“Glenn — I’m sorry I popped off at you. You’re so good with her and in ways that I’m not. I am still angry with what happened and now I’m ...ungry.”“You’re hangry,” he remarked.“And I have nothing for dinner planned.”How about carry-out from that Chinese place around the block?”“From Ling’s? Fine. I’m ready to peel the wallpaper and eat it.”He took out his tablet. “Their menu is online.”She looked it over. “Number twenty-three.”“Good choice.”“Jackie,” Sierra called.“She probably can’t hear —. ” I never told my friends about it because I wanted a secret for myself.All I was doing was googling “Jazz” and “Ukulele,” and as I got tons of hits, maybe Mr. Rampton wasn’t that weird after all. One of the links was to a discussion group. “The ukulele is so simple that only our ears make us get better. Four nylon strings contain the principles for the whole jazz genre. What’s new is in the old. Keep listening and strumming, UkeManMel,” so totally Mr. Mel Rampton-sounding.Maybe I was bored.. More

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