The Diary of Charlotte Blair

Chapter Six

You sit behind the mask

And you control your world

You sit around and I watch your face

I try to find the truth

But that's your hiding place

-Behind the Mask, Michael Jackson

December 27th, 2014

I forgot to write about what happened on the 25th- a.k.a Christmas. It wasn't as much fun because Brooke and I usually hung out every Christmas. Actually, it was just boring. Brooke was like my sister, since I don't have siblings, so it was kind of awkward sitting under the tree with nobody but my mother and father. Decorating had not been the same without Brooke's fuzzy, strawberry pink garlands and One Direction ornaments that my parents surrenduringly let her put up for years. Brooke's entire family usually came, so for once our house was filled with running, screaming children, and my mom had the enjoyment of buying little children toys again. But unfortunately, there was no fuzzy pink garland, or Harry Styles ornaments on our tree, or little kids running around and screaming/singing "Do You Like Waffles" by Parry Gripp. Instead, there was me, my mother and my father silently and poshly drinking tea and eating Christmas pudding in our grand, white dining room. All of a sudden, my mother spoke up in her British accent,

"Is that the doorbell I heard? Charlotte, darling, would you so kindly check to see who is arriving at this hour?" I didn't think that this hour was very late at all, but I went to check the door anyway.

I opened the door and shivered as the snowy breeze swept my blonde hair in my eyes, obscuring my view of the black Porsche speeding down the icy street. There was not a soul at the door, but there was a small package. Taped to it was a green and red note card that said, 

Charlie---

        I don’t have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out? 'Cuz you're all I want for Christmas and you're hotter than a chemical reaction.

Excuse me? Hotter than a chemical reaction? If Brooke had been there we would have cracked up at how nerdy it was but I was so miserable that all I did was bring the package inside and dump it on the table.

"Who was it?" My Dad asked, shoving more pudding in his mouth and talking through it. Unlike my , impecably polite Mom (who claimed to have been raised in the Queen's country home), my dad was from Texas and a hard-core, McDonalds-eating American.

"No one."

"Oh come on, honey, we're your parents! You can tell us anything!"

"Mom. There was no one there. Just this box."

"Oh. Well, what are you waiting for? You need something to cheer you up. Open it." My mother instructed me. I shot her a confused look.

"Why on Earth would I open a box from some random stranger? For all I know, there could be a bomb in there!" I exclaimed. My dad exhaled dramatically and sat back in his chair, wiping the brown goop of the pudding off of his face. 

"Charlie I thought I raised you better than that." I waited for the dramatic lecture. "I have told you time and again that bombs tick! I don't hear a ticking from that box, do you?" I smirked and shook my head no. Just like my mother claimed she had lived in the Queen's castle, my father claimed he used to be a top-of-the-line FBI agent. My first memory was of him telling me how to break the bully's nose. Incidently, that bully now went by James, and repeatedly hit on me. Father didn't know that, of course. Otherwise, James would have found out how big my dad's gun collection is; the other side to his patriotism for America. My parents were the oddest couple I knew of, but made me believe in true love. Despite the fact that my mother thought guns were what killed people and not the person, and that McDonalds was the shrine of Satan, they still loved each other through thick and thin. 

"Don't be ridiculous. If there was a bomb, you'd know it. Now, open the box, my lovely sweetie cake." I rolled my eyes at my mom's excessive use of pet names for me.

"By all means, my honey covered lamb chop pudding," My dad added with a British accent and a perfectly straight face, imitating my mother, "the box is safe. Now open it." He finished with his Southern accent. My mother scoffed.

"That is not what I sound like." She growled.

"You know it, my little ant-infested crumbcake. Now, Charlie-poo, open the box, or I will for you." He demanded kindly. I sighed and reached for it, but my mother cut me off.

"Charlotte Elizabeth Katherine Veronica Blair, don't you dare open that box until your father apologizes." She said, a millisecond after I pulled the ribbon off of the box that held it together. I looked up at her, widening my already ginormous eyes innocently.

"Whoopsies, sorrry mummy." I said, peeking down at the box. There was a Christmas tree-shaped box full of chocolates, a bag of dark chocolate Hershey's kisses (my favorite, coincidentally), and a tiny little stuffed snowman holding a piece of paper. I took the paper out of his hands. It was a little, yellow index card with a website link on it:

http://tinyurl.com/charlotte-blair

I ran upstairs and grabbed my laptop, curious as to see why some random creep would make a website with my name in the link. I carefully read every letter of the link and typed it into the search box, clicking "enter". It took me staright to some bright orange blog, with the words "Hello, Charlotte!" written on the header. My face contorted in confusion. I scrolled down, finding some picture of me and a picture of some cleats and a soccer ball. I read the only blog post there, which was labeled

December 25th, 2014

I read it over and over again. It was written by some guy who called himself "Sir Booksalot"; He didn't tell me his real name, for that was something I had to figure out by "cracking the code".

So, yeah. That was Christmas. I got presents and stuff, but nothing special enough to write in this diary. The next day, of course, came all of the Brooke drama, but we are friends again so it's all good. Actually, I think that's my phone with an incoming call from her. Oh no, I hope I'm not a fashion emergency again...

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GUYS! THANK YOU ALL UBER MUCH FOR READING. SORRY IT TOOK US SO LONG TO UPDATE! DOES THIS MYSTERY MAKE UP FOR IT? Now, for some cooltastic news... The website Sir Booksalot made is REAL! The blog posts will be updated with each new chapter and note from Sir Booksalot, so don't forget to read the one that Charlie did! There is a link in our bio, profile and the comments. Enjoy! We love you all so much.

~Vivi and Abi