10/4/20XX Sunday

Those people took the body from us last night. Me and Dad only had to have Mr. Brinesworth at our house for dinner, then take him out after he drank three bottles of Dad's finest. Thank goodness we didn't have to clean up the corpse of Mr. Brinesworth ourselves. My only experience with dead bodies before this was the 2 seasons of Dateline I binge watched, and I doubt Dad ever wanted to work in a graveyard.

Did you know that beating someone's skull in with a hammer sounded like an egg being cracked? Over and over again, like I was making some extra large omelette. I saw Mr. Brinesworth's eyes as I did it. The life in his eyes looked like the insides of an egg slowly leaking out, until there wasn't anything left in those dead eyes of his. They looked like a that ghost from one of those horror movies I snagged from Rodrick. I'm definitely not watching those anymore.

It took a few seconds for Dad's coworker to stop twitching like a bug and become still. It took a few more seconds to realize that I'd actually done it. A few seconds later, I threw up. On Mr. Brinesworth's body, of course. Dad wasn't too happy, but how could he? He'd just seen me, his son, kill some guy he'd known for years. But it was orders from the group that had Mom. It was either her or him, and we both made the choice.

Dad moved like a robot as he carried the guy and zipped him up in a body bag they'd given us. He told me to clean up the spots of blood and vomit left on the kitchen. I didn't do a good job. I heard the police had luminol that'd show leftover blood as a purple glow. Slam-dunk evidence that'd put Manny in a foster home. Dad's gonna get pissed at me if this ever shows up in court, but can he blame me? I'm the second worst vaccummer in the house, after Rodrick.

So these two guys come in our driveway with one of those pizza triangles taped on the top of their car. They've got the logo and everything down, even though I've never heard of that joint in my life. As planned, they rang the doorbell and took the body bag in their car, then drove away. The whole thing took a minute, max. As far as I knew, it looked like Dad was getting a hot, greasy pizza to our neighbors.

After that, Dad had called me and Rodrick into the kitchen for a "family discussion". Manny would've sold us out the moment he got back into preschool tomorrow if he'd heard, so Dad tucked him into bed after giving him a cup hot chocolate. Manny got a cup of that yesterday, too, when Mr. Brinesworth came over for dinner. Manny's a light sleeper, so I'm not sure how he stayed in bed for two nights in a row. My thoughts? Whatever's in the "hot chocolate" is powerful stuff.

Dad told us the usual stuff I expected. "Don't tell anyone.", "It's all for Mom.", and "Just act normal in front of the police when they inevitably come after learning that Mr. Brinesworth was last seen in the Heffley's household." were a few of the phrases he tossed out. Okay, when Dad mentioned the police, I got scared a bit. I thought they'd put me in with the murderers if they caught me stealing free cupcakes from the store. I'm laughing at third grade me now, but dealing with the police is something I'd love to avoid. Especially when I did do a crime.

A week ago, Albert Sandy told our lunch table that people in prison try not to drop the soap, or else they'd… It makes me gag to think about it. I'm a little skinny and weak for my age, so I know that I'd lose my ability to hold it forever after a day in prison. The people in Dateline always catch the criminals, so it's only a matter of time before I'll end up in the hospital for butt surgery. It's too late now to rat out Dad for working with the cartel, since I've got blood on my hands. I'll just have to do my best to fool the guys investigating us.

I've got school tomorrow. Hopefully I won't act weird like when Ruby Bird started smearing pig blood everywhere.


10/5/20XX Monday

In my opinion, high school biology doesn't compare to what I did a year ago. Back in 8th grade, I'd get by by writing some stupid report about how plants needed sunlight to live. Now, apparently, the teachers want us to actually do science things instead of putting the obvious on a size 36 research project. Mrs. Strelitzia told us we'd be dissecting rats with a partner today, then pointing out their organs in front of her for a grade. I don't know about you, but I'd fear for my life if I learned that a group of 26 regular class freshmen got their hands on pins, scalpels, and dead rats. Advanced Placement kids might be able to find a cure for rat cancer (if that existed), but I'm pretty confident that all we'd end up doing was have a fighting ring where the loser got pelted by rat intestines.

I wasn't far off. I partnered up with Rowley, my friend since 6th grade, since he gets freaked out at any mention of violence. I once showed him Moral Combat's gameplay trailer, but he fainted by the 25 second mark. Also since, well, he's my friend. He's goofy and bad at video games, but he's stuck with me since 6th grade.

I divided up the work so that I'd do the cutting, and Rowley would tell the teacher his answers. A fair deal, since Rowley hated blood and I thought a pancreas was the thing that fried your brain cells after three hours of math. Rowley was worried since I didn't bother reading how to cut up the rat, but he shut up after I explained how my many hours of Surgeon Simulator made me a de facto (I learned that in English) doctor. Meanwhile, as I guessed, at least half the room started jacking around with their tools. These two guys started jousting while others were placing bets. Mrs. Strelitzia was nowhere to be found. To be honest, I would've done the same - guzzling coke in the teacher's lounge sounded way better than getting sliced to pieces.

Our rat (Rowley started calling it Fluffy) was laid on the board. I pinned its limbs through the foam so Fluffy wouldn't roll over and hovered the blade above its chest. I was fine until I made the mistake of staring at its eyes. Its cold, dead eyes that looked like Mr. Brinesworth's. I don't remember much after that, but Rowley told me in the nurse's office that I started freaking out and blabbing about how I didn't do it. Eventually, someone called over the school nurse to carry me out. According to Rowley, everyone got out of their class to see what was going on.

My social life is ruined. I'm gonna be like an Ruby Bird or Fregley level weirdo. Rodrick told me about how a freshman girl got caught going down on the fattest guy in her grade. She never lived it down, and legend says that she pimped out herself, since no real company would give her a job. I'm gonna be known as the guy frickin' scared of rats for the rest of high school!

Rodrick's already started trash talking me the moment he walked in the house. He said he'd heard that I pissed myself and fainted the moment I learned I was gonna dissect a rat. I told him that at least I'd never get a 420 on my SAT. Rodrick's starting to realize that his scores aren't gonna cut it after checking out colleges to apply for. He started studying his butt off for a retake this December, but I'm not sure if he can catch up on the 18 years of missed classwork.

Luckily for me, Rodrick's been less of a jerk. My PSAT's are coming up in a year, so I reasoned I'd got plenty of time to study later, and enjoy Twisted Wizard in my prime. Until I blacked out because of Fluffy today. I'm gonna have to convince Dad let me homeschool myself and pay for some plastic surgery, now.