David Baldacci - Fries Alive

She sputtered, “They – it – that thing was right here. Right here!” She swung her frying pan around, and sprayed the bug spray. The only thing that did was to scare off a bunch of butterflies.

“Now stop that, dear, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Nancy kept swinging and spraying. “Me hurt myself? You blew yourself up again. You know, Dad, most people make waffles without a steam iron and a blowtorch.”

“How very unexciting. Now what was it you saw again?”

“A huge purple blobby thing. It was deeessssggusting, it really was. It had toes. And a big purple tongue. And two beady little purple eyes. And it spoke to me. It said its name was Wally.”

“That’s nice,” her father began, and then he stopped abruptly. “I thought you were sick in bed. What were you doing out here?”

“Why, of course I’m sick,” Nancy said as she quickly tried to think of something. “That’s why I believed I saw a purple fry, which of course is silly. I better go and lie down. I’m feeling faint.” She dropped the frying pan and bug spray, put her hand to her forehead, and started spinning around. “Everything’s getting dizzy and dark, Dad. I think it’s my time, my time to go to the great hereafter.” She started shivering. “So cold, so cold.” She dropped to her knees and started to moan. “Are you still there, Dad? It’s okay if you’re not. I can die all alone. Really. Oh, E.T. phone home, one last time, E.T., one final time,” she said tearfully. She swooned three times, gave a little gasp, clutched her chest, and then fell to the grass and lay still.

Her father stared down at her, rubbing his sharp chin. “You probably just caught a bug. I’m going to give you a big spoonful of my special medicine. I just made a fresh batch out of rutabagas and extract of poppy seed oil with a pinch of jalapeno and just a dab of limburger cheese to open your sinuses. It’s a wonderfully wondrous concoction. And not only does it make me feel better, but I can also see out the back of my head, which is quite useful actually for a parent.”

Nancy sat up and looked terrified. “No, Dad, please! Remember the last time? My hair hasn’t grown all the way back, and one ear’s still bigger than the other.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve worked those bugs out. You know that safety comes first with me.”

Nancy looked at her dad’s bandaged head and hands and muttered, “Right.”

As they walked off she said to herself, “I just know this is all Freddy’s doing. And I’m so going to get him back. Freddy Funkhouser, you are like sooooo in trouble.”

Freddy was so excited about becoming famous that he floated through most of his classes that day. He didn’t answer a single question asked of him, or if he did, the answer was wrong.

“No, Freddy, Bugs Bunny was not the first president of the United States,” said his history teacher. “No, six times seven is not a cheeseburger with fries,” said his math teacher.

Freddy was so distracted that he put his finger in the pencil sharpener and stapled his shirt to his desk. And at lunch he ate the wax paper his sandwich was wrapped in rather than the meatless bologna sandwich his father had made for him.

Howie Kapowie had been watching Freddy all day. At lunch, when Freddy stuck his milk straw in his nose and tried to inhale, Howie Kapowie asked him what was wrong.

But Freddy wasn’t listening. He was daydreaming about being interviewed on TV as the world’s most famous person. He had just been asked what he was going to do now that he had accomplished the greatest feat in world history.

Suddenly, Freddy jumped on the lunchroom table, thrust his fist in the air, and shouted, “I’m going to Disney World. YYYYEEEAAAHHH!”

When Freddy remembered where he was, he looked at everybody staring at him. Howie had been startled so badly that he had stuck a cheese cube in his right ear. Adam Spanker glared at him from another table and laughed. So did all his gang.

“Funky Funkhouser, you’re such a loser,” yelled Adam. “I wish you’d go to outer space where you belong.” The gang all rolled with laughter.

Freddy climbed down from the table after pulling his feet free from Darcella Macomber’s mashed potatoes and gravy. “Uh, sorry,” he said to Darcella.

“Freak!” she exclaimed before storming out.

“Uh, are you okay, Freddy?” asked Howie as he tried to get the cheese cube out of his ear. He didn’t like to waste his cheese cubes.

“I can’t stop thinking about the Fries, Howie. It’s a pretty overwhelming concept. There’ll be all the press coverage, meeting the president and other world leaders, touring the globe, the awards and medals, money pouring in, making statues of me around the world, and then the excitement will really start.”

“But, Freddy, I thought you made the Fries so that your family would win the Founders’ Day parade and save the Burger Castle,” Howie pointed out.

Freddy looked at him like he was crazy. “Sure, that was the original plan, but that’s small potatoes, Howie. I have to think bigger now. I’m talking the world , not some crummy parade.”

“But if you don’t put the Fries on the Burger Castle float the Spankers will win for sure.”

“Who cares? My family won’t even be living in Pookesville much longer.”

“Where will you go?”

“Who knows? New York, Paris, London, maybe even Hollywood.”

“Hollywood?”

“Think about it, Howie – animation is so last century. Anthropomorphic filmmaking iswhere it’s at. I can make more Fries and run my own studio.”

“Wow!”

“Yep.” He patted Howie on the shoulder. “And don’t worry, I won’t forget any of my friends.”

“But I’m your only friend. And remember, you promised me the Pâté du Pooty cheese hunk from Paris.”

After school Freddy and Howie were in for a shock. The Fries were gone.

“Omigosh, what could have happened to them?” Freddy said frantically as he looked everywhere inside the barn.

Howie pointed toward the woods, where there was a ragged gap in some bushes. “Looks like something went through there.”

Just as they started running to the woods, a voice shouted “AHA!”

They stopped dead and looked behind them.

There stood Nancy Funkhouser wearing a baseball catcher’s chest plate and face mask and holding a long wooden sword in her right hand.

“Oh no!” groaned Freddy, “Not now, Nanny Boo-Boo.”

“I’ve caught you red-handed, Freddy,” she proclaimed. “And your creepy little cheese cube- snorting sidekick.”

“Hey, I’m not creepy,” snapped Howie. “I’m just small and misunderstood.”

“What do you want?” asked Freddy. “And make it fast. We’re busy.”

Nancy advanced on them, her sword held at the ready. “Oh, I’m sure you are busy, you little fiend! And I know all about it.”

“All about what?”

“You know perfectly well what, mister. Big, purple, and ugly.”

“But your hair’s red, Nanny Boo-Boo, not purple.”

“Ha-ha,” laughed Howie. “Good one, Freddy.”

“Put a cork in it, you munchkin, before I use you for a shish-kabob.” She pointed her sword menacingly at Howie, who fell backward, cowering. “Wait until I tell Dad what I saw, Freddy.”