75
“Okay, people, come on,” yelled Uncle Bill. “What have we got?”
Cade noticed that Uncle Bill’s mouth only became exposed from underneath all that facial hair when Bill was yelling.
“Knuckles, how about those e-mail addresses, son? Where are they?”
“Coming on screen five now, sir,” said a kid with thick-rimmed glasses and unkempt hair.
Jana whispered to Cade, “Why do they call that guy Knuckles? He doesn’t look like a Knuckles. He looks more like an . . . Alice.”
Cade whispered back, “Oh come on, when I was nine I looked just like that.”
“Okay, run the list. There should be thirty-seven e-mail addresses,” Bill yelled, squinting at screen five high against the wall. “That’s thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven . . . thirty-eight? What the hell? Knuckles, recount that. We should ha
