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Dork diaries book 6 tale.., p.1
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       Dork Diaries Book 6: Tales From a Not-So-Happy Heartbreaker, p.1

           Rachel Renée Russell
 
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Dork Diaries Book 6: Tales From a Not-So-Happy Heartbreaker


  (NO SNOOPING ALLOWED!!! )

  To my aunt Betty and uncle Phil.

  Thank you for always being there for me and for treating me like your pretend daughter.

  I love you both dearly!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Wow! It’s hard to believe we now have a Dork Diaries Book 6! I would like to thank the following members of Team Dork:

  My DORKALICIOUS fans all over the world! Each and every one of you is very special to me!

  Daniel Lazar, my dream agent (thank you for supporting my sometimes wacky ideas); Liesa Abrams Mignogna (a.k.a. Batgirl!), my fabulous and fun editor (who almost makes this NOT seem like work); Jeanine Henderson, my super-fast-and-talented art director (who survived this book); Torie, my very organized pen pal; and Deena Warner, my website magician.

  Mara Anastas, Carolyn Swerdloff, Matt Pantoliano, Katherine Devendorf, Paul Crichton, Fiona Simpson, Lydia Finn, Alyson Heller, Lauren Forte, Karin Paprocki, Lucille Rettino, Mary Marotta and the entire sales team, and everyone else at Aladdin/Simon & Schuster. I’m so lucky YOU chose ME!

  Maja Nikolic, Cecilia de la Campa, and Angharad Kowal, my foreign rights agents at Writers House for steadil going to the Sweetheart Dance with Brandon BRANDON">And last but not leasty recruiting new Dorks, one country at a time.

  And last but not least, my entire ADORKABLE family! Thank you for being the inspiration for this series.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1

  OMG! I’m suffering from the worst case of CRUSH-ITIS ever!

  This morning I had these fluttery butterflies in my stomach that were making me feel SUPERnauseous ! But in a really GOOD way !

  I felt SO insanely happy I could just . . . VOMIT sunshine, rainbows, confetti, glitter, and . . . um . . . those yummy little Skittles candy thingies!

  I still can’t believe my crush, Brandon, actually texted me last night after I left his birthday party.

  And you’ll NEVER guess what happened??!!

  HE ASKED ME OUT TO CRAZY BURGER!! SQUEEE !!

  And yes, I know it’s NOT like a real date or anything. But STILL!

  I was SO elated, I blasted my FAVE music and danced around my bedroom like a MANIAC . . . .

  Hey! I was beyond FIERCE! I was an air-guitar-playing, dancing machine!

  After dancing in my room for an entire hour, I was so tired I could barely breathe.

  That’s when I collapsed into a wheezing, sweat-soaked mass of body odor and sheer exhaustion.

  A very HAPPY wheezing, sweat-soaked mass of body odor and sheer exhaustion.

  ME, WITH A BIG FAT DORKY SMILE PLASTERED ACROSS MY FACE!!

  WHY? Because any minute now, Brandon was going to contact me so we could make plans to hang out at Crazy Burger.

  SQUEEEEEE !

  So I snuggled into a comfy chair, stared at my cell phone, and waited patiently for his call.

  Before I knew it, it was bedtime. I felt like I’d been waiting FOREVER . . . !!

  ME, FLOPPED ACROSS MY BED, SULKING

  But no call! No e-mail! Not even a text message! I even checked my cell phone to make sure the battery thingy hadn’t run down or something.

  Unfortunately, my last call was from my BFFs, Chloe and Zoey. They had called me late last night with some REALLY juicy gossip.

  Apparently, someone had showed up at Brandon’s party unexpectedly to drop off a present for him shortly after I had left.

  You’ll NEVER guess who it was!

  MACKENZIE !!

  Okay, I’ll admit it was really nice and sweet of her to do that. But she had totally overlooked one very important little detail . . . .

  SHE WASN’T INVITED! !!

  Which meant MISS THANG had basically CRASHED Brandon’s party! Like, WHO does that?!

  My BFFs told me that MacKenzie was twirling her hair, giggling, and flirting with Brandon like crazy. Then she got superserious and asked to talk to him PRIVATELY about something really important!

  JUST GREAT ! Now I’m really starting to worry PANIC!

  What if MacKenzie told him some awful lies about me so he wouldn’t want to be friends anymore?!!

  She was always talking about me behind my back and saying stuff like, “Nikki’s a hopelessly insecure, fashion-challenged, diary-obsessed DORK!”

  Which is so NOT true! Well . . . maybe it’s a little true. Okay! Actually, a LOT true. But STILL!!

  WHY did all of this have to happen just when Brandon and I were about to have our very first date-that-really-isn’t-a-date ?!

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 2

  I’ve been awake now for

  7 hours, 11 minutes, and 39 seconds

  and Brandon STILL hasn’t called !!

  I’m starting to worry that something really BAD happened to him.

  I think he sincerely WANTED to call me.

  And he sincerely TRIED to call me.

  But he just COULDN’T!

  Because maybe . . . he got, um . . . abducted . . . by . . .

  ALIENS !!

  Hey, don’t laugh!!

  It could have actually happened . . . !!

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING! I DROPPED MY PHONE AND NOW I CAN’T CALL NIKKI!”

  In spite of the fact that I was still suffering from a severe case of crush-itis AND having a really BAD day, my parents MADE me babysit my little sister, Brianna.

  Just so they could go to a movie together! Like, how INSENSITIVE is that?! Sometimes I think Mom and Dad need to take a parenting class or something.

  The last time I tried to talk to Brandon on the phone with Brianna around, it was a total disaster. She actually told him about my hairy legs and crusty eye boogers. It was SO humiliating!

  Lately, Brianna has been totally obsessed with those diva hair salon shows on TV. And get this! She actually calls herself Miss Bri-Bri, Fashionista Hairstylist to the Stars!

  I was shocked to see her sneaking into my parents’ bathroom and stealing shampoo and perfume and stuff. It was like I had personally witnessed a MIRACLE!

  Brianna was FINALLY trying to improve her very NASTY hygiene !

  WOO-HOO!

  But later, when I peeked inside Brianna’s room, I discovered she was MISSING!

  And in her place was this strange little woman.

  She was wearing fake diamond cat-eye glasses, a long scarf, four-sizes-too-big satin slippers, and a kiddie paint apron filled with Mom’s designer makeup collection.

  I didn’t know WHO the heck she was.

  I wanted to scream, “Who are YOU? And what have you done with MY little sister?!”

  But my gut told me to run away FAST and call the POLICE!

  Then she smiled at me really big and said . . .

  “BONJOUR, MISS NIKKI! WELCOME TO SALON BRIANNA!!”

  I was halfway down the hall before Brianna caught up with me. She grabbed my arm and dragged me back toward her room.

  “Dah-ling! Where are you going?! Don’t be skurd!” Brianna said in an awful fake French accent that sounded more like a six-year-old Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  “You’re playing with Mom’s new makeup and perfume?! You DO realize she’s going to KILL you when she gets home! Right?!” I scolded her.

  “Never mind zat, dah-ling! You are Miss Bri-Bri’s next appointment! Wee! Wee! Come! Come!” she said, pushing me into her desk salon chair.

  Kidz Bop music was playing in the background. And she’d drawn the most hideous hairstyle posters and hung them on her wall to help set the mood of a trendy, upscale salon.

  Those posters should’ve been a WARNING to me about Miss Bri-Bri’s hairstyling abilities. I couldn
t resist coming up with catchy names for each one . . . .

  “Don’t worry, dah-ling,” Miss Bri-Bri said. “I’m going to make you BOOTY-FUL! For your little friend Brandon. Yes?!”

  For BRANDON?!!! I blushed profusely.

  Hey! It was JUST a pretend makeover with Miss Bri-Bri, Fashionista Hairstylist to the Stars!

  What could possibly go WRONG?

  “Okay. As long as it’s ONLY pretend!” I grumped.

  If I was lucky, this would keep Brianna occupied until Mom and Dad got back home. And it was way LESS dangerous than us baking cookies and almost burning down the house. AGAIN!

  “YAAAY!!! My first customer!” Brianna Miss -Bri-Bri cheered. “Before I start, dah-ling, would you like something to drink? Juicy Juice? Hawaiian Punch? Chocolate milk?”

  “Chocolate milk would be nice,” I answered.

  “Hans! Go get our customer, Miss Nikki, a glass of le chocolate milk! Extra cold!” she commanded, looking at the teddy bear in the chair next to mine.

  The bear . . . I mean . . . Hans . . . didn’t move an inch.

  “Well?!” She glared at him. “Don’t just sit there! Go get zee milk for her. Now! PLEASE!!”

  Then she turned to me and laughed uncomfortably. “Please excuse my assistant. Hans is new here. He speaks la French, but very little English.”

  I looked at the teddy bear, looked back at her, and raised an eyebrow. “Um . . . okay?” I replied.

  “I know just what to do with your hair, dah-ling!” Brianna said as she draped a bath towel smock around my shoulders. “Now, just relax and let Miss Bri-Bri work her magic! Yes? Hans, would you please grab that magazine and give it to—Oh, never mind! I’ll do it myself!”

  Brianna handed me a trendy teen fashion magazine to read, just like in a real salon. I was impressed. Until I realized she had swiped MY new Teen Thing m interested inU2rsag from my room. The little THIEF!!

  But I had to admit, Miss Bri-Bri, Fashionista Hairstylist to the Stars, seemed to know her stuff . . . .

  ME, READING WHILE MISS BRI-BRI DOES MY HAIR

  That’s when I came across this very intrigbout—you guessed it—GUYS!!

  That magazine article was just . . . SHOCKING!

  Only a guy who was a total LOSER would do those things.

  I felt really lucky I didn’t have to deal with “DDD” (Dysfunctional Dude Drama) in my OWN life.

  I ripped out the magazine page, folded it, and stuck it in my pocket. You know, for future reference. Just in case.

  Suddenly I felt a tug on my hair.

  Then a huge yank!

  “Ouch!” I yelped. “Brianna, WHAT are you doing?!”

  “Making you booty-ful, dah-ling! Zere eez no problem at all! No, no! Don’t worry, please!”

  In spite of her assurances, I sensed a little uncertainty in that jacked-up accent of hers.

  Next I felt another slight tug and then . . . SNIP!

  A chopped-off braid landed in my lap!

  I gasped!

  Then, with a trembling hand, I picked up the braid and PRAYED that it belonged to someone else.

  Like maybe Hans, that lazy, French-speaking teddy bear assistant!

  “What is THIS?!” I yelled at Brianna as I stared at it in horror.

  “Nut-ting! Nut-ting at all. I throw away! Yes?” She snatched the braid from me and tossed it over her shoulder. “There! All gone!”

  “Brianna! Give me that mirror! Now! Or this game is SO over!” I screeched, my eyeballs bulging.

  Brianna handed it to me and giggled nervously.

  BRIANNA HANDS ME THE MIRROR

  Well, I took one look in that mirror and . . .

  OMG !!

  I don’t have the words to describe how BAD my hair looked.

  Maybe, um . . .

  HIDEOUS-A-LICIOUS!

  Which is, like, ten times worse than just plain ol’ HIDEOUS!

  I couldn’t believe the HOT MESS I saw in that mirror.

  I thought my eyes were going to rupture and bleed from being exposed to such awesomely wretched . . .

  UGLINESS!!

  AAAAAAH!!

  (THAT WAS ME SCREAMING!)

  And the back was even worse! Just as I had suspected, a large chunk of hair was missing . . . .

  I seriously considered crawling around on the floor until I found my severed braid.

  Then I’d place it in a bucket of ice and rush to the nearest emergency room to see if doctors could somehow surgically reattach it . . . .

  “DOCTORS, PLEASE! YOU NEED TO DO EMERGENCY SURGERY TO REATTACH MY BRAID BEFORE MY, UM . . . HAIR-FOLLICLE THINGIES . . . DIE!”

  “My hair! My poor hair!” I sobbed. “Brianna, I’m so mad at you right now I could just . . . ARRRRRGGH!!”

  “Dah-ling! Please! Calm down! This is a no-tears salon! But tipping IS allowed!” Miss Bri-Bri grinned as she held out her hand. “Got any loose change?”

  She expected payment?!!

  I was beyond DISGUSTED!

  Sorry! But I’d had quite enough of Brianna and her:

  1. phony-baloney French accent.

  2. ugly haircuts.

  3. lazy, no-good assistant, Hans!

  “Hair styled by Miss Bri-Bri is always booty-ful! I take a PICTURE of your booty!” Brianna said as she grabbed my cell phone off of her dresser and set it to camera mode . . . .

  A blinding flash went off, and I couldn’t see a thing.

  Which was lucky for Brianna! Because right then I was so mad I wanted to give HER a supercute and stylish haircut. With a chain saw!

  “Nikki, is this the button you press to send stuff?” Brianna asked. “I wanna send this picture to Chloe and Zoey so I can get more customers!”

  That’s when I went from furious to LIVID! “Brianna, are you NUTS?! You’d better NOT send that picture of me to ANYONE!”

  “Why not? I need more customers to get more money. How am I supposed to pay Miss Penelope to be my shampoo girl?!”

  “Just give me back my phone!!” I screamed, and snatched it from her.

  “Mommy says sharing is a good thing!” Brianna shouted, and grabbed it back.

  We yelled at each other and tussled over the phone for what seemed like FOREVER . . . .

  ME AND BRIANNA, FIGHTING OVER MY CELL PHONE

  That is, until we heao CLICK! and then BEEP! I had a total meltdown right there on the spot!!

  There’s a saying that a picture’s worth a thousand words.

  Well, mine is worth a million laughs!

  I looked like a PSYCHOTIC, HOMELESS, um . . . CLOWN who’d . . . accidentally stuck her finger in an ELECTRICAL SOCKET!

  Chloe and Zoey immediately sent me “LOL” texts in response.

  They were always texting me funny pictures.

  But I was SUPERworried that after Brandon saw that photo, he’d be so freaked out, he’d NEVER want to hang out with me again!

  He still hadn’t called, e-mailed, or even texted me all weekend.

  I was seriously contemplating whether or not to try and superglue that hair chunk back on or just part my hair differently to try to hide the bald spot when my phone chimed.

  OMG!

  I almost jumped out of my skin. It was a text from BRANDON!

  Finally!!

  SQUEEE !!!

  My heart was pounding as I read his text message.

  I actually read it, like, three times before his very cryptic message finally sank in.

  OH.

  NO.

  HE.

  DIDN’T!!

  I closed my eyes tightly and . . . groaned in despair . . . like a mortally wounded, um . . . gorilla or something. How could he do this to me?!!

  I immediately recognized Brandon’s behavior from that magazine article “How to Know if a Guy Is Just NOT Into You!”:

  1. He agrees to a date and then rudely cancels at the very last minute.

  2. He simply texts you an apology instead of telling you in person.

  I crossed off both #1 and #2
from the list.

  Maybe Brandon was too embarrassed to be seen with a slightly goofy, majorly insecure girl who WASN’T a CCP (Cute, Cool & Popular) like MacKenzie.

  Or maybe the thought of my dad’s exterminator van with a interested inU2rs plastic roach on it the size of a large hog had made him lose his appetite.

  Permanently!

  Suddenly I felt so . . . STUPID!!

  What made me think Brandon would WANT to go anywhere with ME?!!

  Anyway, for the past hour I’ve been working on a new Crush Rejection Equation to try and figure out what happened.

  The calculations are SUPERcomplex. And who knows! All of my hard work on this equation might one day earn me the Nobel Prize in math . . . .

  BRANDON PLUS NIKKI DIVIDED BY A RANDOM TEXT MESSAGE EQUALS . . . HEARTBREAK!

  Why is all of this guy stuff SO confusing?!

  I guess I could write in to my Miss Know-It-All advice column and ask myself for romantic advice.

  Especially since my two friends Chloe and Marcie begged me to let them take over my column for the entire month of February.

  They’re doing a special Miss Know-It-All Crush Crisis Love Advice column, which means I have the entire month off.

  Anyway, here’s my letter . . . .

  Dear Miss Know-It-All,

  Why is love rd the phone g

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 3

  I’m still pretty bummed out over Brandon’s text message.

  I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the magazine article wouldn’t let me.

  I planned to just pretend the whole Crazy Burger thing had never happened and TOTALLY ignore him.

  However, when I arrived at school, the first thing I noticed was that ALL of the guys were acting really strange. Even the normally rowdy jocks were huddled together in small groups, quietly talking among themselves.

 
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