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things to think about—like brushing her hair and getting ready for you-know-who.
    A. E. W.

1/10
Sunday night
Dear Diary,
    There wasn’t enough snow to make snowmen, so Pip, Ben, Bea, and I made snowkids. Pip and Ben kept making happy faces at each other, and their gloves kept touching. Well, Pip and Ben’s snowboy turned out way cuter than Bea’s and my snowgirl. Pip can draw and sculpt! At the last minute, I said they should give their snowboy freckles, so they dotted him with Apple Jacks. Unfortunately, the “freckles” looked like chicken pox. (Fortunately, no one blamed me.)
    Back inside, we all made hot chocolate and ate peanuts. (We aren’t allowed to have peanuts in school, so we always stock up at home.) Pip showed Bea and Ben Alphabet Fish —because she’s proud of it and we’re up to “P is for porcupine fish.” We also talked about Meow Meow, Taco Cat, and even long-lost Goldy Lox. It was fun talking to an eighth-grade boy.
    Ben told us a joke he’d heard:
    Question: What’s the difference between a dog and a cat?
    Answer: When a dog has a wonderful master who feeds him and grooms him and cleans up after him, the dog thinks, “He must be God!” But when a cat has a wonderful master who feeds him and grooms him and cleans up after him, the cat thinks, “I must be God!”
    We laughed, and then Pip went to play a computer game in the living room.
    Bea and I went to the kitchen, and I put my hot chocolate cup in the sink and said, “Bea, can I ask you for advice?” Bea is the only person I know who wants to be an advice columnist when she grows up.
    â€œIf it’s about Taco,” she said, “I don’t have any Pet Pointers. I know some cute cat videos though. And we stock tons of cat books at the shop because Americans own, like, a hundred million cats.”
    â€œIt’s not about Taco,” I said, a lump in my throat. “You know that new fifth-grade girl, Zara?” Bea listened, and I told her that Maybelle was always busy with Zara, and that Zara had asked Chuck about me, and now things were awkward between us.
    â€œI think you and Maybelle will always be friends,” Bea said reassuringly. “And with Chuck, maybe if you try to act the way you used to, things will go back to how they were.” I didn’t say anything, so she added, “It might feel forced at first, but no one ever died of awkwardness.”
    I nodded, remembering when she’d told Pip that no one ever died of awkwardness. Who knew I’d be asking Bea for advice months later?
    Taco Cat pitter-pattered in and rubbed against our shins. I think he was actually inviting us to pet him.
    â€œYou know what Taco likes?” I said. “To be brushed.”
    I got out his brush, and Bea and I took turns brushing him.
    â€œMeow Meow loves when we brush him. He purrs up a storm.”
    â€œTaco never purrs,” I said.
    â€œReally?” Bea looked surprised.
    â€œWell, not yet anyway. He’s very independent. Even for a cat.”
    â€œMeow Meow is the opposite. She’s very affectionate—but a little needy sometimes.” Bea smiled. “We don’t mind though.”
    I didn’t think I’d mind either. (I mean I’m a little needy sometimes!)
    Ava, Whose Cat Does Not Purr
    P.S. Is having a cat that doesn’t purr like having a dog that doesn’t wag its tail? Will he ever purr? And will he ever realize that I don’t even want to be his master—just his friend ?
    P.P.S. Bea and I went to Dad’s computer, and she showed me an amazing video of a cat playing Jenga. I think the cat was gifted or something.”

1/11 (palindrome date)
in bed
Dear Diary,
    After school, I went to Maybelle’s—just me. It started out fun. We made popcorn (P-O-P-P-O-P-P-O-P) and played Slow Down/Speed Up. It’s the game when one person starts doing something, whether it’s jumping