The next day Mom took me out to buy new decorations, new clothes, some accessories, and some makeup. I had to convince her that I was ready to use it, but in the end she agreed, saying that I was growing up after all.
This time I do not want to give up on caring about myself. This time I will buy everything that I like without constantly thinking about how others will judge me. I will wear all the beautiful clothes that I want without worrying that someone will think I ruined them just by wearing them because I believe I am ugly. I want to look in the mirror and not feel the urge to cry. I want to look at my reflection and think that this is a confident girl who actually likes herself.
Shopping with Mom took the whole day.
At first it was just supposed to be a quick trip for a few things, but somehow it turned into visiting almost every store in the mall. Mom insisted on checking sales racks, comparing prices, and making sure we were getting the best deals possible. Every time I picked something she liked, she would smile proudly and say things like, "See? You do have good taste!" Mom even helped me pick some simple makeup and showed me how to use it without overdoing it.
Then we went looking for decorations.
I found some fairy lights that I had always thought looked cool in other people's rooms. Mom said they were "a little fancy for the Heck household," but she bought them anyway after seeing how much I liked them.
By the time we finally got home, we were completely exhausted.
As soon as we entered the door, Mom dropped the bags on the floor and flopped down on the sofa.
"Oh my God," she groaned. "Shopping is a full-body workout."
Dad looked up from the TV.
"You two were gone all day."
Mom pointed weakly toward the mountain of bags.
"Mike… help."
Dad sighed but stood up anyway and started carrying the bags to my room.
Mom stayed on the couch for exactly one minute, resting dramatically before finally pushing herself up and following us.
"Okay," she said. "Let's unpack before I lose motivation."
We spent the next hour organizing everything.
Dad helped move some things around while Mom and I unpacked clothes and decorations. The fairy lights were the last thing we put up. Dad helped install them permanently on the wall with small hidden nails to stretch them carefully across one section of the wall where I removed the photos from their frames and clipped them to the lights.
When we were finally done, I stepped back and looked around.
The room looked different.
Not completely new.
But different.
It looked a little like Sue… and a little like me.
Calm colours from my neutrals mixed with her brighter ones. The fairy lights added a soft glow that made the room feel warmer.
The bedroom was still purple and still had the same furniture.
But the feeling of the room had changed.
It no longer looked like a kid's room.
For the first time since I arrived here…
It felt like mine.
I flopped on my bed, admiring my new room. Yeah, it is perfect. I smiled silly to myself.
No, focus, Sue. Now that you have finished the first step, we still need to think about how to make money. That is the most important thing at the moment.
I tried to brainstorm ideas, but everything I could think of would only work in the long run. Most needed an investment in the beginning, but we were always poor, and this trip to the hospital increased the family debt. Money is extremely tight right now, so most of my ideas will not work.
Think. Think.
In your past life you read a lot of fanfictions. What did your fellow reincarnators do?
Based on them, most of them made their first piece of money writing books. But I was not a world-class genius in my past life. It is impossible to remember whole books word for word. And I was not a professional author in my past life to start writing books. And I do not have a system or goldfinger.
Wait, maybe I have one. I never tried.
System! System! Are you there? Bind with me please? Status window! Shop!
Maybe I just need to say it out loud.
"System! System!" I said quietly; otherwise my family will think that I finally went crazy and started hallucinating.
No answer.
Urgh, life would be much simpler with a system.
But no. I am by myself.
I turned in my bed, huffing in annoyance, until I saw the diary in the cupboard that I had forgotten to put away while organizing my things.
Then I had an idea.
Well, it is impossible to recreate a whole book. But what about an extremely simple book with an extremely simple journal style of writing? However, it was still an instant bestseller.
The Diary of a Wimpy Kid.
The first book sold over 100,000 copies just in the first year.
I loved it so much as a kid because I felt that I could relate to it, so I reread it multiple times. It is a very unique kids' book and would be easier to write. And what I cannot remember I can just patch up with funny, witty, invented scenarios. Worst case, I can inspire myself from some incidents in the original series.
Of course, it may be hard to find the words sometimes, but I can do it. Someone will recognize the potential of the book and then boom—I can instantly pay all the debts. And when I start receiving the royalties, I will be rich.
I grabbed the diary from the cupboard and sat up on my bed, crossing my legs as I opened it.
The pages were still empty.
Good.
That meant I could start immediately.
If I remembered correctly, the whole point of Diary of a Wimpy Kid was that it looked like a kid's personal journal. Simple writing. Simple drawings. Short entries.
That was something I could manage.
I picked up a pen from my desk and stared at the blank page.
Okay.
Think.
What would the first entry look like?
I tapped the pen against the paper a few times, trying to remember how the book started. The style was casual. Almost like the writer was talking directly to the reader.
Or complaining.
Mostly complaining.
That part I could definitely do.
I leaned forward and started writing slowly.
"First of all, let me get something straight. This is a journal, not a diary."
I paused.
Then I stared at what I had written.
…Wait.
That was literally the first line if I remember it right.
Yes, I can do this.
That was way too obvious.
But what about the rest?
I leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling.
Okay, maybe copying the book word for word was not the best idea.
But the concept still worked.
A kid writing about school.
Family problems.
Embarrassing situations.
Bullies.
Homework.
That kind of thing happens all the time.
Even in this world.
Actually… especially in this world.
I looked back down at the diary.
I did not need to remember everything perfectly.
I just needed the idea.
A funny journal about a middle school kid trying to survive school life and a chaotic family life.
That sounded simple enough.
I flipped to a new page.
This time I wrote more slowly.
"Let me start by saying that middle school is probably the most dangerous place a kid can be."
I stopped.
Then I nodded slightly.
Okay.
That sounded good.
I continued writing, letting the words come more naturally this time. The story did not need to be perfect yet. It just needed to exist.
Besides, I could always fix things later.
Half an hour passed before I even noticed.
My hand was already starting to hurt.
"Okay," I muttered, stretching my fingers.
Writing a whole book was definitely harder than it sounded.
But still…
I just need to do a little every day and it will be done before I know it.
It was possible.
It is only around 200 pages.
And if this worked…
I looked at the diary in my hands.
Then at the fairy lights glowing softly on the wall.
Then around the room that finally felt like mine.
If this worked, maybe I could actually help my family.
Maybe the hospital bill would not be such a huge problem anymore.
Maybe things could finally start getting easier for them.
I closed the diary carefully.
"Alright," I whispered to myself.
"Step two begins now."