Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules (Diary of
a Wimpy Kid #2)
TO JULIE, WILL, AND GRANT
I guess Mom was pretty proud of herself for making me write in that journal last year, because now she went and bought me another one.
But remember how I said that if some jerk caught me carrying a book with "diary" on the cover they were gonna get the wrong idea? Well, that's exactly what happened today. [Image: A cartoon showing a boy beating another boy.] "My brother Rodrick" Now that Rodrick knows I have another journal, I better remember to keep this one locked up. Rodrick actually got ahold of my LAST journal a few weeks back, and it was a disaster. But don't even get me started on THAT story.
Even without my Rodrick problems, my summer was pretty lousy. Our family didn't go anywhere or do anything fun, and that's Dad's fault. Dad made me join the swim team again, and he wanted to make sure I didn't miss any meets this year. [Image: A cartoon of three people urging the three boys before a swimming race.] "Kill 'Em, Brandon!, No Mercy Todd!, Stop Shivering Greg!"
Dad's got this idea that I'm destined to be a great swimmer or something, so that's why he makes me join the team every summer.
At my first swim meet a couple of years ago, Dad told me that when the umpire shot off the starter pistol, I was supposed to dive in and start swimming.
But what he DIDN'T tell me was that the starter gun only fired BLANKS. So I was a whole lot more worried about where the bullet was gonna land than I was about getting myself to the other end of the pool.
[Image: A cartoon showing a swimming race between three boys and out of them one boy has sunk to the ground.]
Even after Dad explained the whole "starter pistol" concept to me, I was still the worst swimmer on the team.
But I did end up winning "Most Improved" at the awards banquet at the end of the summer. That's only because there was a ten-minute difference between my first race and my last one. So I guess Dad's still waiting for me to live up to my potential. [Image: A cartoon of a boy being patted on his back for the award as the mother and brother look on.] In a lot of ways, being on the swim team was worse than being in middle school. First of all, we had to be at the pool by 7:30 every morning, and the water was always FREEZING cold.
And second of all, we were all crammed into two lanes, so I always had somebody on my tail trying to get around me.
[Image: A cartoon of three boys swimming.]
The reason we had to use two lanes was because swim practice was at the same time as the Water Jazz class.
I actually tried to convince Dad to let me do Water Jazz instead of swim team, but he wouldn't go for it. [Image: A cartoon of some people learning water jazz from their instructor.] "Come on, Ladies! Get Those Arms Up!
This was the first summer the coach let us boys wear swim trunks instead of those skimpy racing trunks. But Mom said Rodrick's hand-me-down bathing suit was "perfectly fine." [Image: A cartoon of a boy being made fun of by his two friends.] " Your friends will be jealous because you'll be so fast!, Ha Ha Ha!, Ha Ha Ha!"
After swim practice, Rodrick would pick me up in his band's van. Mom had this crazy idea that if me and Rodrick spent "quality time" on the ride home every day, we wouldn't fight as much. But all it did was make things a lot worse.
Rodrick was always a half hour late picking me up.
And he wouldn't let me sit up front. He said the chlorine would ruin his seat, even though the van is something like fifteen years old.
[Image: A cartoon of a boy in the truck telling the other to climb in the truck.] "Get in Back." Rodrick's van doesn't actually have any seats in the back, so I had to squeeze in with all the band equipment. And every time the van came to a stop, I had to pray I didn't get my head taken off by one of Rodrick's drums.
[Image: A cartoon of a boy falling backwards due to the sudden...
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