Tuesday

You know, sometimes I wonder how Manny manages to get away with everything. I'm starting to think he's secretly a genius. I mean, I've had years of practice trying to stay out of trouble, and somehow, that little dude can mess up big time and still come out looking like the victim. Case in point: tonight's bedtime disaster.

It all started when Mom asked me to read Manny his bedtime story. Now, I don't know why she thinks this is my responsibility. I'm not the one who wanted a little brother, but somehow, I keep getting stuck with all the annoying little brother duties.

"Greg, can you read Manny a story?" Mom asked, all sweet like she didn't just drop this huge chore on me.

I tried to explain that I had important stuff to do. And by "important," I mean playing my new video game. But Mom gave me that look—the look—so I knew I didn't have a choice.

Fine. I grabbed one of Manny's picture books, the one where the animals talk in baby voices and do completely unrealistic things like going to school or cooking dinner. (Whoever writes these books clearly never met a cat. Our cat, Sweetie, won't even clean up her own hairballs, let alone make a three-course meal.)

Anyway, I headed to Manny's room. But the moment I sat down, Manny looked at me with his big, watery eyes and said, "I want two stories."

Now, I'm pretty sure he's never demanded two stories before. This had to be some new power trip he's on, and I wasn't about to play along.

"Nope. One story. Take it or leave it."

Well, Manny didn't like that answer one bit. He crossed his arms and got that pouty face he does when he's about to cry. I've seen this act before. It's basically his secret weapon. But I wasn't about to fall for it tonight.

"One story, Manny. And then I'm done," I said, trying to stay firm.

Manny's lip started trembling, and then, out of nowhere, he screamed. And when I say screamed, I mean that ear-piercing, brain-melting kind of scream that makes you question why you ever agreed to babysit in the first place.

I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to get him to stop. But Manny had already moved to the next stage of his meltdown.

"You're a bad brother!" he yelled. "I'm gonna tell!"

"Go ahead," I said. "Tell Mom, see if I care."

Except, Manny didn't go to Mom.

He grabbed the house phone.

I'm not even joking. Before I could figure out what he was doing, he pressed 911 and shouted into the phone, "Help! My brother won't read me a story!"

My brain went into full panic mode. I leapt up, grabbed the phone, and hung up as fast as I could. I was this close to passing out.

I tried to explain to Manny that you can't just call the cops because someone won't read you a bedtime story, but he just looked at me like I was the crazy one.

A minute later, the phone rang. I saw the caller ID and felt my stomach drop—it was the police.

I picked up the phone, and the cop on the other end sounded like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or arrest me. He said they got a call from this number, and I had to explain that my little brother had called by accident. The cop gave me this long speech about how prank calls to the police are illegal, and the whole time, I was sweating bullets.

After I hung up, I thought, Well, that's it. I'm doomed. But then I heard Mom and Dad coming upstairs, and I knew the real trouble was about to start.

They barged into Manny's room, and of course, Manny was sitting there looking all innocent, like he hadn't just tried to get me arrested.

Mom asked what happened, and Manny said, "Greg wouldn't read me two stories."

And do you know what Mom said? "Greg, you know how much Manny loves his stories. Couldn't you have just read him another one?"

I stood there, speechless.

Manny gave me this little smirk like he knew he'd won. Again.

So now I'm grounded for two weeks because apparently I'm the bad guy in this situation. And Manny? He's probably plotting his next move.

I need to figure out how to stop him before he ends up calling the FBI on me next time.