The Naked Mole-Rat Letters (18 page)

While he and Skip and Nutter were at church, I went down to the basement and looked at the dulcimer. He hadn't touched it. I put the silver tuning pegs back where I'd found them.

After church Dad went to Heartstrings, and—surprise—Grandma Jenny came.

“I'm staying the whole week!” she said.

Dad didn't say so, but he must have asked her to come so that he could avoid me. We wouldn't fight in front of her. We never do. She's not the kind of grandma you can fight in front of. We wouldn't get into any deep conversations, either. She's not the kind of grandma who wants to know how you're feeling. She's a chocolate-chip cookie kind of
grandma. A card-playing kind of grandma. A “say cheese” kind of grandma.

She made cookies and played games with Nutter and Skip all afternoon. I am still too angry at Skip to be in the same room as him. She asked me to join, but she didn't make a big deal when I said that I had too much homework (which was a lie).

After dinner the Red Beet Ramblers squashed into the living room, and I locked myself back in my room because I couldn't face them.

Dad knocked on my door. “Time for rehearsal, Frankie.”

“I'm not coming.”

“If you want to lock yourself in here, that's fine,” he said. “But if you don't rehearse, then you can't play with us at the festival.”

“Fine,” I said.

Now they're playing “Give Me Your Hand,” and it's killing me.

Grandma just came up to say good night.

“You know that you have to go to school tomorrow, Frankie,” she said, matter of fact. “Grin and bear it. You can't hide in your room for the rest of your life.”

I don't know why not.

 

Dear Ayanna:


I'm not supposed to be e-mailing, but I can't help it. I think I got you into trouble with my dad. I'm sorry. Nothing was your fault. He shouldn't hold anything against you.


I got through school by imagining that if I took my eyes off my teachers, or stopped listening to them for a single second, the entire world would blow up.


During passing periods, I avoided everybody, and everybody avoided me. At lunch, Beth sat with
the other seventh-graders who are on stage crew. I sat by myself on one side of the cafeteria. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Johnny sitting by himself. He looked as miserable as I felt.


I keep thinking about what you said about being true to your heart. I wanted to walk over and sit with him, but I didn't. I'm a coward.


At least nobody teased us. It was like somebody had told everybody that they'd get into trouble if they teased me or Johnny. Maybe it was The Troll.


Turned in my report on naked mole-rats.


Yours truly,


Frankie


 

Dear Frankie:


Thank you for your e-mail. But I have to tell you that I can't continue our correspondence. Your dad
and I talked on the phone about the situation. I don't want to interfere any more than I already have.


I'm sending a copy of this to your dad's business e-mail address so that there are no secrets between us.


I hope you know how much I have enjoyed getting to know you. I know that you are going to figure out what you need to do to get through these difficult times. I think you're an extraordinary girl, Frankie Wallop.


Best wishes,


Ayanna


 

Dear Diary:

I hate Dad.

Dear Diary:

I finally gave the librarian the money for
The Miracle Worker
. She must have assumed
that I lost the book because she said, “Well, if it turns up, bring it in, honey.”

Right.

Got a B on my report. Would have gotten an A, but Mrs. Keating deducted points for being late. She liked it so much she made me read it out loud. Jerry Parks laughed every time I said the word
naked
. Some people are so immature.

All day Johnny looked like a squashed tomato. He's waiting for me to write back to tell him that I don't hate him. I wrote him a letter, but then I threw it away.

After school The Troll called to check up on me. “I know you're going through a difficult time right now, Francine. Your father and I talked about the possibility of after-school counseling sessions—”

I stopped her flat. “My grandmother is here for a while, so we don't need anything.”

She paused, clearly disappointed. Then she said, “That's so nice. I'd like to introduce myself to her. Could you put her on please, Frankie?”

I handed the phone over.

“That woman could talk your ear off,” Grandma Jenny said when she finally hung up.

Dear Diary:

Johnny wasn't in school today.

Too depressed to write.

Nutter just came into my room. “Grandma's having coffee at Mrs. Holmes's house. Will you read me a book?”

“I don't feel like it, Nutter. I'm busy.” I was sitting in my beanbag chair, staring at the lines on my left palm.

He huffed. “This is a zombie house.”

I glanced up. He had his hands on his hips and a disgusted look on his face. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Everybody just walks around. Nobody talks to each other. It's worse than a zombie
house. It's a dead zombie house.” He stormed out.

Dear Diary:

This morning Mr. Peter asked me to take the attendance sheets to the office. On the way I ran into Johnny, who was coming in late. Nobody else was in the hallway.

He stopped when he saw me. He had no books. No backpack. He had on jeans that were ripped at both knees. His eyes were waiting.

My heart was thumping as loudly as Ozzie Filmore's boots do when he plays “Soldier's Joy” on the fiddle.
Say something. Say something. Say, Hello, Johnny
.

The door to Mrs. Bourne's room opened, and Denise walked out.

My feet took off toward the office. I don't know what Johnny did. I couldn't look back.

Went to the nurse's office. She wouldn't let me stay. “It's either back to class or in to talk
to Ms. Trolly. Sorry. Your dad gave me orders.”

I went back to class and imagined that I was deaf and blind.

I'm at lunch right now, and I'm still deaf and blind. I can't hear the clock ticking. I can't see everyone sitting with friends.

It is remarkable that I am able to write in this diary. For a blind person my handwriting is excellent. I am an extraordinary girl.

I've been so wrapped up in my own worries, I forgot about Nutter.

After school the poor little guy was in tears when I picked him up.

“Lindsay's mom made her a whole elephant costume with a trunk. You still haven't helped me with my costume,” he said. “Every day you say that you'll help me tomorrow. Tomorrow is Halloween, Frankie. Grandma says I should wear rags and be a bum. I don't want to be a bum, Frankie.”

I took his hand.

As soon as we arrived home, I went to work. I found a white handkerchief and an old winter coat of mine (furry and brown!). I tied the handkerchief around his neck and put the coat on him. Already he looked like a little teddy bear. Then I pulled out the stage paint kit and I painted his face. When he looked in the mirror, he squealed. Ayanna was right. It didn't take much to make him
feel
like a koala. He put on his koala backpack and danced around and around the house.

I wish I were five years old again. I wish that putting on a costume and dancing around the room could make everything all right.

Took a picture of him with Dad's electronic camera. Want to send it to Ayanna but am afraid it would get her into trouble.

Dear Diary:

At lunch Beth plopped her bag on the table and sat next to me.

“Johnny told Jerry Parks that he hates you and that you hate him and that the reason you came over last week was for business,” she began. “He said that you paid him to teach you how to find some music that your dad needed on the Internet.”

I stared at my half-peeled orange. Johnny was lying for me. Johnny had given up.

Beth scooted her chair in. “I think you tried to tell me all that last week, and I didn't believe you.”

I didn't say anything.

She kept going. “I didn't know what to believe because you lied to me. You haven't ever lied to me before. I know you're really mad at me for telling my mom everything, but I didn't know what else to do. I thought you were in trouble. Please talk to me, Frankie. Tell me what you're thinking.”

Here's what I was thinking: I know Beth inside and out. I know every freckle on her face. I know that one eye is rounder than the other. I know how loud she screamed when she got her ears pierced at the mall in Bloomington. I know what she wishes she had been named. I know that she has a white scar on her left knee and that she got it ice-skating. I was there. I tied my scarf around her knee to stop the bleeding.

I was thinking that all I had to do to make things right with Beth was say, Everything is okay. All I needed to do was say, I forgive you for telling your mom and I'm sorry for lying and, yes, I hate Johnny and he hates me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Johnny, sitting alone near the garbage cans. He was working on something in his notebook, but he kept glancing over. He was waiting to see if Beth and I were going to make up.

I should tell Beth the truth, I thought. I should tell her what Johnny's really like. I should tell her that I'm going to be his friend, whether she thinks it's okay or not. I could do
it. All I had to do was get up and walk over to Johnny's table.
Hello, Johnny
. That was all I needed to say. It was the right thing to do. Pretending to hate Johnny would be a lie.

The pressure to tell the truth was hanging over my head like ten thousand pounds of tomatoes. But the pressure to lie was just as huge.

I didn't move.

“Earth to Frankie . . .” Beth was staring at me. “Did you hear me? I said: Do you think things can get back to normal?”

I nodded. “Sure, Beth.”

The bell rang. I walked out with Beth and didn't look back. I mumbled and lied my way through an apology, and things sort of did get back to normal. Beth went with me to pick up Nutter after school and to see all the elementary kids dressed up in their costumes. We went back to my house and carved jack-o'-lanterns with Skip and Nutter and Grandma. Beth and I pretended that everything was fine between us, but there was an awkwardness that wasn't there before. She went home a few minutes ago.

I thought that writing this down would make me feel better. But it doesn't. I keep picturing Johnny alone in his trailer on Endangered Species Road, and it makes my stomach hurt.

I did not imagine that Halloween night would end this way. How could I?

After Beth left, I fell into the darkest depression yet. First of all, I felt like a monster. How could I turn my back on Johnny? Secondly, I was a fake. How could I pretend that things were normal with Beth when I couldn't tell her what was really going on? Thirdly, I was still obsessing about what happened last week. How could I ever forgive myself for allowing Nutter to wander off, or for almost burning down the house (the kitchen still doesn't smell right), or for getting Ayanna into trouble?