Chapter Three

The next day, I knocked on Angelo’s door.

“It’s open,” he sighed.

Inside the cereal box, Angelo was hunched over the piano. Crumpled papers littered the floor. “What rhymes with ‘Life is terrible’?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I’m composing a song to honor Rosaline,” he said.

“If writing makes you as hungry as it makes me, you should eat,” I said. “Come have some cereal.”

“Thanks,” he said, “but I’m forever done with eating.” Angelo turned back to the keys and began singing.

Without Rosaline
Love of mine—

Life is cruddy
Life is terrible
Really, really bad
Totally unbearable

He crumpled a piece of sheet music and flung it to the floor. “What rhymes with ‘Life is a drag?’ ”