Free The Naked Mole-Rat Letters by Mary Amato Page A

“Nobody cares about me.”
    I could hear in Dad’s voice that he was struggling to be patient. “That’s not true. Blow your nose, Nutter.”
    There were some sounds of rustling and mumbling outside my door. I looked around my room. The tissue box full of
The Miracle Worker
pages was gone.
    I pressed my ear against the door and heard the unmistakable sound of dead pages being pulled from a box. “Frankie.” Dad’s voice collapsed. “What in the world . . . Oh Frankie, how could you destroy a book like this?”
    From the bottom of the stairs, Skip yelled, “She did it last night.”
    I slammed my hand against the door. “Would you stop spying on me!”
    Through the door I heard Dad send Skip and Nutter to their room.
    I paced. The best thing to do would be to confess to the murder of the book and apologize. But I find it very hard to admit that I’mwrong. There’s something about Dad’s voice. When he’s disappointed or angry, his voice comes at me like warm mud and clogs up my brain.
    â€œFrankie, I think I know the reason you don’t want to be in the play,” he went on. “Skip said that you practiced very hard for the leading role, and my guess is that you are disappointed that you didn’t get the part. I understand your disappointment, but I still think it would be good experience for you to be in the play. In elementary school you were a big fish in a little pond, Frankie. Now that you’re in junior high school, you’re a small fish in a big pond. Sometimes you have to settle for a small role. According to Ms. Young, you should feel lucky to get in at all. And getting a small part certainly doesn’t justify destroying a library book. Tomorrow I expect you to go to the library and pay for the book with your own money.”
    â€œFine! But you can’t make me be in the play.”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “One last thing. I was thinking that maybe I’ve been putting toomuch pressure on you, expecting too much from you. I’m going to ask Mrs. Whitehead to come over after school for the next few weeks and help, just until my work eases.”
    I groaned. “We don’t want anybody else in the house.”
    â€œI think we need help. I think—”
    I opened the door. “We don’t need help! I’m not doing the play anyway.”
    Nutter came running down the hall and threw himself at Dad. “I’m sorry I ate the cake. Frankie shouldn’t get into trouble for that. She takes good care of me. Don’t ask Mrs. Whitehead. She has hairs coming out of her nose.”
    Dad cracked up.
    Skip slithered into the hall. “It’s true. We hate Mrs. Whitehead.”
    â€œAll right.” Dad gave in. “I won’t ask Mrs. Whitehead to come, but you guys have to each promise something. Nutter, you have to promise not to eat cake before dinner. . . .”
    Nutter saluted like a soldier.
    â€œSkip, you have to mind your own business. It’s okay to
play
at being a spy, but you shouldn’t
really
spy on people.”
    Skip nodded, like
that
was going to stop him.
    Dad turned to me.
    â€œI know. I know,” I said. “I have to pay for the library book.”
    â€œAnd . . .”
    â€œAnd watch Nutter more closely after school.”
    â€œAnd help me with my koala costume!” Nutter exclaimed.
    Dad ruffled Nutter’s hair.
    The phone rang, and Dad went to get it.
    I grabbed Skip by his skinny little arm. “You dirty rotten pig. Spy on me e-mailing again, and I’ll tell everybody in your class that you wet your bed.”
    â€œIt’s not true. I don’t wet my bed.”
    I let go and crossed my arms. “I’m a very good actress, Skip. Even your friends will believe me.”
    That got him.
    But I wasn’t done. I needed more info. “How much of my e-mails to Ratlady did you read?” I