Freaky Fast Frankie Joe by Lutricia Clifton

Author:Lutricia Clifton [Clifton, Lutricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2012-05-14T22:00:00+00:00

Saturday, October 17

3:15 P.M.

The cardboard sign on the front of my bike flaps like a bird because I’m pedaling so fast. I have two pizzas in the insulated bag on my bike basket, one for Mr. Puffin and one for his neighbor, Mr. Lindholm. Because the bag is so big, I used a bungee cord to strap it on top of the basket to keep the pizzas from sliding around inside. It was Lizzie’s idea. She found the bungee on her back porch.

I can use it on my escape, too.

I memorized the map FJ drew showing me all the roads and turns to get to Mr. Puffin’s and Mr. Lindholm’s. But I still pause at corners to read county road markers, just to make sure I don’t get turned around. The corn is so tall, it’s hard to tell which direction I’m going.

I begin to worry about getting lost on my trip home. Then I remember something Mr. O’Hare taught me once when we were hunting rocks in the desert. “Let the sun be your guide, Frankie Joe. Just remember that it rises in the east and sets in the west. And when it’s warmin’ the top of your head, it’s high noon.”

I’m relieved to see LINDHOLM on a mailbox next to the road. As I turn into the drive, I see a man walking to a big red barn. “It’s me, Mr. Lindholm,” I call out. “With one extra-large meat-lover’s to go.”

“Just in time, Frankie Joe.” He laughs. “My stomach’s turning inside out.” He pulls a billfold out of his overalls.

I remove the pizza box marked MEAT-LOVER’S and hand it to him. Mr. Gambino has taped the cash-register receipt to the top of the box that shows the price. “Eleven ninety-eight, with tax,” I read off. “And a dollar seventy-five delivery charge.”

He hands me two bills: a ten and a five.

Oh no! I forgot about making change.

“I’ll have to owe you the difference.” I show him my empty pockets.

“Keep the rest,” Mr. Lindholm says. “With the cost of gas these days, you’re a bargain. Now I got to get this inside quick. My wife is waitin’. I bet Harvey’s waitin’ on his, too.”

“Yes sir. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll give him a call, let him know you’re comin’.”

Mr. Lindholm waves, and I start pedaling. It’s only another half mile to Mr. Puffin’s house, a few minutes at most. I’m flying when I race down his lane.

“Hi, Mr. Puffin.” I screech to a stop at his kitchen door.

He’s waiting for me, money in his hand. “Max called, told me you was coming.”

I remove the pizza box from the insulated container and say, “Still hot.” I take the two bills he hands me. Another ten and a five. “Um, I forgot to bring change, but—”

He waves me off. “Keep the rest for a tip.”

Wow! Three-fifty for delivery, and another two-fifty in tips. Six dollars! I’ll have enough money to go home before you know it.

“You wanna come in for a slice, Frankie Joe? This is a mighty big pizza for one person, and I bet you worked up an appetite on the way out.

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