Read The Naked Mole-Rat Letters for Free Online Page B

staples had already been taken out and new staples put in. Skip was pretty quick.
    I took the staples out and opened the envelope. There were a bunch of pamphlets from the National Association of Musical Instrument Makers and a letter.
    Dear Robert:
    Enclosed are the materials you accidentally left on the feeding-station cart in my office.
    After work today I stopped by that great music shop that I told you about (rightaround the corner from my apartment). They carry hammered and mountain dulcimers—none of which look as beautiful as the photos of yours that you showed me. I told them about your work, and they’d like you to contact them. I’ve included their card along with the pamphlets.
    Fan-atically yours,
    Ayanna
    Skip thought she was a businesswoman.
    Wrong.
    I could see it all now. Ratlady didn’t care about business. She wanted Dad to move to Washington and sell his instruments at the music shop around the corner from her apartment so that she could be with him. I put the pamphlets back into the envelope and stapled it shut. No need for Dad to see the letter or the business card, so I pocketed those.
    When Dad got home I expected him to ask me right away about the audition. But Skip and Nutter showed him the book from Ratlady, and he completely forgot about me.
    â€œHow nice.” Dad flipped through the book.
    â€œSo, who’s the person who sent it to us?” I asked innocently. I wanted to hear it from him.
    â€œShe’s just a person who works at the zoo. She helped me pick out your souvenirs.” He was trying to make it sound like she was some cashier or something.
    â€œI like her already!” Nutter exclaimed, hugging the furry little head of his koala backpack. Then his eyes lit up. “Hey, I want to send her something.” He ran to the kitchen and back. “See?” He held up his ghost picture.
    â€œThat’s a stupid idea, Nutter,” I said.
    Nutter looked at me as if I’d shot him in the heart with a spear.
    â€œIt’s a stupid idea because you gave the picture to me,” I explained.
    He scowled. “You didn’t want it!”
    Dad took the picture, ignoring me completely. “I’ll send it as a thank-you card.”
    All through dinner I kept waiting for somebody to ask me about the audition. Nobodydid. I swear I could be walking around with one leg chopped off and nobody would notice. After dinner Dad played poker with Skip and Nutter. I refused to play, and they all complained about what a bad mood I was in.
    â€œShe was in a bad mood when she picked me up at the flagpole,” Nutter added.
    â€œI’d be in a bad mood if I were her,” Skip said.
    â€œWhy?” Dad asked.
    â€œBecause if I were Frankie, I’d be as ugly as a naked mole-rat!”
    They all laughed.
    â€œYou think that’s funny?” I yelled. “If I said that to Skip, I’d get grounded.”
    Dad waved it off. “Skip wasn’t serious, Frankie. It was just a joke.”
    â€œI hate this whole family!” I yelled, and locked myself in my room.
    Of course they let me go. They just kept playing their happy game. Who cares about Frankie? Who cares if Frankie ever comes out of her room again? The house is better off without her.
    Here I sit. Here I will rot.
8:40 P.M .
    Things are even worse.
    About fifteen minutes ago the phone rang.
    I thought about who it could be. Ratlady? The Troll? Mr. Haxer? The volunteer fire department wishing me a happy birthday?
    â€œFrankie,” Dad called, “it’s Beth.”
    â€œI don’t want to talk. I have to work on a stupid science report.”
    He must have hung up because after a few minutes the phone rang again. This time he didn’t call for me. I crept out the door. Quietly I picked up the other phone. I recognized the voice immediately. It was a beautiful voice from the past: Ms. Young.
    â€œDo you have a minute to talk about the play,