Free Help! Somebody Get Me Out of Fourth Grade by Henry Winkler Page B

Pete said, giving my cheek a man-sized pinch.
    Papa Pete was teasing Ashley, but she doesn’t always get his jokes. She’s not too swift on the grandparent-joke connection, since her grandma isn’t much on jokes.
    Papa Pete waved to Mr. Baker as we crossed the street and headed over to Columbus Avenue.
    â€œWhy are Mom and Dad in such a good mood?” I asked.
    â€œYour father wants to tell you himself,” Papa Pete said. “He asked if I’d come get you and bring you to the Crunchy Pickle. He’s helping your mom and Carlos get out a big party order for Mr. and Mrs. Tallchief’s anniversary party.”
    â€œCan we come?” Ashley asked.
    â€œTo the party? I don’t know, let’s ask the Tallchiefs. They seem like friendly people.”
    â€œI’m not talking about the Tallchiefs,” Ashley laughed. “I’m asking if we can come to the Crunchy Pickle.”
    â€œOnly if you’ll let me buy you a black-and-white cookie,” said Papa Pete.
    â€œDeal,” Frankie and Ashley both said at once.
    They took off running down Columbus Avenue.
    I looked at the brown envelope. I figured whatever bad news was inside that envelope was still going to be there after I ate the cookie.
    I stuffed the envelope into my backpack and took off after my pals.

CHAPTER 17
    WHEN WE REACHED THE Crunchy Pickle, the whole crew was working at triple speed to get the order out for the Tallchief party. Carlos was arranging pickles and olives on a big platter. Vlady was putting fancy toothpicks in the sandwich halves, because his sandwiches are so big they need toothpicks to hold them together. My mom was spooning her high-protein, low-carbohydrate, no-taste pretend potato salad into the reusable, recyclable containers she had made especially for our deli. My dad was trying to add up the bill while looking for his glasses that were sitting on top of his head.
    Papa Pete tiptoed over to the glass counter where we display the cookies and other baked goods like marble cake and chocolate éclairs. He picked out the four biggest black-and-white cookies. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee and got us each a small carton of milk from the refrigerator case. You need to have milk with your black-and-whites, so you can dunk. We sat down in the turquoise leather corner booth and had ourselves the after-school snack of your dreams.
    If you’re ever in a place where they have those big, round cookies that have half white frosting and half chocolate, eat one immediately. You won’t be sorry.
    â€œHey, niños,” Carlos called out as he passed our booth with the order all loaded up on his bicycle. “You clean me out of my black-and-whites. Save some for the customers.”
    My mom held open the heavy glass door, and Carlos jumped on his bike and rode off to make his delivery. He should work in a circus because he’s got great balance. My mom let out a sigh of relief. My dad, who had a real sparkle in his eye, immediately grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and practically skipped over to our booth. He pulled up a chair from one of the neighboring tables.
    â€œDo you know what this says, Son?” he asked me, pointing to some words he had written down on a piece of paper.
    I looked at the paper, but it looked like random scribbling to me. I thought I saw an F at the beginning of the scribbling.
    â€œFlipper Frisbee fork,” I guessed, saying the first three words that came to my mind that started with F . Who knows? Maybe one of them was right.
    â€œHank, that doesn’t make any sense,” my dad said, looking at me like my brains had turned into mashed peas. Okay, so I guessed wrong.
    Frankie leaned over my shoulder and glanced at the paper.
    â€œIt says Filbert Funk,” he whispered to me.
    â€œThat’s what I was just going to say next,” I said to my dad.
    â€œAnd do you know who Filbert Funk was?” my dad asked.
    My dad