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sounds braggy, but I don’t mean it that way. I’m simply telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
    Â 
    I tapped the end of the pen against my chin. Then I leaned back over the paper. “P.S. Black icing does NOT stunt your growth.”
    Full of righteous determination, I stood up, grabbed my chair, and dragged it over to my bed. I lifted it on top of my bed and positioned it near the headboard. Holding my note in my teeth, I climbed onto the chair, which rocked like a boat in heavy seas. S-l-o-w-l-y, I straightened up.
    Whoa! Wobble! I crouched to regain my balance, then tried again. I stood on my tiptoes, and felt way high up along the molding that joined my wall to my ceiling.
    Yes, I thought when my fingers found what I was searching for. It was a hollow space in the crown molding, and I’d discovered it purely by luck one day. I’d been throwing mini-marshmallows into the air and catching them in my mouth, or trying to. Only one marshmallow flew up and disappeared . . . and that’s how I found my secret hiding spot.
    I took the note out of my mouth and dropped it inside the hole. If I ever needed a reminder that growing up was something to be glad about, well, now I’d know where to go.
    My eyebrows went up, because I had an idea for how to make it even better. Louise had given me a Hershey’s bar as part of my present, and I eased off the chair, hopped off my bed, and grabbed it. Then I repeated the whole wobbly process, dropping the candy bar into the hollow space along with the letter.
    Now if I ran into a time of trouble, I’d have my note and a chocolate bar to cheer me on. Hurrah! As a bonus, it would be a chocolate bar that came from Louise, which would prove my point even more. I wasn’t sure how, just that it would.
    I heard footsteps on the stairs, so I scrambled off my bed and lugged my chair back over to my desk. I scurried into bed right as Mom and Dad came in to say good-night. I pretended I’d been lying there peacefully for ages. I was a peaceful little angel.
    â€œDid you have a good day, Winnie-cakes?” Dad said.
    â€œAlas, I did not,” I said, as I was still in a mood of feeling bound to tell the truth. Also because it was fun to mess with Mom and Dad.
    Mom stepped closer, concerned. “Oh, sweetie. You didn’t have a good birthday?”
    â€œNope,” I said. I waited one second, two seconds . . . and then I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I didn’t have a good birthday. I had a great birthday. Wanna know why?”
    â€œBy all means,” Dad said.
    â€œBecause this is going to be a wonderful year, and I’m not even kidding.” I broke into a big, angelic grin. “Being ten rocks .”

April
    O NCE UPON A TIME there was a little mousie, and it was just a baby, and Amanda’s BAD DADDY killed that little mousie just because he lived in the Wilsons’ basement. Or she. She might have been a girl mousie. We didn’t know. But that was very very bad of Mr. Wilson, Amanda and I thought, because how did the mousie know it wasn’t allowed to live in their basement?
    After Mr. Wilson killed the mousie, he chucked it into the backyard and just . . . left it there! Which was heartless and terrible and cruel, and we told him so.
    â€œWell, girls, I’m sorry I upset you,” he said, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “But we can’t have our house overrun with mice. Amanda, do you want mice setting up quarters in your bedroom?”
    Amanda’s mouth, which was open in a getting-ready-toscold position, closed shut.
    I elbowed her.
    â€œLeaving mouse droppings in the carpet?” Mr. Wilson said. “Having mouse babies in your pillows?”
    I elbowed her harder. “A man da,” I whispered-yelled. “Mouse droppings?!” she whispered back. “That would be freaky!”
    â€œI wish I didn’t have to kill the little fellow,