7/3/20 I just started this journal today. I don't usually write in journals because I have no need for them, but this year is definitely an exception. The coronavirus pandemic is freaking everyone out, including me. You wouldn't believe how berserk my family is going at the moment. My mom has taken out her worries on bottles of hand sanitizer, believing that if we applied sanitizer every few seconds to our hands, we should be okay. My dad has stayed home from his office and doesn't go out without a pair of gloves. And my little sister Ella? She's screaming like a little maniac and crying every night, worried that our parents would die of the virus. Things have definitely started to go bananas. 7/4/20 This morning Ella woke me up and asked me to read her a chapter of Treasure Island, as she always does. After I had read her some, she climbed into my bed and refused to get out. “I guess I'll have to sleep on top of you, then,” I crooned mischievously. Ella shrieked. She hated when I went on top of her, because, what little sister doesn't want a seventy-three pound eleven-year-old girl knocking the breath out of her at eight ‘o ‘clock in the morning? Ella's cries woke up my mother; I heard her stirring under her covers in the next room. “Quick! Ella! Pretend you're sleeping!” I hissed. We both leapt into the covers and shut our eyes tight. Mom entered the room in her pajamas, covered in little beagles with floating hearts. She had her brown hair tied back into a bun. “Girls, stop pretending to sleep.” We continued to keep our eyes closed. “Open your eyes before I do it,” she said sternly. We all knew what “do it” was. And none of us liked it. But still we pretended to sleep. Even though my look-sees were shut, I could swear that a smile was creeping up her lips. “Alright, I'll do it!” she quipped, and whistled for our fluffy cocker spaniel, Graham Cracker. The dog flew through the door and pounced on us, slobbering and licking our faces all over and jumping on us until we laughed. “I knew you were awake!” triumphed Mom. “What's going on?” Dad's groggy voice interrupted our commotion as he stumbled into the room. “Uh-oh,” Ella whispered. “Daddy's gonna get real mad.” I sighed. We were going grocery shopping today. That meant more gloves, more hand sanitizer, and more masks. Ugh. 7/8/20 On only my third entry, right now, I can't believe that Ella's gotten the coronavirus. We had gone to the clinic for testing, yesterday, and the results came out today. Everyone got negative. All except Ella. I hope she gets better. That's all I feel like I should be writing today. 7/9/20 My family has fallen into a deep depression for Ella; nothing can saver her. Nothing. No vaccination. No cure. Nothing. We used to see each other every morning, but I can't anymore. My parents are keeping her from me for fear that I might catch the virus too. 7/10/20 Today, when I woke up in the morning, I half expected Ella to jump on me and pull out Treasure Island. But instead, I found my room empty, without anyone inside it except me. I sighed and crawled out of my bed. I grabbed Treasure Island out of my bookshelf and opened the bedroom door, careful not to let it creak. I crept across on tiptoes to Ella's room. I knew I wasn't supposed to go inside, but I did anyway. I didn't care if I got the virus anymore. I gently pushed the book under her pillow and walked out back to my own room. 8/4/20 ELLA HAS GOTTEN BETTER! I still can't quite get my mind around it. It feels like something come straight out of a movie. How is she even alive? Questions linger in my mind. But the only thing that matters is that Ella is here. Our lives will never be the same again, but this is an extraordinary time in a very dark pandemic. All because of the Covid Craze.