Free Freaky Fast Frankie Joe by Lutricia Clifton Page A

W–
Y
–o–m–i–n–g.”
    â€œRight,” she laughs. “One hundred percent right.”
    â€œWow, that was a tough one,” Little Johnny says as he stirs blueberries into pancake batter. Flour dusts his face, and milk dribbles down the front of his shirt. He’s happy because he got to choose what we have for breakfast this morning.
    â€œThat’s not tough,” Matt snorts. “I can spell it easy. I can spell all the states
and
the state capitals.”
    If I had food in my stomach, I’d throw up.
    â€œWell that’s good,” Lizzie says, ladling pancake batter onto a griddle. “But right now, I want to talk about whose turn it is to choose breakfast next Saturday.”
    Without hesitating, Matt speaks up. “Johnny had his turn today, so it’s my turn next.”
    â€œNuh-unh,” Luke says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Now there’s five of us—” His face turns as red as one of the apples on the wallpaper. “What I mean is, uh . . .”
    â€œWhat he means,” Lizzie says, dishing pancakes onto plates, “is a rotation system’s the way we’ve always done things. Oldest down to the youngest. And I don’t see any reason not to continue that way.” She pauses to look at Matt. “And
that
means it’s Frankie Joe’s turn to pick a favorite food for next Saturday’s breakfast.”
    I sit silent as a rock. I don’t want a turn. A turn would just make things worse for me. Huckaby Number Two would make sure of that.
    â€œAnd that’s not all,” Lizzie says. “From now on, the same rotation system goes for the shower. I know it’s a lot, having all of you take your showers in the morning. But I have to do laundry in the evening—and run the dishwasher, too—which only leaves enough hot water for your father and me to bathe in the evenings. So we’re going to a rotation system.”
    â€œBut I’m the oldest—the
real
oldest,” Matt protests. “And besides, I have to be to school earlier than the others ’cause I’m the fifth-grade representative on the Student Council.”
    â€œDoes that mean I don’t have to shower last no more?” Johnny screws up his face like he’s thinking hard about something. “Except now that Frankie Joe’s here, he showers last. It’s not fun ’cause Matt hogs the hot water so there’s not enough for all of us. I know ’cause I was always last till Frankie Joe got here.”
    â€œIs that right?” Lizzie looks at Matt, her eyebrows raised. “Well, no more being last all the time—for
any
of you. You’ll take turns. And you’re limited to two minutes each, no more.”
    â€œCool,” Mark says as he butters his pancake. “I hated lukewarm showers all the time.”
    As he reaches for the syrup bottle, Luke says, “Yeah, double cool! I hated chilly showers all the time, too.”
    There are daggers in the look Matt gives me.
    â€œNow,” Lizzie says, looking at me. “What do you want for your special breakfast next Saturday, Frankie Joe?”
    â€œSomething tells me he’d like burritos.” FJ stands at the back door, holding a bunch of letters in one hand.
    He must have been at the post office. I didn’t hear him come in and don’t know how long he’s been standing there. But the smile he gives Lizzie says that he’s heard all her announcements.
    â€œWell then”—Lizzie returns his smile—“burritos it is!”
    â€œWhat’s a ’bri–to’?” Mark asks, looking skeptical. His “excellent brain” obviously doesn’t include the word in its vocabulary.
    â€œIt’s made from corn and beans,” I say.
    â€œOh,” Mark says, helping himself to another pancake. “Cool!”
    â€œAnd it’s bur–ri–to,” I