Dork: Diaries Used Books

Zoey thought for a moment. “Well, you can’t give it back to her. That would be social suicide. But you also can’t keep it. That’s weird.”

And at the very end, on the last page, next to “The End,” she had written in faint pencil, as if she’d been trying to hide it even from herself:

Then I saw the writing.

I stuck the note on the inside cover, right over her purple gel pen name. dork diaries used books

And there, on a low shelf under “Misc. Teen,” I saw it. A battered copy of Tales from a Not-So-Fabulous Life .

She read the notes. Her eyes got wide. “Nikki. This is… huge. This is like finding out Darth Vader knits sweaters for orphan kittens.”

“Thank you. —M.H.”

I showed her the book.

But the handwriting was unmistakable—loopy, aggressive, with hearts dotting the i’s like tiny declarations of war.

“Okay, game plan,” Zoey said, pulling her pink backpack straps tighter. She had a clipboard. Because Zoey loves a clipboard. “We’re looking for Dork Diaries books one through five. Used. Cheap. Maximum one dollar per book.” Zoey thought for a moment

I pulled it out reverently. Price: $1.25.

I stood there in the dusty aisle, holding a $1.25 book that felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. This wasn’t just a used book. This was a confession. A diary inside a Dork Diaries .

No. It couldn’t be. Mackenzie would never donate a book. She’d have her butler burn it for warmth. But you also can’t keep it

“I wish I had a friend like Zoey. Or maybe just one friend at all.”

Zoey nodded seriously. “The ‘no random annotations’ rule stands.”