Read Online Freaky Fast Frankie Joe by Lutricia Clifton - Free Book Online Page A

mothers]
    Reading the definition a second time, I decide I like it. Grabbing a pencil, I rewrite the definition and tape it next to the
responsibility
card on the wall.
    HOME —
    One’s place of residence Lone Star Trailer Park
    The social unit formed by a family living together Lone Star Trailer Park
    A familiar or usual setting : congenial environment Lone Star Trailer Park
    Where the heart is Lone Star Trailer Park
    One’s own country Lone Star Trailer Park
    An establishment providing care for the elderly Lone Star Trailer Park
    An establishment providing care for unwed mothers Lone Star Trailer Park
    I slide the dictionary into the bookshelf next to my mementos from Mrs. Jones and Mr. O’Hare and Mr. Lopez. Missing them, I start to wonder what they did today. But I already know.
    Mr. O’Hare would have gone hunting space rocks . . . without me. The last time we went out together, he packed peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and bottles of water for when we got tired. We sat in the shade of a big red boulder and some mesquite bushes, and fed crumbs to a desert horned lizard.
    And Mr. Lopez would have painted a house. He works every day so he can send money to his family in Mexico. I wonder what color he created for today’s house. He let me name the last batch he created, which looked likecaramel sauce for ice cream. He came up with all kinds of names, but he liked mine best. Butter-Brickle Yellow.
    It’s Sunday, the day after the last Saturday of the month, so Mrs. Jones would have gone to the library to pick up “retired” books from her friend. Maybe she brought home another adventure book, like
Treasure Island
and
Kidnapped
. I bet she waits until I get home so we can read it together. I wish I were there to help her put the new books on her shelves. She likes me to help her because sometimes she has to move a whole shelf of books, which is a lot of work. Last time we shelved books, she fixed us ice cream sundaes as a reward.
    I wish I were there with them now. Most of all, I wish I was home with Mom. She liked to do fun things on Sundays, like go to the movies. Instead of fixing lunch, she’d say, “What’ll it be, kiddo? Popcorn or pretzels with mustard?” Then we’d each get something different at the movie and share with each other.
    I read the definition for
home
one more time, then pull on my pajamas and turn back the covers.
I’ll read this definition every day, too
, I think as I switch off the light.
Maybe twice a day
.

Friday, October 2
5:48 P.M.
    Squeezing the last plate and bowl into the dishwasher, I close the door and push the START button. I can hear the half brothers in the front room, talking loud. Friday nights are movie nights, which means arguments. What to have for snacks? Who’s going to sit where? Which movie to watch?
    None of which involves me. What involves me is my Responsibility Report. It’s due on Sunday. I put
dishes
on the list and look it over. Another page is filling up fast. My second week is almost over.
    Only two weeks? It seems like two years.
    All four brothers burst into the kitchen. “It’s gonna be popcorn,” Matt says, scrounging in the pantry for microwave popcorn.
    â€œWhy do you always get to choose?” Little Johnny’s bottom lip droops, and his eyes look wet.
    Lizzie walks into the kitchen. “What’s all the noise about?”
    â€œNothing,” Matt says. “I got it under control.” He shuts the door on the microwave and punches in three minutes.
    â€œBut Mark and me wanted to make instant pudding,” Johnny says. “Why does Matt always get what he wants?”
    â€œ ’Cause he’s a control freak,” Mark says.
    Right on, Mark! Deciding to leave the noisy kitchen to Lizzie, I head for the door.
    â€œHold up, Frankie Joe.” She points me and the other boys to the kitchen table. We sit down and listen to popcorn
ping!
in the