Diaries are dangerous

Nicole Jones
Class of 2014

(4/2013) I’ve always been very fond of writing, and like many young girls, I used to keep a diary as a child. Many notebooks came and went, but the focus of this story is a small notebook I decorated myself. The cover was a ridiculous glittery scrap of cardboard covered in orange paint and craft jewels, which I took great pleasure in gluing on in the shape of my initials. Pages of inviting blank paper lay in between, just waiting to be scribbled on. It was my prized secret possession.

Many times I had tried and failed to continue with keeping a diary, but I thought this time would be different. This time, I would write in it every day, even if it were just a line or two. Centuries later, after I was six feet under, people would find it and know that I had lived. I would be famous. Posthumously famous, but famous nonetheless. That night before bed, I wrote my first entry on the crisp white paper, and slid the gaudy orange notebook under my mattress for safekeeping.

The next day, my cousins came for a visit. Olivia, about 16 at the time, and her brother Andrew, about 13, always had a way of bringing excitement and maybe just a touch of chaos with them wherever they went. This visit was no exception.

We lounged around my bedroom, laughing and playing games. Little did I know my mattress defense mechanism was being infiltrated and the precious diary was being stolen right out from under my unsuspecting nose. I continued my day in the care-free bliss of a child. It was not until later that I would discover what treachery had taken place.

That night, I wandered into my brother Zack’s room, where I found Andy. He twitched as if I had startled him. I was instantly suspicious. What was he up to? Andy gave me an ornery smile and glanced at Zack, clearly sharing a secret that I would be stupid not to ask about. Slowly, with a widening grin the Cheshire Cat would envy, Andy reveals the bright orange diary in all its glory. I gasp in horror. How dare he read my diary?! There was only one entry in it; nothing important. It didn’t matter! It was the principle of the thing and the violation of my privacy. What an outrage! I huffed and puffed all night long.

The next morning, I approached Olivia. She had to help me exact my revenge. We girls had to stick together. What should we do? Come up with a plan. The two of us concocted in secret all morning, devising a way to make sure Andy faced proper retribution for his sticky fingers. The plan had two steps. The first: an obvious, outright attack on Andy’s person. The second: a more subtle affair that he would never see coming, thinking our bloodlust already satisfied by the first attack.

With the plan solidified, we began to prepare. Rope. Check. Blindfold. Check. Prison. Check.

And then we waited.

That afternoon, my cousins and I sat around the living room watching television and eating lunch. We casually chatted, commenting on the show and giggling when appropriate. Andrew and Olivia sat on the sofa while I bided my time in the rocking chair, steadily rocking back and forth. The conditions were perfect. Andrew was relaxed. Zack wasn’t around to save him. I made eye contact with Olivia. She nodded. The wheels began to turn as the plan was set into motion.

Olivia began to tickle Andrew. In his attempt to evade her nimble fingers, he found himself writhing on the floor. I dove for the tools Olivia and I had strategically placed under the couch. Rope quickly wound its way around Andy’s wrists and ankles and the blindfold fastened itself across Andy’s line of vision until everything was dark. He thrashed and struggled so loudly that my parents probably thought there was a wild animal in the basement. They weren’t entirely wrong.

Olivia lifted Andrew at the shoulders while I grabbed his squirmy legs and we hauled him into the laundry room where we shoved him into a dog cage. The latch slid into place with a satisfying snap. High five. Justice had been served.

The prisoner managed to escape his bonds and began working at the latch, protesting loudly, "What was that for? There was nothing in your diary! You guys suck!"

Olivia and I looked on in amusement. Let him escape. It was only a matter of time before he truly suffered.

The rest of the day remained relatively quiet. Andy silently fumed a little and avoided us by hanging out with Zack and playing video games. Late after dinner, with my parents in bed and us cousins up probably later than we should have been, we set the second stage into motion.

Olivia and I casually walked into Zack’s room.

"We’re going to make chocolate mousse. You guys want any?"

"You know how to make mousse?" asked Andy.

"Duh. It’s really simple. We’ll be back in a sec," and the two of us skipped up the staircase and into the kitchen. What should we use but the vilest concoction of ingredients: chocolate syrup and mayonnaise. Perfect. Stirring together the gloppy combination, we tried our best to make it as fluffy and appetizing in appearance as possible. With two cups prepared, we returned downstairs to the awaiting boys. Sharing a sly smile, we delivered our false confection to the boys.

Zack instantly knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t speak up fast enough. It was too late. Andrew had taken a bite. Just as quickly as the chocolaty gob of mayonnaise disappeared into his mouth, it reappeared in the cup. As he ran to the bathroom gagging, the rest of us howled with laughter. The taste, he says, still haunts him to this day.

We never let Andrew forget that last bit – being tricked into eating a spoonful of mayonnaise. It has been recorded in cousin history and shall remain a source of endless teasing and torment for years to come. Needless to say, he learned his lesson and my diary – if I still had one – would be perfectly safe from his prying eyes.

A better revenge has never been had.