The Naked Mole-Rat Letters (4 page)

“The gossip channel. Usually it's called the grapevine. Gossip is so big in Pepper Blossom,
we call it the peppervine. If you sneeze in Pepper Blossom in the morning, by noon everybody will hear that you've got a cold.”

She laughed. “Next time you come to Washington, I'll have to take you to the Shenandoahs—you'd love Skyline Drive.”

They were talking about seeing each other again! I wondered what they had talked about before I picked up the phone. I bet she ratted on me and told him about me reading his e-mail and e-mailing her back. Now I'm going to be in big trouble.

I held my breath and listened to the rest of the conversation. Dad tried to convince her to take up the mountain dulcimer, saying how easy it is to learn. He says the same thing to everybody, but the way he said it to her was different. And the way she laughed at everything he said made my stomach burn. As they said good-bye to each other, I put down the phone very gently, even though what I really wanted to do was slam it and scream.

When I got back into bed, I couldn't sleep. Their voices kept talking to each other in my
mind. Dad had sounded like he was crawling to her through the telephone line.

So I got up to write.

It's not fair. She's all the way in Washington, D.C., and Dad's here in Indiana, and all those miles should keep them apart. How can he fall in love with a rat who calls when she was told not to bother us anymore?

Why isn't Mom here? Why can't it be the way it's supposed to be? Now I don't know what to do. I feel like I can't even talk to Beth about it. She wouldn't understand. I guess I have to figure it out for myself.

 

Dear Ratlady:


Don't ever call again. When my dad wakes up, I know I'm going to get into trouble for reading his e-mails. He'll probably take away all my computer
privileges forever and lock me in my room. Do you
like
being a troublemaker?


—Frankie Wallop


 

Ms. Bayo:


When my father woke up, he didn't mention anything about the e-mails. If you kept it a secret, then please ignore the e-mail I sent you earlier. Except I don't want you to ignore the first sentence. Please don't call again.


Thank you,


Frankie Wallop


 

Dear Frankie:


I honestly don't want to cause trouble. I believe that correspondence between two people should be private. That's why I didn't tell your father that you e-mailed me. I wouldn't read a letter addressed to someone else, and I wouldn't allow any other person to read a letter addressed to me. I would hope that you would do the same.


I really enjoyed meeting your dad. Human beings are social animals. Grown-ups enjoy making friends just as kids do.


Truthfully yours,


Ayanna


P.S. Do you have one best friend or lots of good friends?


P.P.S. I hope the big audition went well. I admire you for even trying. I am a very shy person and terrified of being onstage. When I was your age, I enjoyed working backstage on a number of plays. One of the things I love about my job is that I get to work “backstage” at the zoo. The naked mole-rats are the stars. I guess I am the stage manager. I take care of all the props and scenery.


 

Ms. Bayo:


I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to get all chummy with me. Well, it's not going to work.


As for your job, it sounds like a nightmare for the nose. I've been to the small mammal house at the Indianapolis Zoo, and it smelled horrible. My guess is that anyone who works there smells horrible, too.


I, for one, wouldn't want to be stuck inside all day with rodents for company. What can you possibly get out of watching a bunch of dirty rats who aren't even smart enough to grow fur?


—F. W.


P.S. Beth Jamison used to be my best friend (and she still wants to be), but I'm having doubts. There is a lot about life that she doesn't understand. I have lots of other friends, but they aren't good ones. They get jealous of my talents. I've gotten the
lead role in every play I've ever tried out for. Some people are just born “star material,” and some people are born stagehands. I know that once the play starts, I'll find a new best friend—probably whoever gets the role of Helen Keller, since I'll be Annie Sullivan.


 

Dear Frankie:


The small mammal house does have its own particular smell. It smells like home to me. Is that disgusting? I do take a shower and wear a clean uniform every day, in case you were wondering.


As for naked mole-rats, they are actually smart and clean in their own way.


It is smart for them NOT to have fur. They live in underground burrows in deserts (in East Africa). Their underground home stays warm all year round, so they don't need fur. In fact their thin, bare skin helps them to change their body temperature
to suit the temperature changes in their environment. In this way they're similar to reptiles—who are also thin-skinned—like chameleons.


They are remarkably clean, too. Did you know that they have what we call a “toilet chamber”? This means that they have created a special room just for peeing and pooping. That way diseases don't get spread around. Isn't that smart?


Attached is a sketch of the tunnel system I have created for the naked-mole rats here at the zoo so you can picture it. (I like to draw.)


I should mention that from time to time they do roll around in their own pee and poop. That may not seem so smart, but they have a good reason for it. They identify colony mates by smell, so rolling
around in their own poop is a way of labeling their colony membership.


Naked mole-rats, like a lot of animals, are very territorial. That means if an intruder digs into their burrow, the naked mole-rats will attack.


One of the things I've learned is that you can't really judge an animal by its appearance or actions before getting to know it. Most often, there's a good reason why an animal acts the way it does.


Zoologically yours,


Ayanna


P.S. It's funny that you should talk about how some people are “star material” and some people are stagehands. In naked mole-rat colonies, each mole-rat has a job. There are breeders, soldiers, housekeepers, and even a queen! One of the things that biologists are trying to discover is why mole-rats take on these jobs. What does it take to become queen, for example? Can you tell I'm fascinated by all this?


 

Ms. Bayo:


Your naked mole-rats sound disgusting. If you like them, then I guess you've chosen the right profession. Just don't expect everybody else to like them.


I don't have time to send any more e-mails today. I am sending you this last one because I forgot to tell you something. Our house is very small. We live in a trailer, actually, and sleep on little bunks next to each other. It's all we can afford because Dad hasn't been selling very many instruments. So if anybody is talking on the phone late at night, it wakes everybody else up. My poor brothers really need their sleep on account of their illnesses. The doctor said that if their sleep is interrupted, their health will rapidly detonate.


You should also know that this time of year is the busiest time of all for my dad's shop. If you bother him there, he might not be able to sell any of his
dulcimers and then we won't be able to afford all the doctor's bills.


Seriously yours,


Frankie


P.S. Since you believe that correspondence between two people should be private, does this mean that you promise not to tell my dad that I am e-mailing you?


 

Dear Frankie:


I promise not to tell your dad about our correspondence, if you promise to be honest with me from now on.


Honestly yours,


Ayanna


 

Dear Diary:

Today I woke up early and e-mailed Ratlady before anybody else was out of bed. The good news—miracle of miracles—is that Ratlady promised not to tell Dad about the e-mails. The bad news is . . . where to start?

After e-mailing, I cocooned myself in a sleeping bag on the couch in the living room with a copy of
The Miracle Worker
to practice my lines. I tried to practice all the Annie Sullivan lines, but Skip and Nutter were spying on me with Skip's camera and binoculars. They thought it was hilarious that I was talking to myself, so they secretly tape-recorded me and played it back very loudly. Ha-ha-ha.

Beth called, but I was too busy. Kept checking e-mail (and deleting Ratlady's messages to me so that Dad won't see them) and rehearsing. After a while, I locked myself in my room and decided to work on the Helen Keller character, just in case. Helen Keller doesn't have any lines because she can't talk, so I put a paper grocery bag over my head and wandered
around my room, feeling the darkness and the confusion and the fear. My room is small, so I opened my door and walked carefully down the stairs, gripping the banister dramatically. I'm quite sure nobody else in Maple County Junior High School is creative enough or dedicated enough to work this hard.