Free Freaky Fast Frankie Joe by Lutricia Clifton

I blurt out. “The thing about odd-numbered families is there’s always a tiebreaker. You got three kids in your family—an odd number. Maybe you can use that with your older sisters. You know, when they get pushy.”
    â€œWhat a great idea!”
    â€œRun it by your folks first,” I tell her. “Get them on your side.” Seeing a man and woman walking up, I say, “Gotta go.”
    â€œThanks,
Oddball
,” Mandy yells as I wheel off. I can still hear her laughing when I round the corner.
    I know she didn’t mean anything bad. Still, the name stings.

Saturday, October 3
8:10 A.M.
    The water feels like needles hitting my skin. I haven’t had a hot shower since I arrived. Two weeks of cold showers. Every . . . Single . . . Day.
    The half brothers have a pecking order for shower-taking. Which means Matt is always first, followed by Mark, Luke, and Little Johnny. Then me. Bottom of the pecking order. By the time I get the shower, the hot water is gone. Down-to-the-last-drop gone.
    My teeth are chattering when I get out. I’m too cold to towel-off good, so my shorts stick to my butt when I pull them up.
    Who’s gonna know?
    I pull my jeans over damp shorts, and then a sweatshirt over my head and socks on my feet. Glancing in the mirror, I notice my lips are blue. I brush my teeth fast, so they won’t crack from the icy water. In Laredo I don’t have to worry about a cold butt and frozenteeth. With just Mom and me, we never run out of hot water.
    I gather my wet towel and pajamas and add them to pile of dirty laundry I left in the hallway. Lizzie does the bedding on Saturdays, and I have to haul my other things down, too. I clump downstairs, loaded down with cold-wet-stinky clothes.
    â€œDon’t have to deal with cold, damp clothes in Texas, either,” I mutter, pulling damp shorts out of my crotch. Texas is so hot, clothes dry fast.
    But I did get stinky, I remember. Off-road biking in the Chihuahua Desert is a dirty business. But so much fun.
    When I walk into the kitchen, Lizzie asks, “Did you sleep late?”
    â€œNo ma’am. I just had my turn in the shower. I’m always last.” I drop my cold-wet-stinky clothes off in the laundry room and sit down.
    Huckaby Numbers Two, Three, and Four are already at the table. Number Five is sitting on a stool next to Lizzie. A giant box of Bisquick, a carton of eggs, and a gallon of milk sit on the counter. She’s helping Johnny measure ingredients into a bowl. FJ is missing, so I figure he had an early-morning appointment with a farmer.
    Scratch that, I think, seeing a place has been set at the table for him, too. I wonder where he is.
    â€œOkay, Frankie Joe, let’s get started,” Lizzie says. “Wy–o–ming.” She’s looking at my spelling list.
    Can’t a kid catch a break around here? It’s Saturday!
    I don’t answer right away. My mind is still on Texas. Quickly I calculate how much longer I have to stay in Illinois. It’s the first week of October, and Mom gets out of jail in mid-July. Only nine-and-a-half months to go.
    Only
nine-and-a-half months. . . .
    â€œWy–o–ming,” Lizzie repeats slowly. She gives me a cautious look. “Remember what we talked about with those vowels. Sometimes they can get tricky.”
    Since Mandy’s Girl-Scout-cookie visit, Lizzie has been quizzing me on my spelling words every morning. Along with that came tutoring on things such as “silent vowels” and “sound-alike letters” and rules like “
i
before
e
except after
c
.” It’s enough to put my mind in a fog.
    â€œWy–o–ming,” I repeat. I study the patterns on the wallpaper, wishing the pictures were of cactus and sagebrush instead of red and green apples. Breathing deep, I begin. “W–i—” I stop, hearing Lizzie catch her breath. “Um, I mean,