Freaky Fast Frankie Joe (18 page)

“Where you goin', Oddball?” Mandy waves me down.

“Oh, hey Mandy.” I pull over to the curb where she's standing outside the town's café. “I'm making deliveries for Miss Peachcott. What's up?”

“You wanna get a hot chocolate? I been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Hot chocolate! I'd love a hot chocolate, but that would mean spending some of my stash.

“My treat,” Mandy says, reading my mind. “It's important.”

Parking my bike, I follow her inside. We kick the slush off our boots, unzip parkas and pull off mittens, then slide into a booth. When the waitress walks up, Mandy orders two hot cocoas and an order of cheesy fries.

“So what's so important? I got other business with Miss Peachcott today.” I don't tell Mandy about my job
as tester and dabber. I'm tired of livening things up in this one-horse town.

“I wanna talk about business, too,” she says. “
School
business. I've decided you should run for Ice Crystal Prince.”

“What? I don't care anything about that.”

“But you gotta care. You'll be running against Matt.”

“Running against Matt! Are you crazy?”

“I already told him that you were going to. He was mad enough to bite nails in half.”

“You what? Why'd you go and do that?”

“Why not?”

“ 'Cause I'm not gonna do it.”

The waitress brings our order, and we sit still until she leaves, glaring at each other.

“Why not?” Mandy asks again when we're alone. “You gotta be tired of him rubbing your nose in it all the time. I know
I'm
tired of it.”

“I wouldn't stand a chance.” I stuff my mouth full of fries, wondering what Mandy would do if I told her the truth. I decide I can't risk it, not this close to leaving Clearview in my dust.

“Sure you would,” she says. “The fifth-graders in The Great Escape respect you now that you're Mrs. Bixby's assistant. I know I could get them to support you—and talk to their friends. Someone needs to put Matt in his place.”

She's right. Someone does need to give Matt his
comeuppance, but that someone's not me. I have other things on my mind. My escape.

“I can't,” I say. Slurping down my cocoa, I get up to leave.

“Wait,” she says. “Why not?”

“I . . . I just can't, that's all.”

Mandy grabs my arm. “I been a good friend, Frankie Joe Huckaby. You owe me a reason—a
real
reason.”

She has been a good friend. One of the best.

“ 'Cause . . .'cause he's my brother.”

“I can't believe you said that,” she snorts. “It doesn't seem to make any difference with him.”

I know, I think as I zip up my parka. But she didn't see how hard Lizzie and FJ worked on Matt's posters and ballot box. And she didn't see how important it was for Matt to be number one again at something.

“You're weird, Frankie Joe Huckaby,” she yells at me. “
Weird
Scared Sneaky Freaky Slow Frankie Joe!”

Great
. Now my only friend is calling me names.

Matt ambushes me as soon as I get back from Miss Peachcott's house.

“You're running against me!” He shoves my bike and me down in a snowbank. “I hate you, Frankie Joe. You've messed up everything since you came here. I wish you'd get run over by a snowplow . . . or freeze to death in a blizzard.”

Tears are sliding down his cheeks, and his nose is running. I figure out he's talking about the Ice Crystal Contest. “Hey, I'm not—”

“Mandy told me. You're gonna split the vote so I won't win Ice Crystal Prince. You know the kids in The Great Escape will vote for you.”

“Matt—I'm not running!”

He wipes his nose on his sleeve. “You're . . . not?”

“No.” I get up out of the snowbank and brush off my clothes. “That was Mandy's idea. I told her this morning I'm not gonna do it.”

“But . . . why?”

Why do people always want a reason?

“ 'Cause”—I try to think of a lie—“ 'cause FJ would say it wasn't right.” Which is the truth.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, he wouldn't like us running against each other.”

“And it would hurt Lizzie.
She's
been nice to me since I came here.”

Matt's face turns red.

“It's no big deal to me.” Which is the truth. It's a huge deal to Matt, but all I care about is getting back home.

“Sorry about your bike.” Matt picks up my bike and pushes it to the front porch. “And, uh, I didn't mean those things I said. I was just mad. Okay?”

“It's okay,” I tell him. “I've wished those same things about you. I guess I didn't mean them, either.”

“You
guess
?”

I just grin.

That night I rewrite my escape plan after I've finished my chores and homework.

Tarp
Found one half price at the farm supply store.

Spare bike tube and flat kit
Bought at the gas station.

Pot for cooking
Salvaged.

Matches to start a fire
Picked up three books at Gambino's Pizza Parlor.

Canteen
Have two empty plastic bottles.

Jacket
My Michelin-Man jacket.

Bungee cord
The one Lizzie gave me for pizza delivery.

Money
Still need more.

Mementos
Need plastic bags to keep them dry and clean. Get from the kitchen.

Triple A maps
Need a plastic bag for them, too.

Clothes
All set.

“Now all I have to do is wait for the snow to melt—”

I hear a creak on the stairs and see FJ come into view. Hurriedly I close my notebook.

He walks over to me. “What's this I'm hearing?”

I wonder if Matt squealed about me looking for the tarp? Or if Mr. Puffin told him I was asking questions about when the snow ended?

“Mr. Arnt told me that you were elected Mrs. Bixby's assistant.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling relieved. “It wasn't my idea.”

“Well, I hear it was you stepped up to fix the problem. Glad to see you've learned what that means.” He points to the definition of responsibility taped to the wall.

He thinks
that's
why I did it?

He checks his watch. “Almost time for lights-out. Just wanted to tell you to keep up the good work.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

FJ hesitates at the top of the stairs, a serious look on his face. “Growing up means you accept responsibility, even when it's not easy. Sometimes that involves difficult decisions.” He looks at me. “You understand what I'm telling you, Frankie Joe?”

I look at the definition on the wall again. “Um, I think so.”

“Good. Lights-out in five minutes.” The stairs creak again as he goes downstairs.

I remove the definition for
responsibility
from the wall and throw it into the wastebasket.

Woo-hoo
. He's telling me I don't have to read this definition anymore.

Everything's a frozen desert when I bike to Miss Peachcott's house. Dunes of snow are everywhere. But I don't feel the cold because Miss Peachcott has taken on a new customer, and that means I have an extra delivery.

“Come in, Frankie Joe,” Miss Peachcott says. “Have a cookie while I finish up this order.”

More Girl Scout cookies. Peanut butter this time.

“That divorcée Miz Bloom asked me to fix this up for her.” She screws the cap down on a jar of cream she's concocted. “I have helped many a woman beat dry, chapped skin, but this one's been a real challenge.” She pauses. “Could be that job she's got. Waitressing is hard on a person.”

Yeah. Mom hated her waitress job. If this new deal with her friend works out, maybe she won't have to do it anymore. I don't care what she does as long as we're back together again.

“You got any new blemish concoctions to try before I go?” I ask.

“Check back with me later. I was up most of the night working on this dry-skin formula. My customers must come first.” She hands me a Nova bag. “Get goin' now. Miz Bloom sounded desperate.”

My Rover Sport's tires cause the slush on the salted roads to spray like waves. February days are growing longer and that makes me happy. Soon March will be here, and the snow will be gone. Just like me.

“Hey, Frankie Joe,” Ms. Bloom says when I knock on her door. “Come on in. I need to write out a check.”

I set the Nova bag on her coffee table. “Uh, Miss Peachcott mixed this up special,” I say to fill the time as she hunts for her checkbook.

“I hope it works,” she says, sighing. “I look like I've been down one too many rough roads.” She glances at me, smiling. “Well, maybe I have. I guess you've heard that I hold the record for number of marriages in this town—and divorces.”

I shrug. “I guess you've heard about me, too.”

She lets out a little laugh. “People in small towns look hard for ways to liven things up.” She opens the jar of cream I brought. “I figure the dishwater at the café and this cold weather are why my skin feels like grit.
It's as dried out and rough as sandpaper and”—she rubs some cream on her face—“tough as boot leather.”

Just like Mr. O'Hare's, I think. And mine.

I take a special liking for Ms. Bloom and her face that's been down too many rough roads. I've ridden down some bad ones myself this winter, and the cold wind has blistered my face, too.

“You think this new cream Elsie made for me will help?” she asks.

“Yes ma'am, I do.”

I hope that's not a lie.

“You're uncommonly quiet, Liz,” FJ says, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He sits down at the table across from Lizzie.

I notice that Lizzie is staring into space. It's after supper, and it's my turn to stack the dishwasher. We had sloppy joes on hamburger buns with potato chips and coleslaw, so clean up is easy. The half brothers have gone to the living room to watch TV.

“It's just”—she lowers her voice—“I heard the Ice Princess race is a runaway. One candidate is getting most of the votes.”

My ears perk up. That has to be Mandy. She's an A-plus salesperson.

“But the race for Prince is close.”

Woo-hoo!
Matt might lose the contest.

“Where'd you hear that?” FJ pours milk in his coffee.

“From a couple of people at the school. Mr. Arnt's secretary keeps track of ballots, counts them daily.”
Lizzie glances at me, and lowers her voice some more. “What if Matt
doesn't
win? I don't know what to do.”

FJ looks at me. “Finish up there, Frankie Joe, and join your brothers in the front room.”

“Yes sir, just got the last dish in.”

I pause outside the kitchen door, listening.

“It would break Matt's heart,” I hear Lizzie say. “He's known his classmates all his life.”

“Some things are out of our hands, Liz. He doesn't win, well . . . he doesn't win. He'll hold up. He's a Huckaby.”

“But I just don't want him hurt. I don't want any of them to get hurt.”

“Can't hold them in your apron strings forever.”

“I know . . . I know.”

“Trust me. Our boys might bend in a storm, but they won't break.”

In the living room, I sit on the opposite end of the sofa from Matt. A movie is showing, but I can't concentrate on it. I hear Mark and Luke laugh now and then, and Little Johnny squeal. I keep glancing at Matt, but it's like he's wearing a mask. One that doesn't smile or frown.

Math class, my last period. I hand in my assignment, pull out my backpack, and wait for the final bell. Suddenly the PA system squeals, and we're listening to Mr. Arnt's voice.

“This announcement is for fifth-graders. Today is the deadline for casting your votes in the Ice Crystal Contest. So those of you who haven't turned in your ballots yet, drop them off at my office right after school.” He pauses. “Voting is a privilege, not something to be taken frivolously. The candidates have worked hard to earn your vote. Don't let them down.”

Another squeal, and it's quiet again. I remember the two ballots I stuffed into my backpack and look for them. They're still there. Lying at the bottom, wrinkled and bent.

I pull them out. One has a girl's head on it and the words
Ice Crystal Princess
printed underneath. I catch Mandy's eye, hold up the girl's ballot, and smile,
letting her know I plan to vote for her. She rolls her eyes at me.

Ouch
. I feel my smile turn upside down.

I glance at Matt. He's looking right at me—and at the boy's ballot in my hand. I watch as he begins to chew on his bottom lip and blink a lot. He wants that vote in his box.

When the bell rings, Matt is the first one out the door.

On the way to the after-school program, I go by Mr. Arnt's office. Mandy's ballot box is easy to spot. It's covered in white crepe paper and has pink snowflakes all over it. I know she doesn't need my vote, but I feel good as I stuff my ballot into the slit on the top.

Because I watched FJ and Lizzie work on Matt's box, I recognize his box, too. I pull the wrinkled ballot for Ice Crystal Prince out of my backpack and stuff it into his box.

As I turn to leave, I see Matt standing in the doorway with Mr. Arnt. He's holding some papers, and I figure out he's been talking Student Council business.