Dork Diaries Used Books Apr 2026

Zoey thought for a moment. “Well, you can’t give it back to her. That would be social suicide. But you also can’t keep it. That’s weird.”

And at the very end, on the last page, next to “The End,” she had written in faint pencil, as if she’d been trying to hide it even from herself:

“Mackenzie—everyone cries in the bathroom sometimes. If you ever want to not cry alone, you know where the art room is. —Nikki (locker 237)”

I pulled it out reverently. Price: $1.25. dork diaries used books

My breath caught.

Best $1.25 I ever spent.

We split up. Zoey took the “Young Readers” section near the front, which was really just three shelves of Goosebumps and old Baby-Sitters Club books. I headed for the labyrinth in the back, where the shelves leaned like tired grandparents and the categories made no sense. “Fiction” bled into “Self-Help” which bled into “Cookbooks from 1987.” Zoey thought for a moment

I showed her the book.

So I did something else.

My name is Nikki Maxwell, and I was on a mission. But you also can’t keep it

I almost dropped it. Mackenzie Hollister? As in, my arch-nemesis, the queen of mean, the CCP (Crusty Cookie Princess) of Westchester Country Day? The same Mackenzie who had once “accidentally” spilled orange soda on my art portfolio?

Zoey found me ten minutes later, holding a stack of books two feet high. “Nikki? You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost wearing a glitter beret.”

“I wish I had a friend like Zoey. Or maybe just one friend at all.”