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California Diaries #15: Ducky, Diary Three
    Ann M. Martin
    The author gratefully acknowledges Nola Thacker for her help in preparing this manuscript.
    ISBN 0-439-09549-2
    Copyright © 2000 by Ann M. Martin.
    All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
    SCHOLASTIC, CALIFORNIA DIARIES, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered
    trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
    Printed in the U.S.A.
    First Scholastic Printing, September 2000
    This eBook is for educational and reference purposes only. It is not intended to infringe on or circumvent copyright. No monetary gain is made from the distribution of this eBook.
    Aug. 15
    Work. Work. Work.
    Or,
    The True Story of Ducky
    You’re complaining about work.
    Work is good. Work is not being at home counting the half-full (half-empty) cereal boxes that line the counters of our kitchen.
    Cereal boxes are a big decorating item in your house since Ted has suddenly decided to eat most of his meals at the college caf. This is so he doesn’t have to wash dishes.
    Lately, Ted seems to feel overextended when he has to rinse out a cereal bowl and load it into the dishwasher.
    You believe, almost, that if you had a dog, Ted would put all plates and utensils down for the dog to lick clean. Then …
    No. You malign him, Ducky.
    He wouldn’t really put them back on the shelf.
    He’d just stack them in the sink.
    But enough about Ted. Enough about life on the take-out menu.
    Let’s talk about …
    You.
    Me.
    Work.
    Work is BEING IN CHARGE.
    Okay. So you’re not in charge of the bookstore exactly. But Mr. W is out at the moment and only you and Sunny are here.
    Process of elimination: Boss gone.
    Person (or persons) in charge: Sunny (boss’s daughter). And/or Ducky.
    No, let’s call you Christopher for the mo. Sounds more bosslike.
    Christopher. (Boss’s daughter’s best friend.)
    Are you? Are you, Christopher “Ducky” McCrae, the BF of Sunny Winslow?
    Too much. You don’t need the pressure of figuring it out. Why define something that doesn’t need defining?
    Why overanalyze everything?
    Okay. The boss’s daughter is your very good, close personal friend. You feel comfortable with that.
    Right now Sunny is organizing the impulse purchases around the cash register — all the little, cute, not-too-high-ticket items that you can point out to customers as you ring up their purchases.
    Or if they are truly good customers, they pick ‘em up themselves and say, “This is sooo cute,”
    and toss ‘em in with the other books.
    You do not think little tiny books are cute.
    You have (TRUE CONFESSIONS) never used a bookmark in your life. Seasonally themed pens
    — the kind with Dracula painted on them or whatever — are NOT A FASHION STATEMENT,
    in your opinion.
    But hey, whatever.
    Sunny looks up, sees you looking, and smiles.
    She knows how you feel about the impulse items.
    She herself likes them.
    A strong woman with a mind of her own.
    Incoming customer.
    D: May I help you?
    IC: No. Thanks.
    D: Well, let me know if I can.
    IC: Right.
    Sunny passes you with a big box. She puts it down next to the front display window and opens it. She peers in.
    You peer in.
    You get a shock.
    It is full of Barbie dolls.
    “Sunny,” you say, “we have to talk.”
    Ignoring you, she says, “There’s a bucket of sand by the back door. Would you get that for me?”
    You obey.
    When you return, Sunny is emptying all the best-sellers from the window.
    You return them to the shelves, refraining from asking questions. By now, you have cleverly deduced that Sunny has PLANS for these dolls. Plans involving the window display.
    You spend a pleasant half hour or so pulling books that involve beaches, oceans, and summer activities from the shelves. These include a horror book set at the beach, Moby-Dick, several guides to shells, a book about beach vacations, and Treasure Island (personal childhood favorite).
    You’ve decided to insist it be included, even if Sunny objects.
    But she doesn’t. Instead,