Dear Notebook,

Dear Journal,

Dear Diary,

How do I start this? Do I give you a name? You’re green and pink and sparkly. So maybe I’ll name you . . . Poppy? Pippa?

Dear Pippa,

No. You’ve got an A on your cover, which obviously stands for “Abby.” But even though I’m supposed to write about my own feelings, I don’t want to fill you up with all the things that I’d rather forget. You’re too happy looking for that.

So how about I just call you Notebook, and I can tell you about everyone else. My notebook of observations. Like my science journal. But for life.

So here it goes, Notebook. Wish me luck!

Never forget that before you do a cartwheel you have to tuck in your shirt. This is something that is so obvious no one says it out loud. You’re just supposed to know it. And if you don’t know it, someone like Quinn will remind you in front of everyone.

In case that makes Quinn sound nice, you should know that she is not nice. You can practically see her celebrate when someone else makes a mistake. Like other people’s embarrassment is her favorite flavor of milkshake, and she wants to drink it up with a striped straw.

Why do people like Quinn have so many friends? Why is Marin (who is actually nice) best friends with someone like Quinn?

Is it because when Quinn’s chasing down a ball in PE she looks like she’s gliding instead of running? Or because Quinn’s allowed to watch whatever she wants on TV and then she says the character names like they’re actual people who you’re supposed to know even when you’ve never heard of them? Or is it the way she paints her nails in alternating glitter colors and they always look so smooth—not lumpy or chipped.

Why doesn’t Quinn’s nail polish chip??!!

I guess what I really want to know is: Why does being Quinn work for making friends? And why does being me not work?

Sorry, Notebook. I just meant to tell you the rule about cartwheels. The other stuff slipped out. I’ll do better next time.

Love,

Abby