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that I have collapsed in a heap by my school’s backdoor and I cannot get my legs to work. How can I possibly go on living?
7:55 P.M .
    Life is cruel. I have locked myself in my room right now, and nobody cares. This whole thing with Ratlady is giving
me
a nervous breakdown. I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle it when the rest of my life is falling apart. Not one single member of my so-called family asked me about the audition. Can you believe it?
    I hate Ratlady. I hate my family. I hate junior high. I hate my life.
    Here’s what happened after my last entry.
    I dragged myself over to the elementary school. As usual, Nutter was waiting for me by the flagpole, wearing that stupid koala backpack.
    Skinny Skip ran past us without saying a word. He never waits for me and Nutter. He just runs as soon as the bell rings because he’s now old enough to walk home by himself.
    â€œGuess what I made today?” Nutter showed me a piece of black paper with a small white shape pasted on it. “Guess what it is?”
    â€œI don’t want to guess.”
    â€œI’ll give you a clue. It mourns like this.” He raised his arms and started moaning.
    â€œIt’s a ghost. Ghosts don’t mourn, Nutter. They moan.”
    Nutter had to run to catch up with me. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done. You can have it, Frankie.”
    â€œNo thanks, Nutter.”
    â€œYou’re in a bad mood.”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œHow come?”
    I pulled Nutter across the road, not saying anything.
    â€œWell, I’m in a great mood.” Nutter kept talking. “I figured out what I’m going to be for Halloween. I’m going to be a big daddy koala with lots of fur so I can carry my baby koala on my back.”
    â€œA big koala costume is too hard to make.” I glanced at the picture he was holding. “You have to be something easy. Be a ghost.”
    â€œDad can make me a koala costume.”
    â€œHe’s way too busy, Nutter. Stop focusing on that stupid koala backpack.” We cut through the park, marching over the wooden bridge that goes over Dead Man’s Creek. Nutter usually begs to stay and act out the Billy Goats Gruff or the Magic Fish story, but today he didn’t say a word. I think he was afraid that if he did I’d bite his head off.
    When we got home, Skip pounced. “Dad got a package from the zoo and so did you, Frankie.” He held up two large, padded envelopes. “You got a book.”
    â€œIs there one for me?” Nutter asked.
    â€œNope,” Skip said.
    I grabbed both envelopes.
    â€œWho’s it from?” Nutter asked.
    I looked at the package addressed to me. Sent Express Mail from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C., on Friday, October 17. Inside was a book about naked mole-rats.
    Skip and Nutter stared at the picture on the cover. “What is it?” Nutter asked.
    â€œIt’s the first-prize winner of the Ugliest Animal in the Universe,” Skip said.
    â€œCool.” Nutter grabbed the book.
    â€œCheck out those teeth!” Skip exclaimed. Then he read the small note stuck to the cover.
    Dear Frankie:
    This book is for you and your brothers. I like reading as much as I like taking care of naked mole-rats. I hope you do, too.
    Nonfictionally yours,
    Ayanna
    â€œWho’s Ayanna?” Nutter asked.
    â€œShe’s a mean rat lady who Dad met in Washington, D.C.”
    â€œShe doesn’t sound mean to me,” Nutter said.
    â€œShe’s a businesswoman or something,” Skip said. “She’s helping Dad to sell his stuff in Washington.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Skip shrugged and pointed to the envelope addressed to Dad. “A good spy opens all mail.”
    Nutter opened the book to a picture of naked mole-rats rolling around in their own poop. “Look at this!”
    While they dived into the book, I took Dad’s envelope into my room and closed the door. The