Chapter Text
Let me just start by saying I’ve been noticing something’s off around the house lately. Mom says it’s “teenage hormones,” but if that’s what hormones do to you, then I’m skipping puberty altogether. Because Rodrick has been way more irritable than usual—which is saying something, because his usual level of irritability is like a solid nine out of ten.
It all started last week. Normally, Rodrick’s pretty good at keeping to his usual routine: sleep until noon, yell at Dad for waking him up, play drums until every neighbor on the street complains, then pass out in front of the TV watching some show about guys fixing cars. But recently? He’s been stomping around like someone stole his last drumstick.
Yesterday morning, I went to the kitchen to grab breakfast, and Rodrick was already there, slouched at the table, just glaring at his cereal. I said, “Hey, Mom bought those new chocolate ones you like,” and he just said, “Whatever.” Then he left the bowl half full and stormed upstairs.
Now, I’m not saying I care what Rodrick’s problem is, but when he’s miserable, everyone else in the Heffley household ends up miserable too. Because Rodrick doesn’t suffer in silence. He suffers loudly.
But the real clue something weird was going on came last night. Around midnight, I heard voices coming from downstairs—Dad’s voice, and Rodrick’s. Normally, when those two argue, it’s about normal stuff like chores or grades. This time, though, Dad sounded really mad. I crept out of my room and tiptoed halfway down the stairs to see what was going on.
Dad was standing by the front door in his robe, holding Rodrick’s car keys. Rodrick looked like he’d just gotten back from somewhere, his hair all messy and his band hoodie half zipped. I could only catch pieces of what they were saying, but I definitely heard “sneaking out” and “party.” Then Dad dropped the bomb—“You’re grounded.”
Rodrick yelled something I probably shouldn’t write down, and stomped up the stairs two at a time. He slammed his door so hard that one of Mom’s pictures fell off the wall.
This morning, the whole family was acting like it never even happened. Mom was trying to lighten the mood by making pancakes (which Rodrick didn’t even look at), Dad was super quiet, and Manny was wearing a colander on his head for some reason. When I tried to ask what was going on, Mom said, “That’s between your father and your brother.”
But, lucky for me, my room shares a wall with Rodrick’s. And when Rodrick’s mad, he doesn’t exactly keep it to himself. He’s been blasting Löded Diper songs nonstop, which usually wouldn’t bother me except none of the songs make sense without the rest of the band. The drummer of a band practicing solo just sounds like someone falling down a flight of stairs holding pots and pans.
Apparently, Dad banned him from rehearsal until further notice, which I don’t think is fair for the band, honestly. Löded Diper might not be great, but they’re still better than most of the weird bands Rowley listens to like “The Fish Fools” or whatever.
Speaking of Rowley, even he noticed something was up when he came over this afternoon. We were playing video games when Rodrick stomped in, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and muttered something that sounded like “traitor.” Then he left. Rowley asked who he was talking to, and I told him, “No one important.”
See, Rowley doesn’t really get how these things work. In our family, if Rodrick’s in trouble, you have two choices: you either pretend he doesn’t exist, or you accidentally get dragged into his drama. I’m going with option one for now.
But I can’t lie—it’s kind of weird, the whole vibe in the house right now. Even Dad’s acting a little jumpy. Usually he and Rodrick just avoid each other for a day or two after a blow-up, but it’s been almost a week and Dad still looks ready to explode whenever Rodrick walks into the room.
Tonight at dinner, Mom tried her best to make small talk. She asked Rodrick about school, which was a big mistake because he started laughing like she just told him the funniest joke in the world. Then Dad told him to cut it out, and Rodrick rolled his eyes so hard I thought he might hurt himself.
Then Rodrick said, “Maybe if you trusted me, I wouldn’t have to sneak out,” which made Dad’s face turn bright red. I thought for sure we were about to have round two of their midnight screaming match, but Mom jumped in and started talking about how proud she was of Manny for finishing his drawing of a turtle.
After dinner, Rodrick disappeared into the basement, and I could hear the faint thumping of drums again. I thought grounded meant no band practice, but apparently “band practice” means “loud noise therapy.”
I’m kind of worried, but only sort of. Because sometimes when Rodrick’s grounded, he gets creative in… bad ways. Like the time he made that fake permission slip so he could go to a concert, or when he convinced me to take the blame for his prank on Dad just so he could get un-grounded faster. I’d say I learned my lesson, but honestly, if it means he stops being so grumpy, maybe I could use it to my advantage this time.
If I can figure out a way to make Rodrick un-grounded, he might actually owe me one. That’s just good strategy. Then again, knowing Rodrick, he’d probably find a way to pin the whole thing on me instead.
Anyway, that’s where things stand right now. Rodrick’s grounded, Dad’s tense, Mom’s pretending everything’s fine, and Manny’s still wearing that dumb colander like it’s a hat. And me? I’m just trying to stay out of the blast radius.
But I can’t shake the feeling something’s about to happen. Because whenever Rodrick’s this quiet—which, for him, is new—it means he’s planning something. And whatever it is, I guarantee I’ll somehow end up getting blamed for it.
So yeah, if you find this journal and I’ve mysteriously vanished, check the garage first.