What the hell, seriously.

I slammed my locker shut, just trying to get this school day from hell over with so I could go home, skip dinner, and practice with Löded Diper. But then I saw it. Tucked right into the little air vent on my locker door was this stupid-looking pink envelope.

My first thought was, "Great, Greg probably paid some little kid to stick a 'You're a LOSER' note on my locker." That little psycho is always trying to make my life miserable.

I snatched the envelope, ready to just crumple the thing up and throw it in the trash where it belonged. But... wait. It wasn't the usual crappy notebook paper. It was, like, fancy. And it wasn't a joke or a prank from some freshmen, because it had my full name written on it in handwriting that wasn't some jagged, sloppy mess.

I looked around the hallway, trying to spot which jerk was watching me to see my reaction. Nothing. Just the usual cluster of nerds and jocks.

What the actual FUCK.

I ripped it open right there, not even caring if I got busted for loitering. It was a letter. A love letter, for Christ's sake. It was all about my 'killer drumming' and how the person writing it had been crushing on me forever. It didn't have a name, just a little drawing of a skull and crossbones next to a heart.

Me. Rodrick Heffley. The guy who barely passes his classes, still lives in his parents' basement, and has a band whose biggest fanbase is maybe two dudes and a dog. Nobody gives a crap about me, especially not girls. I'm practically invisible—and a total loser, let's be honest.

So, this is either the most elaborate, soul-crushing prank in the history of Westmore High School, or... someone actually, genuinely, secretly thinks I'm not a pathetic waste of space.

I tucked the letter deep into my jeans pocket. I'm gonna find out who wrote this. And if they're screwing with me, they're gonna pay. But if they're not... well, then this boring-ass school day just got a whole lot more interesting.