DISCLAIMER: I don't own diary of a Wimpy kid. The characters and concept belong to Jeff Kinney. This story's plot and all OC characters are, however, mine.

There is one thing I absolutely dislike about Sundays: church. To devout Christians, this probably comes off as an insult, but honestly, as far as I'm concerned, there are perfectly good reasons to back it up. First being that church involves waking up at an ungodly hour on a weekend. It starts at nine and the average parents insists on having their children that have already hit puberty (this includes me) shower before dragging them into a building filled with other people. This means that wake-up time is about 7:30; it probably doesn't seem to bad to the adult mind, but trust me, to a teenager, it's hellish. Another perfectly good reason for disliking church is the semi-formal dress code that God imposes on everyone. Very few teenagers actually like getting dressed up, I sure know I don't. Almost all of the ones that do fall under the category of "female". All this in mind, imagine a Sunday morning at my house.

Since this is a new journal, I'm going to reintroduce my family. Mom and Dad are Susan and Frank Heffley. I guess they're good people, they try to be nice to people as often as possible and they try to make good people out of us, their kids. Overall though, I'd say their pretty boring. Next, I have two brothers. Rodrick is the oldest at seventeen and Manny is the youngest, having just turned four. I'm in the middle, at thirteen.

I probably wouldn't have liked Sundays on a good day, but let me tell you right now, half of the reason I hate them as much as I do, is my brothers. Manny has been telling on me pretty much since he started talking. Rodrick is pretty much the opposite. My oldest brother has a strict no tattletale policy (this is why he hardly ever talks to Manny), this is mostly because he'd always be told on. Basically, he constantly steps on my heels and plays 'harmless' practical jokes on me. His harmless practical jokes could probably kill me if I wasn't smarter.

Anyway, despite my best effort to stay away from Rodrick and Manny, Sunday, we all get packed into the car and driven off to spend two hours listening to our priest talk about God and Jesus and stuff. We don't even have a good priest. Two years ago, we were visiting mom's cousin up in Montana, they have a cool priest, he makes jokes and tells stories. His mass is actually interesting. Our priest is at least a hundred years old. I'm not sure why we haven't gotten a new one yet because this one keeps interrupting mass to turn up his hearing aid so that he can hear himself talk. To be fair, if I had a hearing aid, I'd be turning it up because I can hardly hear the guy. He just sort of mumbles it sounds like his tongue has swollen up so that he can't properly say his words.

I used to count the moles on the back of this man's neck, but he either died or moved away, so now I categorize everyone in the church by what color they're wearing. For example, there are exactly twenty women in pink today. I know it's lame, but it's still better than Rodrick. He picks at his scabs. The past few weeks it's been one on his arm that he got while skateboarding. Rodrick's awful at skateboarding. Much to dad's dismay, neither my brother or I was born with a single athletic bone in our bodies. I think Dad wanted football players, but all Rodrick wants to do is play in his band and I really just want to be popular. Anyway, I guess he can still pray for Manny, but I wouldn't put money on it happening.

Today was no exception. Church felt like it took centuries, and when I finally got out, I bolted to the car. The thing I hate most about my mom is the fact that she can chat for hours. I guess someone caught he attention, because she didn't make it to the car for about a half hour. Rodrick actually fell asleep waiting for her.

When she finally got into the car she turned to dad and started talking about whoever it was she was talking to. I guess there were some new people that had just moved in on the street. They've always lived in the city, but they're new to the neighborhood. I was only half paying attention to what she was saying. Mom seemed nice, blah, blah, blah, dad worked for a business, blah, blah, blah, daughter was in high school. Whatever. Sounds nice, but they don't really sound like anything that will ever involve me. It's like the every week. Today it was the new family (the Andrews or something), last week it was Mrs. Never-been-married's back story and the week before it was Mr. Levson's four daughters who were forming a band. None of it is ever actually relevant to anything in our family, so I don't see why mom brings it up. I think it's just because she likes to talk.

We got home and I pretty much had to push Rodrick out of the car to get by, seeing as he was still fast asleep. Nothing can wake him up once he's asleep either. Honestly, he can sleep through almost anything. Thunder storms are nothing, Manny screaming is nothing... yet he wakes with a start when he hears mom whisper that one of his friends called. I figured that maybe when he hits the pavement he'll wake up.

Well, first, I couldn't get Rodrick out of the car, so I ended up having to climb over him to get out the door. I'll tell you this, it's the last time I'm ever sitting in the middle. It took dad a bucket of ice water to wake my brother up. Admittedly, that was pretty funny. Rodrick jumped about eight feet when an ice cube got down his shirt. In summation, he owes the swear jar about twenty bucks.

After lunch, I wasn't about to let a perfectly good day of the weekend go by, so I decided to call Rowley.

Mom coughed. "Greg, did you uh, want to ask me something?"

I looked up, what was she going on about? She looked at me expectantly, then I figured it out. "Oh, right, is it okay if Rowley comes over?" Mom just nodded. I'm not sure why she makes me ask. I know she'll say yes, she likes Rowley.

With mom gone, I dialed my best friend's number and waited. It rang three times with no answer. I knew he was home, he was in church this morning, so there was no question as to whether or not he was around. I just waited. More rings. At that point I was convinced that Rowley wasn't going to pick up the phone. That would mean ignoring him for the next little while to get the message through that when your best friend calls, you don't just ignore them. When I'd finally given up hope and was just waiting for the answering machine to pick-up, Rowley's voice came across.

"Jefferson Residence, Rowley speaking."

"Took you long enough to pick up." I mumbled into the receiver, a little bit miffed at him for making me panic like that.

"Oh, hi Greg!" As usual, his voice was all perky, but he immediately became apologetic "Sorry, it's just that Leland's over and we're playing Dungeons and Dragons. Wanna play?"

Now I was faced with a situation: I like Dungeons and Dragons, but if Rodrick finds out what I'm up to, I'll never, and I mean NEVER, hear the end of it. EVER. According to my brother, that game is for losers and nerds. I'm not a loser, and I'm definitely not a nerd. I may be a bit on the wimpy side, but I am NOT a nerd. Kids like Alex Aruda who study or, I shudder to think of it, read, in their spare time are nerds. I am a slacker. That is exactly the opposite of a nerd. "I can't right now," I finally answered, I'm thirteen, way too old to be playing games. "But do you wanna come over here when you finish up?"

"Sure... Is it okay if I come over in an hour?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Do you want to stay for supper?"

"Sure Greg, if you're mom's okay with it."

"Yeah, it's fine by her. See ya in a bit, okay? Bye." I clicked the off button to hang up. I hated disappointing Rowley, and I could tell by his tone of voice that he'd been hoping we could play Dungeons and Dragons together: like old times. I'm thirteen though, so is he. We should be doing cool things, not playing games designed with hard core nerds in mind.

Well, since Rowley was busy playing at magic, I needed to entertain myself for the next hour. Some people can just read, or draw, I'm really awful at entertaining myself. I think it's all us Heffley boys actually. When Rodrick's forced to entertain himself he falls asleep. I usually end up playing video games. Unfortunately, kicking over Manny's block tower last week got me banned from playing video games, so right now, that isn't really an option.

I swear, by the time Rowley got to my house I was on my last limb. Dying of boredom seemed inevitable. The doorbell was water to my thirsty body. I hopped up with newfound energy and ran to the door where Rowley stood. Admittedly, he's not much to look at. He's chubby and gingery and has an awkward smile, but he's my best friend, so what can you do? With a smile and a hand motion, I let him into my house.

"Oh, Hello Rowley," Mom said, rushing past the two of us in the front hall. There was a time when she would stop to greet him properly, but I guess that since he's an almost permanent resident in our house, she's given up on it.

"Hi Mrs. Heffley!" Rowley had a puzzled look on his face as she ran by. He's still a little confused by the principle of greeting someone and then just rushing by.

I rolled my eyes. "C'mon." I grabbed his wrist and tugged him up the stairs to my room. Rowley just plopped himself down on my bed, I sat on the floor. "Are you really still playing Dungeons and Dragons with Leland?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow. So my behavior is generally what Angie describes as "condescending". This means something along the lines of I have a superiority complex. I know that's bad, but sometimes with Rowley, it's hard to just play nice. He can be so clueless.

"I thought you liked Dungeons and Dragons?" See what I said? Clueless.

"Yeah. Last year. In the SEVENTH grade. How many times do I have to tell you, we're growing up! If we keep acting like kids, we'll forever be at the bottom of the food chain."

Rowley just frowned. "Greg, you say this every year. And somehow nothing ever changes. Maybe we should just call it quits."

I shook my head. "No. It's going to change this year. I can bet you this year we'll be popular. I've been thinking," this was true, since school got out in June I have been thinking a lot. "Maybe we've been coming at this whole popularity thing from the wrong angle."

Rowley interrupted me. "You've been coming at this whole popularity thing."

"We have Rowley. We're a team." Everything I do, Rowley does too. He wants to be popular, I just tend to be the mastermind behind our plans. "Anyway, as I was saying: maybe we need a different plan. I was thinking artists. You're good at some kind of art, right? Can you write poems?"

Rowley looked confused. "I know you can draw... but I don't really think that we're the artsy type..."

"We could be. Get to work. Write a poem." I tossed him some scrap paper and a pen. I was going to try and write my own poem. Girls are total saps for stuff like that. I paused, trying to think of something to write. How does one start a poem? I tried to think of stuff like You're so beautiful, but I got stuck when it came to rhyming something with beautiful.

Rowley and I sat like that for a good hour and a half in full concentration. Occasionally, we'd write something down, or furiously scratch another thing off. I finally got fed up. "Okay, lets show each other our poems. I'll start." I tossed my piece of paper between us.

How beautiful is she,

A girl so stunning to see,

She looks at me,

I'm happy as can be.

I love her voice,

She leaves me with no choice,

I must-

That's where I ran out of rhymes and stopped writing. I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out to be a poet. But believe it or not, Rowley's was even worse! I was actually shocked by how bad it was. I didn't even know it was possible to be that bad at poetry.

In a small apartment in Rome,

I stood in wonder for a day,

I'd lost my favorite comb,

By coming all this way.

My hair is now a mess,

I feel so gross and awful,

I'm in such distress,

It should really be unlawful.

I rolled my eyes. Rowley's stupid poem would never impress a girl. "I think we need a different angle." I told him. Rowley just shrugged. I figured he probably didn't like writing poetry all that much anyway.

"What now?" Rowley asked me. I could tell he didn't have much faith in this whole situation. I know I've had a lot of get-popular-fast schemes that never came through, but I'm pretty sure this time I've got it. And can you really blame me for not being popular? I didn't have great role-models. Mom's crazy, all dad wants to do is build his Civil War set and Rodrick has all the appeal of a dirty gym sock. It's not exactly in my genetics to be well liked a popular beyond belief. I have always had that suspicion that I'm adopted, so maybe my real parents are movie stars or something.

I wanted to be able to give both Rowley and myself good advice on how to get popular. Once again referring to what I've already stated: I've never been popular, and no one in my family has, so I have no one to ask. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. I know I don't have to worry about looking cool in front of Rowley, but it doesn't hurt to always reinforce my image. "We just need to figure out what makes people tick."

"For example...?" Rowley looked a little confused and was now looking to me for guidance. I did a quick search of my brain and drew a blank. Trust me, it was the first and only time in my life that mom calling us down for supper came as a welcome interruption.

Wasting no time, I scrambled downstairs with Rowley at my heels. We were greeted by a table that was already set, and lasagna that had already been dished onto our plates. I sat down at my usual spot, and Rowley sat down at the guest spot reserved for him. Mom and dad took their seats, Manny was already seated, and as usual, we were waiting for Rodrick.

"RODRICK!" Mom hollered. I could tell dad was hungry by the way he was frowning at his lasagna as though it had deeply offended him. I knew the only thing this pasta had done wrong by my father was not being in his stomach at that moment. Really, it was Rodrick who should be taking the blame here.

Of course, my brother never takes others into consideration. He takes his own sweet time getting down the stairs while the rest of our bellies growl in frustration. Finally, my brother took his seat and we said grace. Dad attacked his lasagna, the rest of us just ate.

"So Rodrick," Mom began, turning to my brother who's mouth was stuffed with lasagna giving him the appearance of an ugly chipmunk. Like I said: all the charm of an old gym sock. "Have you made any more decisions about college?" I sighed. College was an issue mom and dad have been pushing a lot lately in our house. I guess it's the fact that Rodrick's in his senior year, so next year he has to do something with his life. Mom and Dad are a little worried that he'll end up like Bill and just never move out.

Rodrick held up his hand and swallowed his food. "Actually, I finally have made my decision."

Mom looked too excited to speak, so Dad took over. "Alright, care to tell?"

Rodrick nodded. "I'm not going to College." Mom blanched and I was honestly afraid she would fall off her chair. "Next year Loded Diper is going on tour. We're all going to load up into my van and drive around the country."

"Where do you plan on playing Rodrick?" Dad asked skeptically.

"Where ever we can get gigs. It'll be great, we'll get some real exposure."

"But Rodrick sweetie," Mom was positively hysterical, "What about after? What if your band split up? Or didn't get big? I think you need a fallback."

Rodrick just shook his head. "I don't need anything except my drums and my band." He replied defiantly.

"Well..." Mom trailed off, desperation in her voice as she searched for an argument that might work against him. "What about a family? How are you going to raise kids on the road with your band?"

I guess she didn't find one. "I don't want kids. Or a family. I'm not getting married. Life on the road is for me and for my band. I don't need to be tied down."

Mom's voice was raising to hysteria. "What about money? How are you going to feed yourself?"

Dad tried to get a word in, but between mom's panicked arguments and Rodrick's cool retorts, he couldn't get a word in likewise. I looked over at Rowley who looked deeply uncomfortable.

"Dad, can we please be excused?" I asked him. He just nodded, still trying to slip his point of view between his wife and son. Rowley let himself out with a simple goodbye and I retreated to my room. Life in the Heffley house is crazy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello World. This is my first ever fanfic. So I'd really like you to review it. Constructive criticism is always helpful, but if you want to give it, please don't make me want to give up on writing here. Anyway, I very much enjoyed writing this, and if you'll give me the chance, I have big plans and new characters for this story. Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo

- Bird