me. 
	How embarrassing. Caught by a teacher. 
	“Alex, are you okay?” she asked breathlessly, 
	climbing shakily to her feet. 
	I jumped up quickly. “Fine,” I said, trying to
	shake off the dizziness. “Fine . . . I guess.” 
	Mrs. Walker let out a sigh. She brushed off her
	jacket. Then tested her arms. “You should go on a
	diet if you’re going to jump off buildings.” 
	Lots of kids laughed. I forced a smile. 
	Mrs. Walker’s expression changed. “What on
	earth were you doing up there?” 
	“Billy’s cap,” I murmured. “I had to bring down
	his cap. . . .” 
	Where was it? What happened to the cap? 
	I glanced around. And saw a black-and-silver
	Raiders cap pulled down low over Billy’s head. A big
	grin beneath the cap. 
	Billy was happy. 
	For the second time in one week, he had almost
	gotten me killed! And there he was, grinning his head
	off. 
	“That was really dangerous,” Mrs. Walker said. 
	I nodded. “Yes, I know.” 
	My whole life has become dangerous, I thought. 
	My whole life is one frightening moment after another. 
	All because of the diary. 
	I picked up my backpack and started for home. 
	Kids slapped me high-fives and congratulated me. 
	88
	“Way to go, Alex!” 
	“That was totally cool!” 
	But I didn’t feel totally cool. And I didn’t feel like
	celebrating. 
	I wanted to hurry home and think. I had to think
	hard about this. Should I keep the diary? Or should
	I throw it in the trash? 
	Could I throw it in the trash? 
	No. No . . . it had a powerful hold on me, I realized. 
	I needed it. I needed to know what would happen
	next. 
	I couldn’t fight it. I had tried to fight what it said. 
	I had tried to make the diary wrong. 
	But it was always right. Always. 
	I burst into the house and tossed down my backpack. Then I leaped up the stairs two at a time. 
	I dove into my room. My heart pounding, I crossed
	to my desk. 
	Jerked open the drawer. 
	Reached for the diary. Reached for it. 
	“Huh?” I uttered a sharp cry. 
	Panic choked my throat. 
	My hand fumbled through the drawer. I pulled
	the drawer out all the way. 
	And stared down. 
	Stared wide-eyed. 
	Gone. 
	The diary was gone! 
	89
	
	I heard someone laugh. 
	Startled, I spun around. 
	Chip and Shawn sat on my bed, grinning. Chip
	waved the diary at me. 
	“Hey—!” I cried. “Where’d you get that?” 
	Chip’s grin grew wider. He pointed. “On your
	desk. Shawn and I are going to read your deep, dark
	secrets.” 
	“No!” I screamed. “Give it back!” I dove across
	the room and made a grab for it. 
	Chip giggled and dodged away from me. He
	tossed the diary to Shawn. 
	Shawn jumped to his feet and ran to the door. 
	“Come on—!” I shouted. “Give it!” I leaped at
	Shawn. Tackled him around the waist. 
	As I pulled him to the floor, he heaved the diary
	back to Chip. Chip reached for it—but it flew over his
	hand and bounced off the wall, onto the bed. 
	Chip and I dove for it, scrambling. I shoved him
	90
	hard. “Give it back to me!” I shrieked. “I mean it! 
	Give it back!” 
	Then I totally lost it. I jumped on top of him and
	began pounding him with my fists. “Give it back! 
	Give it back!” 
	Stunned, Chip rolled away. He dropped onto the
	floor and stared up at me in surprise. “Okay, okay,” 
	he muttered. “It’s just a stupid diary.” 
	I grabbed the little book and squeezed it tightly in
	my hand. I struggled to catch my breath. My heart
	was pounding. 
	“What is your problem, Alex?” Shawn asked, 
	shaking his head. “We weren’t going to hurt your
	diary.” 
	“You didn’t have to go totally berserk,” Chip
	added. 
	“What’s in that diary anyway?” Shawn asked. 
	“Did you write stuff about us in there?” 
	“No,” I said. “No way.” I tucked the diary into the
	desk drawer and pushed the drawer shut. “I just . . . 
	don’t like people messing with my stuff.” 
	“We’re not people,” Shawn replied, eyeing me
	intently. “We’re your friends!” 
	“I know, but—” 
	“Forget about the diary,” Chip said. He grabbed
	my arm and used me to pull himself to his feet. “Let’s
	hang out or something. We could try those new video
	games you got.” 
	“Uh . . . I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to . . . uh . . . go
	91
	somewhere with my parents tonight. So I have to do
	my homework now.” 
	They both stared at me. Could they tell I was
	lying? 
	I didn’t want to hang out with them. I wanted to
	see the new diary entry. I wanted to sit and think
	about the diary. 
	They had given me a bad scare. When the diary
	wasn’t in its right place, I totally freaked. Now I
	knew—I needed the diary. Needed it! 
	But I couldn’t explain it to them. I couldn’t really
	explain it to myself. 
	As soon as they left, I pulled the diary from the
	desk and eagerly shuffled through the pages. No new
	entry yet. I read over the old ones. 
	True. Everything in it was true. Every prediction
	had been exactly right. 
	I didn’t know how it was happening. Or why. But
	as I stared at the blank pages, waiting for them to fill
	up with the next entry, I knew that I couldn’t live
	without this book. I hated it—and I needed it at the
	same time. 
	After dinner, the next entry was waiting for me in
	the diary. But it was an entry I wished I hadn’t read. 
	An entry I didn’t want to believe. 
	First, it gave me the score of tomorrow’s Ravens
	game. Very handy. 
	But the rest of the entry filled me with dread:
	92
	After the basketball game, Shawn was riding his
	bike home. It was a cloudy, foggy evening, and Shawn
	was going really fast to get home before the rain
	started. 
	He wasn’t looking where he was going. And I saw
	him crash. I saw the whole thing. 
	He smashed head-on into a parked truck. Poor
	Shawn. He flipped up into the air. He landed hard. 
	Knocked unconscious. And he broke his leg in two
	places. 
	“No way!” I cried out loud, staring until the words
	blurred on the page. “No way. I won’t let this happen. 
	I can’t let this happen.” 
	The diary entries were becoming more and more
	frightening. Each prediction was more terrifying than
	the last. 
	But I can stop this one, I decided. I can stop it
	from happening. 
	Can’t I? 
	93
	
	“Hey, Shawn, want to walk home with me after
	the basketball game?” 
	A cheer rang out as the Ravens scored. They were
	winning 35 to 25. Once again, the diary was right on
	target. I was about to win forty dollars from my
	friends. 
	“I can’t. I rode my bike,” he replied. He scratched
	his red hair, frowning. “I’ve got to stop making bets
	with you, Alex. You win every bet. I don’t know how
	you do it. I’m totally broke.” 
	“Just a lucky streak,” I said, forcing myself not to
	grin. “Listen, leave your bike. You can get it tomorrow. Come to my house for dinner.” 
	He shook his head. “I can’t. It’s going to rain. I
	want to get home fast.” 
	“But—but—” 
	The final buzzer drowned out my protests. 
	I can’t stop him from riding his bike, I realized. 
	But I can stop him from having an accident. 
	94
	I’ll run along beside him. I’ll make sure he pays
	attention and watches where he’s going. 
	I can stop this accident from happening. I will
	stop it! 
	“Here’s your five bucks,” a kid grumbled. He
	shoved a five-dollar bill into my hand. “You’re too
	lucky, Alex.” 
	Two other guys each counted out five singles and
	handed them over to me. “Hey—double or nothing
	next time!” I shouted happily. 
	I collected all my winnings. Then I carefully
	counted the money to make sure I had it all. “Thirtyeight . . . thirty-nine . . . forty. Yes!” 
	If I kept winning like this, I’d soon have enough
	money to buy a new guitar! 
	I turned to Shawn. “Hey—” 
	He was gone. I thought he was standing right
	beside me. 
	The gym was emptying out slowly. I pushed my
	way desperately through the crowd and squeezed
	out the door. Some girls down the hall called to me, 
	but I didn’t turn around. I had to find Shawn. 
	I pushed open the back doors of the school building and burst onto the parking lot. It was a dark, 
	damp evening. Black storm clouds spread over the
	sky. I felt a few cold drops of rain on my forehead. 
	“Shawn—?” 
	I spotted him on his bike, pedaling hard, speeding away from the bike rack. 
	95
	“Shawn—stop!” I shouted, waving both arms. I
	took off, running after him. 
	I saw Tessa at the bike rack with two other girls. 
	She looked up as I ran past. “Alex—what’s up?” 
	I didn’t slow down. I chased after Shawn, waving
	my arms frantically, shouting his name. “Stop! Hey—
	stop!” 
	He didn’t hear me. He rolled down Park Street, 
	picking up speed. 
	Rain began to patter down. I tried to run faster, 
	ignoring the ache in my side. 
	“Shawn! Stop! Hey—Shawn!” I screamed. 
	Finally, he heard me. 
	He turned around. 
	“Stop!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my
	mouth. “Stop!” 
	He stared at me. He didn’t see the large yellow
	moving van parked at the curb. 
	“Noooooo!” 
	My scream was too late. 
	His bike smashed into the broad back of the
	truck. I heard a sick crunch of metal. Then I heard
	Shawn’s shrill cry. 
	The crash threw him into the air. His hands flew
	straight up. He smacked the back of the truck. 
	Bounced off. Hit the pavement, landing on his side. 
	And didn’t move. 
	I stood frozen in the middle of the street, staring
	in horror, my hands still cupped around my mouth. 
	96
	My fault , I thought. 
	Then I heard a voice shouting. A familiar voice. 
	And I saw Tessa running along the curb, her
	blond hair flying behind her. She dropped down on
	the pavement beside Shawn. 
	“Alex—” she called. “Don’t just stand there! Go
	get help! Get to a phone! Call for help! Hurry!” 
	Her cries broke through my thoughts. I shook
	myself alert and started to run up the driveway of the
	nearest house. They’ll let me use the phone, I told
	myself. I’ll call 911. 
	But as I ran up the drive, the same thought kept
	repeating in my mind. 
	My fault . 
	The accident was my fault. If I hadn’t been there, 
	Shawn wouldn’t have turned around. If I hadn’t been
	there, he’d be okay right now. 
	My fault . . . 
	The diary’s fault . . . 
	I have to get rid of that diary, I decided. I have to
	get rid of it and never read another entry. 
	But will that help? 
	Will the horrible things stop happening to my
	friends and me? 
	97
	
	After dinner, I sat at my desk, staring at the diary. 
	I held it between my hands, rubbing my fingers over
	the smooth black leather cover. I felt a chill of fear. 
	I’m not going to read another entry, I vowed. 
	How many frightening things had happened since
	I’d found the diary? I ran through them again in my
	mind. I was hit by a car . . . jumped off the school
	roof . . . and now Shawn was lying in the hospital
	with a badly broken leg. 
	I squeezed the little book tightly. My hands were
	sweating. They left wet fingerprints on the leather. 
	Can I really just toss this amazing book away? I
	asked myself. What about all the bets I’ve been winning? 
	The Ravens have four more basketball games to
	play. If I keep winning, I’ll have more than enough
	for a new guitar. I’ll be able to buy that Fender Strat
	I’ve been wanting for years! 
	No. Forget about that, Alex, I told myself. Give up
	98
	
	betting. Give it up before it’s too late. 
	Be smart. Get rid of the diary. Throw it away. 
	But what if that doesn’t help? I asked myself. The
	question sent a chill down my back. 
	What makes you think that all these frightening
	things will end just because you don’t read the
	diary’s predictions? 
	I stared hard at the book. It appeared to glow like
	a black jewel in my hands. 
	My hands trembled. I couldn’t help myself. I
	couldn’t stop myself. I started to open the cover. 
	I heard a cough. 
	I dropped the book and glanced up. “Tessa—?” 
	She stepped into my room. Her blond hair was
	brushed straight back, tied with a bright blue
	Scrunchie. Her green eyes locked on mine. 
	“What’s going on, Alex?” she demanded. She
	walked up to my desk and crossed her arms in front
	of her. 
	“Excuse me? What do you mean?” I slid open the
	desk drawer and shoved the diary inside. 
	“I watched you this afternoon,” Tessa said. “And
	I know there’s something weird going on.” 
	I crossed my arms too. “The only weird thing
	going on is you bursting into my room all the time,” 
	I said. 
	“Why did you run after Shawn like that?” she
	demanded. “Why did you shout like that?” 
	“Uh . . . well . . .” I couldn’t think of a good answer. 
	99
	“You knew he was going to crash,” Tessa said. 
	“That’s why you were trying to stop him.” 
	“No way—!” I cried. 
	“Yes, I watched you,” she insisted. “How did you
	know he was going to crash?” 
	“I—I didn’t,” I told her. 
	Tessa wouldn’t stop asking questions. “Why have
	you been acting so weird, Alex? I heard about you
	jumping off the roof at school. Why did you do that?” 
	“It was no big deal,” I said. 
	She stared at me for a long time. “I have an idea,” 
	she said finally. “Remember, you wanted to share
	diaries. You read mine, and I read yours. Well, okay. 
	Let’s try it. Let me see your diary and—” 
	“NO!” I shouted. I jumped up from my desk and
	turned to block her way to the desk drawer. “Forget
	it, Tessa. I’m not sharing. I don’t know why you came
	over here to spy on me. But I’m—” 
	Her expression changed. She looked really hurt. 
	“I’m not spying on you, Alex,” she whispered. “I’m 
	just . . . worried about you. I mean, now that I’m in
	your band, I thought . . . I thought maybe we’d be
	friends.” 
	“Friends?” My voice cracked on the word. 
	“Well . . . I don’t know . . .” 
	Now she looked even more hurt. Her red, heartshaped lips were pushed forward in a sad pout. She
	sighed. “When is the band going to rehearse? Uncle
	Jon says the garage is all ready for us.” 
	100
	I was glad she had decided to change the subject. 
	“Let’s see if everyone can get together Friday night,” 
	I said. 
	A few minutes later, she was gone. 
	I made sure I heard the front door close behind
	her. Then I pulled the diary from its hiding place in
	the desk drawer. 
	“I’m not sharing you with anyone!” I told it. 
	I knew I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t help myself. I
	flipped quickly through the pages. Yes. A new entry, 
	an entry for tomorrow:
	DEAR DIARY, 
	What a wild day! Unbelievable! 
	When the driver got off the school bus for a few
	minutes, I took over the wheel. Do you believe it? I
	drove the bus! I raced it halfway across town. 
	Kids were crying and screaming. But what a thrill! 
	That is totally insane! I told myself. 
	I read the entry again. Then I burst out laughing. 
	Why would I do such a crazy thing? 
	Take over the school bus and drive it across
	town? 
	I would never do anything like that. This time, the
	diary is completely off. Completely wrong. 
	Besides, Mom picks me up on Thursdays. I don’t
	even ride the school bus tomorrow. So it can’t happen. It can’t. 
	101
	“Alex, are you up there?” 
	I heard Mom’s shout from the stairs. “Yes? What
	is it?” I called. 
	“I can’t pick you up after school tomorrow. I have
	an appointment. You’ll have to take the school bus.” 
	102
	
	After school the next day, I walked to the back of
	the school bus and plopped down in the very last
	seat. I fastened the seat belt as tight as I could. And
	I gripped the arms of the seat. 
	I’m not going to get up from this seat, I told
	myself. No matter what happens. 
	I’m going to show the diary that I’m the boss. 
	I decide what happens and what doesn’t. 
	But I knew I didn’t have much of a chance. I’d
	said the very same words before—and the diary’s
	prediction always came true. 
	The diary was always right. 
	Why should I even try to fight it? I wondered. 
	I’m going to take over the bus, just as the diary
	said. 
	Before the ride is over, I’m going to be sitting
	behind the wheel, taking this thing through town. 
	I slumped sadly in the seat. The kid next to me
	said something, but I didn’t even answer him. I
	103
	stared glumly out the window. 
	Some kids were batting a balloon back and forth
	down the bus. I didn’t even move when the balloon
	bounced off my head. 
	Some kids laughed at me. I didn’t care. 
	You won’t be laughing soon, I thought bitterly. 
	Soon you’ll be screaming. 
	How is it going to happen this time? I wondered. 
	What is going to cause me to run up to the front, 
	drop behind the wheel, and drive this bus away? 
	I saw Billy Miller climb onto the bus, carrying a
	stack of comic books. He took a seat near the front
	and started shuffling through them. Was it going to
	be Billy’s fault again? 
	What is going to make me do such a crazy thing? 
	I was so tense, I accidentally bit my tongue. I
	cried out in pain. 
	I can’t take this suspense! I thought. 
	Finally, Mr. Fenner, the bus driver, climbed into
	the bus. He shouted for everyone to sit down. Then
	he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. 
	The bus rumbled and shook. Mr. Fenner gunned
	the engine, making the bus roar and sending a white
	cloud of exhaust rising up to the back window. 
	He started to close the door, then changed his
	mind. The kids all groaned as he climbed up from his
	seat and stepped down off the bus. 
	I watched him cross the street to talk to two men
	at the corner. The two men laughed about something. 
	104
	Mr. Fenner took off his cap and scratched his gray
	hair. 
	“We want to go! We want to go!” some kids started
	to chant. 
	Mr. Fenner kept on chatting with the two men. I
	think he was pretending he couldn’t hear the chant. 
	Without even realizing it, I had unfastened my
	seat belt and stepped into the aisle. 
	Why am I doing this? I asked myself. 
	But the bus, the kids, the long aisle to the driver’s
	seat, were all a blur. I was moving as if in a dream. 
	In a daze, I walked up the narrow aisle. Kids were
	chanting. “We want to go! We want to go!” 
	Billy Miller called out to me. A girl shouted, “Hey, 
	Alex—sit down!” 
	But I paid no attention to any of them. 
	I have no choice, I told myself. Some strange
	force is pulling me forward . . . pulling me . . . 
	I slid behind the wheel. I gripped it with both
	hands. 
	“Alex—what are you doing?” a girl screamed. 
	“Go! Go! Go!” some kids were chanting. 
	I saw Mr. Fenner through the bus windshield. He
	had his back turned. He was shaking his head and
	laughing with the two men. 
	I closed the bus door. The engine hummed loudly. 
	I leaned over the wheel. I pressed my foot down on
	the brake a couple of times, testing it. Then my foot
	found the gas pedal. 
	105
	“Go! Go! Go!” 
	“Stop him!” someone shouted. 
	“Alex—get back to your seat!” a boy cried. 
	“Alex—don’t!” 
	They didn’t understand. I had to take over the 
	bus. I had no control . . . no control at all. 
	Some kids were screaming for Mr. Fenner. A little
	girl right behind me started to cry. 
	I took a deep breath. Then I spun the wheel away
	from the curb, pulled back the gearshift, and stepped
	on the gas. 
	The bus squealed and lurched forward. “Whoa!” 
	I cried out as the side of the bus scraped the car
	parked in front of us. I saw the car’s mirror rip away. 
	Kids screamed and shrieked. 
	“Stop!” 
	“Somebody stop him!” 
	I spun the wheel harder and pressed the gas
	pedal down. “Hey—!” The bus rocked over the other
	curb onto the grass. 
	Kids shrieked louder. 
	Steering this thing was a lot harder than I thought. 
	Of course, I’d never driven a bus before. I’d never
	driven anything before—except in video games! 
	I jerked the wheel and aimed the bus back into
	the street. A car horn blared at my side. “LOOK
	OUT!” I screamed. The bus swerved sharply—and a
	kid went flying off his bike. 
	Close call! 
	106
	“Stop! Alex—stop!” kids were shrieking and crying. 
	In the mirror, I saw Mr. Fenner running frantically
	after the bus. His cap blew off his head, but he kept
	chasing after me. 
	I leaned over the wheel and struggled to keep the
	bus on the street. My foot pressed harder on the gas. 
	How fast was I going? 
	I didn’t dare take my eyes away from the windshield to check the speedometer. 
	I roared through a stop sign. My foot missed the
	brake pedal. 
	Driving was a lot harder than I’d imagined. 
	Behind me, my passengers had grown very silent. 
	I heard a few kids snuffling, a few sobbing. But the
	screams had stopped. No one was talking. 
	The bus bounced hard along the street. On both
	sides, the lawns were a blur of green. I checked the
	mirror. I had left Mr. Fenner far behind. 
	When I heard the siren, my breath caught in my
	throat. I started to choke. 
	The high wailing sound grew louder. In the mirror, 
	I saw a black police car, red lights flashing. 
	The diary didn’t say anything about police! I
	thought. 
	And then my hands slid off the wheel as the bus
	lurched onto the grass. 
	The tree rose up in front of me. So dark and wide. 
	My scream rang out over the sound of the siren. 
	107
	And then a thundering crash shook the bus. 
	The tree appeared to fly into the windshield. And
	all the sounds meshed together—my scream . . . the
	siren wail . . . the shattering glass . . . and the crunch
	of bending metal. 
	Then silence. 
	A terrifying, ugly silence. 
	108
	
	“Why did you do it, Alex?” 
	Dad held me by the shoulders. His eyes studied
	my face. 
	“I . . . can’t explain,” I whispered. “I’m . . . really
	sorry.” 
	Mom and Dad came to the police station to take
	me home. They were too shocked and confused to be
	angry at me. 
	Why had I done it? 
	I really couldn’t explain it. And if I told my parents about the diary, they wouldn’t believe it anyway. 
	Luckily, none of the kids on the bus had been
	hurt. The front of the bus was pretty smashed in. And
	the tree I hit didn’t exactly look great. 
	“You have no explanation?” Mom asked, biting
	her bottom lip. “No explanation at all for doing such
	a stupid, dangerous thing?” 
	“It won’t happen again,” I muttered. 
	And I meant it. 
	109
	The diary had to go. I wasn’t going to keep it for
	one more night. 
	Once again, Tessa appeared in my room after dinner. “I know why you’re doing these things, Alex,” 
	she said, sneering at me. “I know your secret.” 
	Had she really figured it out? I stared at her. 
	“Secret?” 
	“It’s the diary,” she said. 
	I swallowed hard. How did she know? “What
	about the diary?” I demanded. 
	She narrowed her green eyes at me. “You’re doing
	all these crazy, dangerous things just so you’ll have
	something exciting to write in your diary!” she 
	declared. 
	I laughed. She didn’t have a clue. 
	“You’ve pulled all these crazy stunts so that your
	diary will be more exciting than mine,” Tessa continued. “And then you’ll win our bet.” 
	She shook her head. “Alex, how could you risk all
	those kids’ lives just to win a bet?” 
	I tried to explain to her that she was way off. That
	she didn’t know what she was talking about. “I’m 
	finished betting on things,” I said. “I’m never going to
	make another bet as long as I live.” But I couldn’t
	convince her. 
	When she finally left, I grabbed the diary. I held
	it in my hands, staring at the cover. 
	I really wanted to read it. I really wanted to see
	110
	what it said about tomorrow. 
	Maybe just a peek . . . 
	No! 
	It was too dangerous. I could have killed those
	kids on the bus this afternoon. I could have killed
	myself! What if tomorrow’s entry was even more
	dangerous and terrifying? 
	No. No way. This time I meant it. 
	Gripping the diary tightly in my hand, I crept out
	to the backyard. It was a dark night, but the three
	metal trash cans lined up at the side of the garage
	were easy to find. I lifted the lid off the first can. 
	A cold breeze made the trees shiver. A low tree
	branch cracked—and fell, thudding to the ground
	behind me. 
	Startled, I dropped the lid. My heart pounding, I
	tossed the diary into the can. 
	When I bent to pick up the lid, I heard a sound. 
	A crackling. A scraping. 
	Another tree branch shifting in the wind? 
	Or was someone out there in the darkness, watching me? 
	“Who’s there?” I called. “Is someone there?” 
	111
	
	Silence. 
	Shivering, I made my way back into the house. I
	was glad to be rid of the diary. I felt a hundred
	pounds lighter. 
	That night, I fell asleep quickly. I dreamed I was
	floating, floating on a puffy white cloud. The cloud
	suddenly popped and vanished—and I woke up. 
	I sat straight up, wide awake. Panic choked my
	throat. I glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. 
	I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, I
	thought. I pictured the diary out back in the trash
	can. 
	I need it, I told myself. I need to know what’s
	going to happen. I have to know! 
	I climbed out of bed. I straightened my pajama
	bottoms and crept barefoot down the stairs. 
	Once again, I was moving as if in a daze. As if
	under a spell. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I
	knew I should leave the diary in the trash. 
	112
	
	But I couldn’t help myself. I had to read what it
	said about tomorrow. 
	I clicked on the light to the backyard. I silently
	prayed it wouldn’t wake Mom and Dad. Carefully, I
	unlocked the kitchen door, pulled it open, and
	slipped out into the cold, moonless night. 
	Trees creaked and groaned. The wet grass felt icy
	cold against my bare feet. I saw an animal slither
	under a bush. I think it was a mole or a raccoon. 
	I tiptoed to the trash cans. The wind made my
	pajama shirt ripple. Shivering hard, I lifted the lid off
	the first can. I bent over it. Reached inside. 
	“Huh?” 
	No diary. 
	I leaned closer. Dipped my head into the can. No
	diary. 
	With a low cry, I began pawing frantically
	through the trash. It has to be here! I told myself. It 
	has to! 
	Bending over the can, searching furiously, I dug
	deeper, deeper into the trash. 
	Where is it? Where? 
	In a panic, I lifted the can in both hands. Turned
	it upside down. And poured everything out. 
	Then I dropped to my knees on the wet grass and
	began tearing through the trash. Grabbing at it. 
	Heaving it aside. 
	“Where is it?” I cried out loud, my heart thudding
	in my chest. “It’s got to be here!” 
	113
	I grabbed the next can and tilted it over. Nothing. 
	No sign of the diary. 
	I turned the third can over too. Gagged on the
	smell of sour milk. Tore through the trash bags. Tore
	through spoiled eggs and wilted, decayed lettuce. 
	Tossed it all away. Tossed it over the lawn. 
	Searching . . . searching in a choking panic. 
	But no. No diary. 
	The diary was gone. 
	114
	
	I stayed awake the rest of the night. I paced back
	and forth in my room, thinking about the diary. 
	It didn’t just disappear, I knew. Someone had
	taken it. 
	Was it Tessa? 
	It didn’t take me long to find out. 
	In school the next morning, I felt tense, shaky. 
	One reason was that I’d been awake all night. But
	mainly, I was tense because I didn’t know what was
	going to happen. 
	In algebra class, we had a pop quiz. I totally
	flunked it. I hadn’t even opened my algebra book the
	night before. 
	As I slunk out of the room, I glimpsed the broad
	grin on Tessa’s face. “That was so easy,” she declared. 
	Later, I saw Tessa in the hall surrounded by a
	group of her friends. “Is it a bet?” she was saying. 
	“Let me get this straight,” her friend Nella said. 
	“You want to bet us five dollars there will be a gym
	115
	locker inspection this afternoon?” 
	Tessa nodded, grinning. “Who wants to bet five
	bucks?” 
	“But we never have gym locker inspections!” 
	Nella protested. 
	“If we don’t, you win the bet,” Tessa said. 
	I watched as the girls reached into their bags, 
	pulling out five-dollar bills. Why was Tessa so sure
	about the locker inspection? 
	There was only one answer to that question. The
	diary. She knew the future. She must have the diary. 
	I balled my hands into tight fists. I gritted my
	teeth, trying not to explode in anger. 
	At lunchtime, I ran to catch up to her. “Hey, 
	Tessa—wait up! I know what you did—” 
	“Better hurry, Alex!” she shouted, running ahead
	of me toward the lunchroom. “Pizza today!” 
	“How do you know?” I called. 
	Her green eyes lit up gleefully. “A little birdie told
	me!” She laughed and trotted into the lunchroom. 
	Again, I balled my hands into fists. Tessa has it, I
	knew. She waited till I went inside last night. Then
	she took the diary. 
	But she isn’t keeping it for long, I decided. I’m
	going to get it back—tonight. 
	After dinner, Dad drove Chip and me to Tessa’s
	uncle’s house. We carried our guitars into the garage
	and set them down against the wall. Dad carried the
	116
	large amp over to the electrical outlet near the door. 
	“I’ve got to go, guys,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in
	a few hours. Have a good practice.” 
	“Thanks for helping us carry our stuff,” Chip
	called as my dad climbed back into the car. 
	A few seconds after he backed away, Tessa
	appeared. She carried a tall stack of papers. “I
	brought some songs we can try,” she said. 
	“Your uncle’s garage is awesome,” Chip said. He
	bent to plug his guitar into the amp. “We’ve got
	enough electrical power in here to rehearse an
	orchestra!” 
	Tessa nodded. “Uncle Jon is a good guy.” She
	turned to the driveway. “Hey—look who’s here!” 
	We all turned to watch Shawn struggle up the
	drive on his crutches. He had a heavy white cast on
	his broken leg that reached all the way to his waist. 
	Chip hurried to carry Shawn’s guitar for him. 
	“Hey, Shawn—how are you going to play guitar with
	those crutches?” he asked. 
	Shawn snickered. “I guess maybe I’ll put the
	crutches down when I play,” he said. 
	We all laughed. Chip blushed bright red. 
	The night was overcast, and a sudden flash of
	lightning made the garage as bright as day. A soft rain
	started to fall, tapping against the garage windows
	and the roof. 
	Chip attached a cable to Shawn’s guitar. “I’ll help
	you set up.” 
	117
	A boom of thunder shook the walls. “Great sound
	effects!” Chip cried. 
	I suddenly realized that Tessa was staring at me. 
	“What’s your problem, Alex?” she asked. “Why are
	you just standing around?” 
	“Oh. Uh . . . I brought the wrong guitar,” I said. “I
	really wanted to play the other one.” 
	I started toward the open garage door. Lightning
	flickered over the trees across the street. “I’m going
	to run home and get it,” I said, shouting over another
	burst of thunder. 
	“In the rain?” Shawn called. 
	“It’s only a couple of blocks,” I said. “I’ll be back by
	the time you’re set up.” I pulled my jacket over my
	head, grabbed my backpack, and ran out of the garage. 
	Of course, I wasn’t going to my house. I was going
	to Tessa’s house. 
	I had planned this all afternoon. I was going to
	Tessa’s house to get back my diary. 
	The rain came down a little harder. My shoes
	splashed through shallow puddles as I jogged along
	the sidewalk. Lightning streaked the sky, making the
	trees and lawns flash like silver. 
	A few minutes later, I stepped onto Tessa’s front
	stoop. Tessa’s mom answered the door. “Alex? What’s
	wrong?” she asked, very shocked to see me. “You’re
	soaked!” 
	“Tessa forgot some song sheets,” I said. “She
	asked me to get them from her room.” 
	118
	Thunder boomed. Dr. Wayne shook her head. “I
	hope you kids are all right in this storm. Practicing in
	a garage . . .” 
	“It’s a very well-built garage,” I said. “No leaks or
	anything.” 
	I wiped my wet shoes carefully on the welcome
	mat, then made my way to Tessa’s room. I clicked on
	the light—and saw it instantly. 
	The diary. My diary. Lying on top of a stack of 
	papers on Tessa’s desk. 
	“Yessss!” I cried happily. 
	I dove across the room and grabbed it. 
	She stole it. Tessa stole my diary! How could she
	do a thing like that? 
	Well, it doesn’t matter, I decided. The diary is
	back with its proper owner. 
	I held it in my hands. Rainwater dripped from my
	hair onto the leather cover. I brushed the water away
	with my finger. 
	I’ve got to open it, I decided. I’ve got to see what
	the diary says about tonight. 
	I’ve felt so lost without it . . . so totally lost. 
	My hands shook as I flipped the book open. 
	I shuffled past the old entries till I came to the last
	page. 
	The new entry. The entry for tonight. 
	My eyes bulged as I read it. One word. 
	Only one word on the page:
	DEAD. 
	119
	
	DEAD. 
	I stared at the word, the book trembling between
	my hands. 
	My frightening dream flashed into my mind. The
	dream had come true. The diary entry read: DEAD. 
	And the diary never lied. 
	“Alex—did you find what you need?” Dr. Wayne’s
	voice broke into my thoughts. 
	“Yes. No problem!” I called. I slammed the book
	shut. I stuffed it into my backpack. Then I headed
	back to the front of the house. 
	DEAD. 
	Whoa. Wait a minute. 
	Tessa stole the diary yesterday. And now the
	entry for today was that one frightening word. 
	It means that Tessa is in danger, I realized. Not
	me. 
	I called good night to her mother and ran back
	into the rain. It was coming down harder now. Sheets
	120
	of rain lit up by bright flashes of crackling lightning. 
	I pulled my jacket over my head and ran. 
	Tessa is in danger. The diary says that Tessa will
	be dead. 
	I can’t let that happen, I decided. I have to warn
	her. 
	Thunder boomed. A jagged bolt of lightning snapped over the grass, so close, I jumped back. 
	My shoes splashed up waves of water. 
	DEAD. DEAD. 
	I’m going to save Tessa, I vowed. I’m going to
	save her. 
	But—how? 
	121
	
	A car rolled past, windshield wipers snapping. I
	leaped back as the tires sent up a tidal wave of water. 
	Through sheets of rain, the garage came into
	view. I could see my friends beyond the garage window. 
	My shoes pounded up the driveway. I was only a
	few feet from the garage when I heard a loud crack. 
	I glanced up in time to see a white bolt of lightning hit the tree beside the garage. 
	I heard a snap—and then a sizzling rip. 
	A large tree branch shuddered, then fell. It crashed
	with a wet thud to the soaked lawn. 
	Shaking, I struggled to pull open the garage door. 
	As the door slid up, I saw Tessa. She was bending
	over to plug in a microphone cord. 
	Thunder boomed. 
	Tessa held the microphone in one hand while she
	struggled to plug in the cord. 
	She’s going to be hit by lightning, I realized. 
	122
	
	DEAD. 
	DEAD. 
	Tessa is going to be hit by lightning. 
	That’s how the diary prediction will come true—
	unless I get to her in time. 
	Lightning streaked low over the garage roof. I
	heard the loud crack as it hit the wooden fence at the 
	back of the yard. 
	Shaking off water, I lurched into the garage. 
	“Tessa—drop the cord!” I shrieked. 
	At the sound of my cry, all three of them turned. 
	“Drop it!” I shouted. “Tessa—drop it now!” 
	Tessa squinted at me. “Alex? What’s your problem?” 
	She finished plugging in the cord. She held the
	microphone at her waist. 
	“Drop it!” I screamed. 
	And then I dove across the garage, my wet shoes
	slipping on the concrete floor. 
	Thunder roared. 
	I leaped across the garage—and grabbed the
	microphone from Tessa’s hand. 
	As I grabbed it away, I saw the flash. A blinding
	white flash. So bright, so white, it forced my eyes
	shut. 
	And then I felt the jolt. A bone-crushing jolt of
	pain. 
	Like being hit by a locomotive. 
	The current crackled around me. My teeth chat123
	tered. My eyeballs burned. 
	And then the sizzling . . . the sizzling . . . 
	The sound of my own skin sizzling, burning away
	beneath the crackling electricity. 
	Hit by lightning . . . 
	Hit by lightning . . . 
	A roar of thunder was the last sound I heard. 
	124
	
	When the thunder faded, I slowly opened my eyes. 
	I gazed around my room. My own bedroom. I
	stood in my room. 
	“Surprise, Alex!” Mom cried. 
	Two men in blue uniforms were carrying an old
	desk into my room. 
	Mom smiled. “Do you like it? This is the desk
	you’ve needed for so long.” 
	I gaped at it. “Huh? A desk? Hey—thanks!” I cried. 
	The phone rang. Mom hurried downstairs to
	answer it. 
	After the two men left, I began to examine the
	desk. It was very cool. Big. Dark wood. Very oldfashioned-looking. 
	I began opening the drawers. Some of them stuck
	a little. I had to struggle to pull them open. 
	“Hey!” I cried out when I found the little book in
	the bottom drawer. I lifted it out, blew the dust off it, 
	and examined it. 
	125
	A diary. 
	How strange, I thought. This morning, Miss Gold
	suggested that I keep a diary for extra credit. And
	then Tessa Wayne had wanted to keep a diary too. 
	And here it is—a diary. A blank diary. 
	Or is it blank? 
	To my surprise, I saw an entry already written in
	the book. In my handwriting! 
	But how could that be? 
	Very confused, I raised the diary close and began
	to read the entry:
	DEAR DIARY, 
	The diary war has started, and I know I’m going to
	win. I can’t wait to see the look on Tessa’s face when
	she has to hand over one hundred big ones to me. 
	I ran into Tessa in the hall at school, and I 
	started teasing her about our diaries. I said that she
	and I should share what we’re writing—just for fun. I’ll
	read hers, and she could read mine. 
	Tessa said no way. She said she doesn’t want me
	stealing her ideas. I said, “Whatever.” I was just trying
	to give her a break and let her see how much better
	my diary is going to be than hers. 
	Then I went into geography class, and Mrs. Hoff

	horrified everyone by giving a surprise test on chapter

	eight. No one had studied chapter eight. And the test
	was really hard. . . . 
	126
	My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. 
	I stared at the diary in amazement. 
	That entry is for tomorrow, I realized. 
	But how does the diary know what will happen
	tomorrow? 
	IT’S AS IF IT ALREADY HAPPENED! 
	I glanced over the entry again. 
	“It can’t be true— can it?” I asked myself. 
	Well . . . just in case, I decided . . . maybe I’ll

	study chapter eight right now! 
	127
	Go Deeper Into This
	Nightmare
	Can You Predict the Future? 
	In DEAR DIARY, I'M DEAD, Alex Smith is able to
	predict the future. Pretty cool—but many other people have reported that they have the same ability—
	that they can see things that are going to happen
	before they actually do. 
	What about you? Have you ever been able to do
	the same thing? Think about it. Have you ever had a
	sense that something bad was going to happen
	before it did? Have you ever had a dream that came
	true? And what about the time you put your hand on
	the phone to call someone and it rang because that
	person called you? Most of us have had these experiences. Some people say they are just coincidences. 
	Others claim that it really is possible to predict the
	future. 
	Many methods have been used throughout time
	to try to predict the future. In ancient Greece and
	Rome, seers (or fortunetellers) foretold the future by
	128
	studying the flights of birds. In Ancient Babylon, it
	was believed that the liver of animals held all the
	secrets of the future. Priests would cut open and
	examine the livers of certain animals to discover
	whether good fortune or bad fortune was coming. 
	There have been many famous prophets and predictors throughout history. The most famous one is
	Nostradamus, who lived 500 years ago. He made
	many predictions. A lot of them turned out to be
	right. He predicted the French Revolution, the Great
	Fire of London, the rise of Napoleon and other world
	leaders. But luckily, he got one big prediction wrong. 
	He predicted that the world would end in 1999. 
	There have been many modern day predictors. 
	Many people predicted the sinking of the Titanic—
	and many others were convinced President Kennedy
	would be killed. There's even a case of a dog who
	predicted the future. A Boston bull terrier named
	Missy was famous for her ability to answer questions
	by barking a certain number of times. According to
	the newspapers, Missy predicted which team would
	win the World Series in 1964, the day the series
	would end, and the final score. She could tell time by
	moving the hands of a special clock. The story goes
	that she even predicted the hour of her death—by
	moving the hands of her clock to eight o'clock. 
	So what about you? Do you have the power to
	see the future? Here's a very simple test you can try. 
	It was invented by scientists to try and determine if
	129
	some people have the gift of precognition—that
	means the ability to know the future. To do this, you
	need a friend, a box, and a pair of dice. Have your
	friend put the dice in a box and close the box. You
	concentrate and say what numbers you think will
	come up on the dice. Then your friend shakes the
	box and opens it and reads the dice. One right guess
	out of six turns is considered just chance. Two right
	out of six turns is still probably just chance. 
	But more than that is spooky. Give it a try 
	and let us know how you did by posting a notice on
	thenightmareroom.com bulletin boards. Good luck. 
	130
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
	R.L. STINE says he has a great job. “My job is to give
	kids the CREEPS!” With his scary books, R.L. has
	terrified kids all over the world. He has sold over 300
	million books, making him the best-selling children’s
	author in history. 
	These days, R.L. is dishing out new frights in his
	series THE NIGHTMARE ROOM. When he isn’t
	working, he likes to read old mysteries, watch
	SpongeBob Squarepants on TV, and take his dog, 
	Nadine, for long walks around New York City, where
	he lives with his wife, Jane, and son, Matthew. 
	“I love taking my readers to scary places,” R.L. 
	says. “Do you know the scariest place of all? It’s your
	MIND!” 
	Take a look at what’s ahead in
	THE NIGHTMARE ROOM #6
	They Call Me Creature
	“CAW CAW CAW CAW!” 
	“It’s okay, Mr. Crow,” I said softly. I finished bandaging the bird and set it down gently in its cage. 
	“CAWW CAWWW!” It struggled to flutter its broken wing. 
	Dad slammed the magazine he was reading down
	on the table. He squinted at me through his thick, 
	black-framed glasses. “Laura, could you shut that
	bird up?” 
	I caught the surprise on my friend Ellen’s face. 
	She hadn’t seen Dad’s new grouchy personality. 
	Lucky, the big stray dog I found in the woods, 
	bumped past me, nearly knocking over the birdcage. 
	He began licking Dad’s hand with his fat tongue. 
	Dad jerked the hand away. “Would you get this
	slobbering mutt out of here?” he snapped. “Yuck. 
	What a disgusting animal.” 
	“You’re a vet!” I cried. “You’re supposed to love
	animals—remember?” I sighed. “Besides, where am I
	supposed to put him? I can’t use the shed anymore
	since you’re working in there.” 
	Dad rolled his eyes. “Why can’t I live in a house, 
	Laura? Why do I have to live in a stinking zoo?” 
	Ellen forced a laugh. But I could see she was really
	embarrassed. She had never seen Dad and me
	yelling at each other. She hadn’t seen Dad since . . . 
	since he changed. 
	“CAW CAWWWW.” The crow hopped up and
	down, uttering its shrill cries. 
	I picked up the cage and grabbed Lucky by the
	collar. I took them both down the hall to my room
	and shut the door. 
	I swung my camera around my neck. “Come on, 
	Ellen,” I said. “Let’s get to the woods.” 
	That’s where I feel the happiest. It’s so beautiful
	in the woods, so peaceful and filled with life. 
	Our back lawn ends at the woods. So I’ve always
	considered the miles and miles of trees and little
	streams part of my backyard. 
	I checked out my camera, making sure I had put
	in a fresh film cartridge. 
	Ellen brushed back her straight, black hair. She
	loves her hair. She’s always pushing it back, pulling
	it to the side, sweeping her hands through it. 
	I’m totally jealous of her hair. Mine is short, and
	red-brown, and frizzy. 
	Ellen’s eyes flashed. “Are we going into the woods
	because of your science project? Or because you
	want to find that boy you met?” 
	I let out a groan. “Because of my project,” I said. 
	“Life isn’t only about boys, you know.” 
	She laughed. “Says who?” 
	“Some people have other interests,” I sneered. I
	didn’t want to admit that I’d been thinking about Joe
	a lot since I ran into him by Luker Pond. 
	“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “We just have to
	find Georgie.” I started to the back door. 
	“You’re going into the woods?” Dad asked, frowning at me. “Don’t bring back any more strays. I mean
	it.” 
	“Okay, okay,” I muttered. 
	I sighed. In the past few weeks, Dad had changed
	completely. He had loved animals his whole life. 
	That’s where I got it from. But now he complained
	about every stray I found. 
	Since I was a little girl, he and I always roamed
	the woods for hours and hours, exploring, talking, 
	laughing. We could always talk about anything. 
	Now he spent all of his time locked up in the little shed in our backyard. And he had become silent
	and grouchy. Sometimes he didn’t even answer when
	I spoke to him. 
	I tried to tell Mom about it during one of our long
	phone talks. But we had a bad connection, and I
	don’t think she understood. 
	Mom moved to Chicago after she and Dad
	divorced. Sometimes I really miss talking with her. 
	Phone calls and e-mail just aren’t the same. 
	I see her a lot. But my parents gave me a choice, 
	and I chose to live with Dad. I just don’t like big
	cities. I have to be near the woods. 
	Shaking my head, I followed Ellen to the back door. 
	She’s tall and skinny and all legs, like a deer. 
	With her big, dark eyes and sort-of innocent, round
	face, Ellen reminds me of a delicate, graceful doe. 
	If she’s a doe, I’m a fox. My red-brown hair is
	kind of like fox fur. I’m short and quick, and I have
	wide-apart brown eyes and a foxy smile. 
	I’m always comparing all the kids I know to animals. I guess it’s because I love animals so much. 
	Ellen and I stepped out into a cool, crisp spring
	day. A string of puffy clouds floated low over the
	trees. The air smelled fresh and sweet. 
	“Sorry about Dad,” I said to Ellen. “He’s been
	such a sourpuss ever since he left his job at the animal hospital.” 
	Ellen shrugged. Her eyes were on the sky. 
	I heard a flapping noise from the woods. It sounded
	like hundreds of hands clapping. 
	The sky darkened very suddenly. As if someone
	had clicked off all the lights. 
	I blinked, startled. And turned to the woods. 
	“Huh? What on earth!” I cried. I thought I was
	watching a black tornado swirling, spinning above
	the trees. 
	Ellen grabbed my arm. “Wow. What is that?” she 
	whispered. 
	“Birds!” I gasped. “I’ve—I’ve never seen birds
	that swarm like that!” 
	Hundreds of birds flew in a tight circle, like a
	black funnel cloud, screeching and cawing. The
	squawking birds flew round and round, rising in the
	sky until they blocked the sunlight. 
	A shadow fell over me. 
	I turned and saw that Dad had followed us outside. Behind his thick glasses, he gazed up at the sky. 
	He shuddered. I caught his expression of fear. 
	“Something has them stirred up,” he said. 
	“Something is wrong out there, Laura. Don’t go. 
	Don’t go into the woods today.” 
	“I—I have to go,” I replied. “My project . . .” 
	Dad stared at the swirling black funnel cloud of
	shrieking birds. “Birds don’t act like that unless
	something is terribly wrong,” he said softly. 
	And then he took off, running full speed across
	the back lawn. 
	“Dad!” I shouted. “Dad—where are you going? 
	Come back!” 
	He didn’t turn around. I watched him vanish into
	the trees. 
	“What is he doing?” Ellen asked, her hands
	pressed to her face. “He’s running right into it!” 
	We stood there, huddled together. We watched
	the dark cloud of birds, circling, circling, the shrill, 
	frantic cries echoing off the trees. 
	Then the cries stopped. The roar of flapping wings
	faded. The birds swooped down, down to the trees. 
	The sky glowed in the sunlight again. And once
	again, I could hear the gentle rush of the wind. 
	It was all over in less than a minute. But what a
	strange and frightening minute. 
	“Dad?” I called, cupping my hands around my
	mouth. “Dad? Where are you?” 
	No reply. 
	I had felt uncomfortable, edgy, all day, I realized. 
	Maybe it’s because I’m so in tune with the woods. 
	When I’m in the woods, I can always sense when
	there’s danger nearby. I always get a tingling feeling
	when there’s some kind of trouble around. 
	“Looks like the coast is clear,” Ellen said, brushing her hair back. She took a few steps towards the
	trees. “Maybe we’ll catch up with your dad in there.” 
	“Maybe,” I said. I heard the soft thud of footsteps. Georgie, my German shepherd, came trotting
	around the side of the house. His tail started wagging
	when he saw us. 
	He came running up to me first. He knows I’m his
	best friend. I grabbed his neck, and we started
	wrestling on the grass. 
	“We’re bringing Georgie with us—right?” Ellen
	asked. 
	I nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t go into the
	woods without him. Georgie and I have been exploring the woods together since he was a little puppy.” 
	Ellen led the way, and I followed after her. The
	camera bounced against my chest as I walked. “My
	project is due in less than two weeks,” I groaned. 
	“And I hardly have any photos.” 
	My science project was to study the animal life at
	Luker Pond. The idea was to photograph the pond
	every day for three weeks and see how many different kinds of animals I could find that use the pond. 
	I thought it would be easy. But I had been at the
	pond every afternoon for a week, and I was having
	trouble finding animals. 
	Ellen jogged across the grass. Her hair swung
	behind her like a horse’s tail. Georgie and I caught
	up with her at the edge of the woods. 
	She still had her eyes on the sky above the trees. 
	“That was so totally weird,” she muttered. “Do you
	think some big animal frightened the birds from their
	nests?” 
	“I don’t know,” I replied. “And why did my dad—” 
	I stopped short when I heard the howl. 
	A high, shrill cry. The sound of an animal in pain. 
	Georgie raised his head, tensed his back, and
	started to bark furiously. 
	The animal howled again. 
	I spun around. “Whoa. It’s coming from the garden shed,” I said, pointing. 
	The shed is square and wood-shingled. It stands
	halfway between the house and the woods. It’s nearly
	as big as a one-car garage, with a solid wood door
	and a flat roof. 
	“What’s in there?” Ellen asked. “What poor creature could be crying like that?” 
	“I don’t know,” I told her. “Dad has been using
	the shed for his work. He won’t let me go near it.” 
	Ellen squinted hard at the shed. The howling
	finally stopped. “What kind of work is he doing in
	there?” 
	I sighed. “Something too mysterious to tell me
	about. I tried to go in and take a look last week. But
	he keeps it locked.” 
	I leaned down and petted Georgie. “I wish I knew
	what he’s doing in there,” I said. 
	We stepped into the shade of the trees. A winding
	dirt path curved through tall reeds and a tangle of
	scrawny shrubs. 
	“Why did your dad leave his job at the animal
	hospital?” Ellen asked. “Was he fired?” 
	“I don’t know,” I said, pushing a low branch out
	of the way. “He won’t tell me. He’s been so quiet. He
	hardly speaks to me. I think he’s really messed up. 
	He’s just so . . . sad and angry. He seems totally
	crushed.” 
	Ellen’s eyes flashed. She grabbed my arm. “I
	know what happened, Laura.” A sly grin spread over
	her face. “I know why he left. Your dad and Dr. 
	Carpenter were going out together—and she dumped
	him!” 
	“YUCK!” I exclaimed. I put my finger down my
	throat and pretended to puke. “That is so not what 
	happened,” I said. “Dad and Dr. Carpenter? No way.” 
	I’ve known Dr. Carpenter ever since she moved
	here to run the animal hospital four years ago. She’s
	really nice. If she and Dad had some kind of
	romance going on, I’d know about it. 
	So why did Dad leave? It was a total mystery. Dr. 
	Carpenter always said Dad was the best vet in the
	world. She wouldn’t fire him—would she? 
	Did he mess up somehow? Did he do something
	wrong? 
	I didn’t want to think about it. 
	We climbed over a fallen tree, blanketed with
	thick green and yellow fungus. We were almost to the
	pond. 
	“Let’s talk about this fabulous birthday party I’m
	throwing for you,” I said. I wanted to change the subject. “I need a list. Who do you want me to invite?” 
	“Only boys.” Ellen grinned. 
	“You’re joking, right?” I said. 
	“Why don’t you invite that guy you met? Joe,” 
	Ellen suggested. “I’d really like to meet him.” 
	“Hey—” I said sharply. “I saw him first!” 
	I turned and spotted Georgie examining a pile of
	dead leaves. Sniffing hard, he started to paw furiously
	at the leaf pile. 
	“Georgie—get away from there!” I shouted. 
	“Georgie—no!” 
	Ellen made a disgusted face. “Whoa. What is he
	doing?” 
	Ellen doesn’t really like being outdoors that much. 
	She’d much rather be home, checking out a stack of
	fashion magazines, or talking on the phone to guys. 
	But she’s such a good friend, she tags along to
	keep me company. 
	“Georgie—get away from there!” I shouted. 
	The dog ignored me. Grunting, he buried his head
	in the pile of fat, brown leaves—and pulled out
	something in his teeth. 
	“What is that?” Ellen cried. She pressed her 
	hands to the sides of her face. “What has he got?” 
	“Let me see it, Georgie,” I said, stepping towards
	him, reaching out my hand. “Drop. Drop it, boy. 
	What have you got?” 
	I edged closer. “What is it, boy? What do you
	have there?” 
	The dog let out a grunt. Then his jaw snapped
	open and the object dropped to the ground. 
	Ellen and I stared down at it—and we both began
	to scream. 
	“It’s—it’s a finger!” I cried. “A human finger!” 
	Georgie barked at it, his tail wagging furiously. 
	“Oh, gross,” Ellen moaned, shutting her eyes. “Is
	it really a finger? I’m going to be totally sick.” 
	I stepped up to it and poked it with my shoe. I
	squatted down to see it better. 
	“Yes, it’s a finger,” I said weakly. My stomach
	lurched. I studied it. “But maybe . . . maybe it’s not
	from a person,” I told Ellen. 
	She had her hands over her face and she had
	turned away. “Wh-what do you mean?” 
	“Well . . . the skin is kind of leathery. And the fingernail is pointed. And it’s so hairy. . . .” 
	“SHUT UP!” Ellen screamed. “Don’t talk about it
	anymore! Let’s just get away from it.” She started
	back to the path. “Why did your dumb dog pick it
	up, anyway?” 
	“Georgie is an explorer, like me,” I said. I petted
	the top of the dog’s head and started to follow Ellen. 
	“Looks like it was torn off by another animal. I wonder what kind of animal is strong enough to rip a finger off like that,” I said. 
	“Just shut up about it,” Ellen said. “I feel sick. 
	Really.” 
	“Here. Catch!” I shouted. 
	I pretended to toss it to her. 
	She screamed and ducked. “Not funny, Laura,” 
	she muttered. “Hey—why don’t you take a photo of
	it? For your science project.” 
	“I’m supposed to photograph whole animals,” I
	said. “Not just parts.” 
	White moths fluttered over Luker Pond. High in a
	tree, I heard the knock-knock-knock of a woodpecker. 
	Yes! Excellent! I needed that woodpecker! I raised 
	the camera to my eye and searched the tree for it. 
	“I think I’ve got to go,” Ellen said. “What time is
	it, anyway?” 
	I studied the trees through the camera viewfinder. 
	“It’s probably close to three.” 
	“Oh, wow. I’ve really got to go,” Ellen said. “I 
	promised Stevie Palmer I’d play tennis with him at
	three.” She jumped over a flat stone and started to
	jog away. 
	“Excuse me? Stevie Palmer?” I cried. “That ani-
	mal?” 
	“Don’t call him that,” Ellen snapped. “He’s
	changed. Really.” 
	How could Ellen be interested in Stevie? No one
	liked him. Everyone at school laughed at him
	because of the way he ate. He devoured his food, 
	shoving whole sandwiches into his mouth. He
	chewed up chicken bones and swallowed them! 
	Once I saw him shove four Twinkies in his mouth
	at once! When he left the lunchroom, his table and
	the floor were covered with food. 
	Also, Stevie had a terrible temper. He was always
	getting into fights. Once in fifth grade, he bit a girl. 
	And she had to go to the hospital because she got a
	really bad infection. The rumor was that Stevie had
	to see a psychiatrist for months after that. 
	And he was Ellen’s latest crush? 
	“I know what you’re thinking,” Ellen said. “But
	it’s so not fair. Stevie is a great guy now. Invite him to
	my party. You’ll see.” She took off again. 
	“No, wait—” I cried, lowering the camera. “Who
	else should I invite? Who else?” 
	She turned back, pulling her hair behind her
	shoulder. “Invite everybody!” she shouted. Then she 
	disappeared behind a clump of evergreen shrubs. 
	Oh, sure, I thought. I’ll invite all twenty of your
	boyfriends. Then I’ll just sit by myself in a corner and
	watch you flirt with them all. Whoop-de-do. 
	“Whoa. Bitter. Bitter,” I scolded myself. 
	Why was I suddenly in such a bad mood? 
	It wasn’t just the disgusting finger Georgie found. 
	I’d felt strange all day. As if something was wrong, 
	something I couldn’t quite figure out. 
	I’ll feel better once I take some photographs, I
	decided. I had taken only three or four photos. I desperately needed to find some animals—or my project
	was going to be a complete failure. 
	I stepped up to the edge of the pond. Come on, 
	animals. Where are you hiding? 
	I was so desperate, I snapped a picture of the
	white moths fluttering above the water. 
	I’ll sit down and wait, I decided. Maybe if I’m
	really still, some deer will come to drink. 
	I sat down. And waited. I held my camera in my
	lap and listened to the whisper of the trees. One of
	my favorite sounds. 
	A minute later, I heard another sound—the snap
	of a twig. 
	Behind me? 
	I turned back but didn’t see anything. 
	I stood up. And heard the heavy scrape of hooves. 
	Was it a deer? 
	The sounds stopped. 
	I took three or four steps forward. 
	Behind me, I heard the footsteps again. 
	I stopped. And once more, the footsteps stopped. 
	I shuddered as a tingle of fear ran down my back. 
	I’m never frightened in the woods. Never. Even
	when I’m by myself. 
	But today was different. 
	The circling birds . . . my dad’s warning to stay
	away . . . the ugly finger in the grass . . . 
	And now, something was trailing me. Something
	was creeping up behind me. 
	“Dad?” I called. 
	No answer. 
	I listened hard. Silence now. The excited chitter of
	birds in a high tree limb. The whisper of wind. The
	creak of a branch. 
	Holding my breath, I took another step. Another. 
	I stopped when I saw the finger in the grass where
	I left it. I picked it up. I don’t know why. I guess I
	wasn’t thinking clearly. 
	I was listening for the footsteps. And I heard
	them. The snap of a twig behind me. The heavy thud
	of shoes or hooves. 
	With a gasp, I spun around quickly. 
	“Wh-who’s there?” I cried. 
	A boy stepped out from the trees. He gazed at me
	shyly, then lowered his dark eyes. He was short and
	kind of chubby. He had long, black tangles of hair, 
	very shiny, nearly as long as Ellen’s. 
	“Joe—hi!” I called. I breathed a sigh of relief. 
	“Hey, it’s you!” he said, trotting up to me. 
	I smiled at him. “I heard something following me. 
	I—I didn’t know what to think.” 
	Pink circles appeared on his cheeks. “It’s only
	me,” he said softly. 
	He’s so totally shy, I realized. And really cute. 
	He wore baggy denim cutoffs and a black T-shirt. 
	A long silver chain dangled around his neck. 
	He pointed to my camera. “Snap anything
	today?” 
	“No. I . . .” I glanced down and suddenly realized
	I was holding the disgusting finger. Why had I picked
	it up? If Joe sees it, he’ll think I’m totally weird, I
	decided. 
	“I heard a woodpecker in that tree over there,” I
	said, pointing. 
	When Joe turned to the tree, I let the finger fall
	from my hand. He turned back—and I stamped my
	shoe down over it to hide it. 
	“I’m desperate,” I said. “Where are the animals? 
	Are they all on strike?” 
	“Maybe we could drag some over,” Joe said. “You
	know. Go to a pet store or something. Get some hamsters or turtles and bring them to the pond.” 
	“I don’t think so,” I said, laughing. “But keep
	thinking. That was an interesting idea.” 
	We stepped up to the pond. Joe kicked a stone
	into the water. His long hair fluttered in the wind. 
	“How are things at Wilberne Academy?” I asked. 
	I admit it. I had a little bit of a sneer on my face. 
	He turned to me. “You’re making fun of me
	because I go to a private school, aren’t you!” 
	“No way!” I insisted. “It’s just . . . well . . . The
	guys I know from Wilberne are such snobs. And you
	don’t seem like that.” 
	He snickered. “Hey, thanks. I think.” 
	I decided I’d invite Joe to Ellen’s birthday party. 
	The idea made my heart start pounding. I realized I
	was nervous. 
	Go ahead, Laura. Just invite him, I told myself. 
	Don’t make a big deal about it. Be bold—like Ellen. 
	I took a deep breath. “Uh . . . Joe?” 
	Two chattering birds interrupted. They were so
	loud, right above our heads. I turned in time to see
	them take off, chirping together as they flew. 
	Joe and I watched them soar straight up above
	the treetops. They were joined by three or four other
	chattering birds. What a racket! They formed a
	ragged V and flew out of sight. 
	Joe shook his head. “What’s their problem?” 
	We laughed together. I liked the way Joe’s eyes
	narrowed into little moon slivers when he laughed. 
	He reminded me of a bear—a little, friendly bear like
	the ones you see in cartoons. 
	I decided to try again. “Uh . . . I’m giving a party
	for my friend . . .” I started. 
	I didn’t have a chance to finish. 
	Everything seemed to explode all at once. Trees
	shook. Animals cried out. Birds cawed and
	squawked. 
	The sky blackened as birds took off, flapping their
	wings wildly. The grass bent as field mice stampeded
	past our feet. 
	“Wh-what’s happening?” I cried. 
	Joe spun around, his eyes wide with fright and
	confusion. 
	The sky grew even blacker, as if night had fallen. 
	A shrill, chittering squeal rang out, echoing off the
	trees. And over the whistlelike cries came the furious
	flapping of wings. 
	“Bats!” Joe cried. 
	Yes. He was right. Bats—hundreds of bats—
	swarmed above us, squealing, swooping high, then
	darting into the trees. 
	“But—but—” I sputtered. “Bats don’t fly in the
	daylight!” 
	I gasped as a bat swooped over my head. I felt its
	dry, sharp wing scrape against my face, felt a blast of
	hot wind off its body. 
	“Get down, Laura!” Joe grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me to the ground. 
	“Cover your head! They’re ATTACKING!” 
	Credits
	Cover illustration by Vince Natalie
	Cover design by John Fontana
	About the Publisher
	Australia
	HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd 
	25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
	Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia 
	http://www.harpercollins.com.au
	Canada
	HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 
	55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
	Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
	http://www.harpercanada.com
	New Zealand
	HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand)
	P.O. Box 1
	Auckland, New Zealand
	http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
	United Kingdom
	HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 
	77-85 Fulham Palace Road
	London, W6 8JB, UK
	http://www.fireandwater.co.uk
	United States
	HarperCollins Children’s Books 
	A Division of HarperCollins Publishers
	1350 Avenue of the Americas 
	New York, NY 10019
	www.harperchildrens.com