Freaky Fast Frankie Joe Read Online Free

when I stopped growing skyways. I begin to squirm, waiting for someone to notice that I’m just tallfor my age. But FJ and Lizzie say nothing, while the four boys just stare at me some more.
    Finally Lizzie cuts short the staring, saying, “I can fix thin. People don’t stay thin for long in
my
house.”
    Before I can blink, she’s pulling me up the steps, the half brothers hot on my heels like a posse keeping herd on me.
    I brace myself for my first meal of corn and soybeans.
3:55 P.M.
    Lizzie sets out a spread the likes of which I’ve never seen before: crispy fried chicken, mashed potatoes with cheese sprinkled on top, gravy shiny with pan drippings, orange Jell-O with shredded carrots, hot rolls with butter, and apple pie for dessert.
    â€œDid Frank tell you I’m a quilter, Frankie Joe?” Lizzie smiles at me.
    I figure out that FJ is Frank and shake my head no.
    â€œMy Quilt Circle meets here every Saturday afternoon. A quilt takes hours and hours to make. My quilts have won many a blue ribbon at the county fair.”
    â€œThe fair is held every August,” FJ explains. He helps himself to another helping of chicken and lets Lizzie talk on.
    â€œI work part-time at the JCPenney store, that’s in the next town over. But I’m home by six o’clock, soon after the boys get home from The Great Escape—that’s what the after-school program is called.” She pauses tocatch her breath. “I get a fifteen-percent discount on anything I buy, which helps out a lot with four boys growing like weeds.”
    Lizzie smiles around the table at her four “weeds,” who respond with ear-to-ear grins of their own. I notice she stops short of giving me a grin, and I wonder what I am if not a “weed.”
    â€œI’m the best colorer in first grade,” the youngest boy says, taking over. He’s the one called Little Johnny. “My teacher puts all my pictures up in the room for everyone to see ’cause I never color outside the lines.”
    â€œI’m really good at math,” Luke says next. He’s the one who wears glasses. He announces that he plans on being a “gazzillionaire” when he grows up. “I can count to a hundred, and count by twos, and count by threes, and count by fours, and count by fives. I can even count by sevens!” He looks at me. “Can you count by sevens?”
    I stare at him, wondering what’s so important about counting by sevens.
    â€œOf course, he can count by sevens,” Lizzie says, laughing. “Frankie Joe’s twelve years old.”
    â€œI’m the smartest one of all,” Mark chimes in. “I skipped third grade and went straight to fourth. I have an excellent brain. You like games? We have a Game Boy. What’s your favorite game? Bet I can beat’cha.”
    That would be a safe bet. A couple of my friends back in Laredo have Game Boys, but Mom doesn’t make enough money to buy me one. Besides, who needspretend games? I’d rather do real things—like help Mr. Lopez. Or important things—like finding space rocks with Mr. O’Hare.
    â€œI don’t play those games,” I tell him.
    â€œYou don’t play games!” Mark looks at me like I’ve just admitted to crossing the Rio Grande illegally. “We knew you’d be a freak!”
    Freak? So that’s why I’m not a “weed.” I’m a freak.
    â€œMore potatoes, Frankie Joe?” Lizzie shoots Mark a look to kill as she plops more potatoes on my plate. I concentrate on eating, listening to the rest of them talk. Which, except for FJ, they sure like to do.
    Oldest-brother Matt is the least talkative of all the brothers. I learn that he’s in the fifth grade, but he makes no announcement about being the best at anything. What bothers me about him is the way his eyes spark when he looks at me. They’re like two chunks of smoldering charcoal, ready to