The Naked Mole-Rat Letters Read Free Page B

never lie, which meant that I could lie and she would believe me.
    Knock. Knock
.
    The door opened and there she was, short and round and cheery as a pumpkin. “Hi, Sweetheart. Something wrong?”
    I smiled innocently. “Nothing’s wrong. I just forgot my key.”
    â€œBut why aren’t you in school, Sweetheart?”
    â€œWell, Ms. Trolly let me come home because . . .”
    Why? Why? While I was thinking of a reason, something Ms. Young used to say kept running through my mind: Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. It’s true. Once you get caught up in lying, it’s hard to pull yourself out. “Ms. Trolly let me come home because I forgot my notebook,” I finally said, “and although they usually don’t let kids come home in the middle of the day, she let me because . . . it’smy birthday.” Well that last part was stupid. But it was too late to take it back.
    â€œGlory be!” Mrs. Holmes clapped her chubby hands together. “Your birthday!”
    It worked. When I got home, the first thing I did was untangle the curlers from my hair and stick my head under the faucet again. Then I checked e-mail. Last night, I had sent a series of highly effective e-mails to Ratlady and deleted all the evidence. Did my lies convince her to back off, or did she sneak a reply to my father’s ludicrous letter?
    Nothing. No mail from Ratlady. And no more letters from Dad to her. Hurray. Hurrah. Hurroo.
    Dad will assume that she doesn’t want to return his e-mail. His feelings might be hurt, but he’ll get over it and forget her soon enough. Now things can get back to normal.
I
can get back to normal. I’m not the type of person to lie and ditch school. I’m the type of person to succeed in everything I do, which is why it’s dangerous for me to start breaking laws. I could become a highly successful criminalif I wanted to. But I don’t want to be a criminal. I want to be a miracle worker like Annie Sullivan. I want to be famous for doing good things for those less fortunate than myself.
    Whew! I have to stop writing now. The bell is about to ring. The good news is that I’m feeling better. Writing helps. Thank you, dear Diary.
    Now I must get psyched up for the audition. On my way to the drama room, I shall pretend to be a teacher walking to my first day on the job. I will be nervous, yet confident. Spunky, yet mature. Very Annie Sullivan. Wish me luck.
Still Friday, 9:00 P.M .
    At last a chance to write!
    The audition was terrifying—all the eighth-graders looked down their noses at us seventh-graders. It wasn’t anything like Ms. Young’s auditions back in elementary school. Mr. Haxer is the director. His first name is Justin,and he looks like a movie star. Beth and I agreed to always refer to him as Justin Haxer when we talk about him. He wears this black leather jacket all the time, and I noticed that he smiled more at me than anybody else, which probably made Beth jealous. Beth has a problem with jealousy. At the end of the audition he told us not to get our hopes up and reminded us that it was unusual for seventh-graders to get a lead or to even make the play; however a “star can rise up from any grade.” He looked right at me when he said that. I think he was preparing the eighth-graders for the fact that he is going to give the part of Annie Sullivan to me, a seventh-grader. He’s going to post the cast list on Monday after school. Today is Friday. I’m going to fall into a comma (coma?) over the weekend.
    I wanted to sit down right away and write about the audition, but I didn’t have time. I had to hurry over to Mrs. Whitehead’s house to pick up Nutter. Beth tagged along. Nutter is supposed to go to Mrs. Whitehead’s whenever I have something after school—such as a highly important audition. The poor kid hatesit. I don’t blame him. Skip is