Barfing in the Backseat by Henry Winkler, Lin Oliver Read Free Book Online Page B

he said. “To provide comfort at the Comfort-For-U Motel.”
    “I left a very important packet of homework under my bed,” I explained. “And I need you to send it to me as quickly as you possibly can…as in
now
.”
    “Now is not good,” he said. “Now is lunchtime.”
    “You don’t understand, monsieur. This is urgent. Can’t lunch wait a little while?”
    “Snails in garlic butter sauce cannot wait. They must be eaten at the precise moment they come out of the oven.”
    “So I guess a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich is out of the question?”
    “Ah, that is what’s wrong with you Americans. You don’t understand the delights of a fine French meal dancing across your taste buds, being helped down your throat with an aged wine over a slow two-hour lunch.”
    “Two hours?” I gasped. “That can’t happen. I can’t wait that long. Sir, I need you to go to the post office now. I must have that packet by tomorrow morning or…”
    “Or what, monsieur?”
    “Or…um…America will lose out on who I could have been because my parents will kill me, especially my father. You don’t understand, sir, how important it is that I get that packet as soon as possible.”
    “This is what I mean. You Americans are always hurrying someplace.”
    “I’m hurrying to become the future of America. Do you want to stop my journey right here?”
    “No, I want to enjoy my snails with a crisp garden salad.”
    I was so frustrated, I handed Frankie the phone and started walking in a circle. Frankie dove into the conversation feetfirst, smooth as only he can be.
    “First of all, monsieur, sir,” he said. “On behalf of all Americans, and I know this is long overdue, I want to thank you for giving us the Statue of Liberty.”
    I stopped walking in a circle and just stared at this wonderful dude named Frankie Townsend. What hat did he pull that fact out of? How did he even know the Statue of Liberty was French?
    “And second of all,” Frankie went on, “let me just tell you that my favorite food, and I know you will understand this, is the french fry—done, of course, the French way.”
    “Ah, you mean
frites
,” the French dude said. I could hear his voice coming from the phone. “Crispy on the outside but soft like a feather pillow on the inside.”
    “Obviously, you and I understand each other,” Frankie said. “And I need you to understandthat this is an emergency. My friend Hank has made a mistake, and you and I have the power to help him correct it. America and France, working together. Side by side. Building a better future.”
    There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Frankie had the guy thinking. Then he went in for the kill.
    “Tell me, monsieur, sir,” he said with big-time drama in his voice. “With the friendship of our two nations in mind, how can you not go to the post office and mail that packet as quickly as you can?”
    I couldn’t hear the French dude’s answer, but I saw a smile spread across Frankie’s face.
    “Excellent,” Frankie said into the phone. “And what is your name, again? Oh, Pierre Chapeau. That’s the greatest name I’ve ever heard in my whole life. So, Pierre, I guess we’re finished now?”
    The smile suddenly disappeared from Frankie’s face.
    “Oh right, overnight delivery is expensive. And certainly, we’re prepared to pay for it. Aren’t we, Hank?”
    “Whatever it takes,” I whispered to Frankie. “Just get him to send it. We’ll figure out the money part.”
    “Right, then,” I heard Frankie say to him. “Cash on delivery will be fine. Oh sure, of course you need the address.” Frankie covered the phone again. “Where should he send it? Where are we going to be tomorrow?”
    “Somewhere in Virginia,” I answered. “At the bee farm.”
    “A bee farm isn’t an address, dude,” Frankie said. “I need a street number, a town, a zip code.”
    “Keep him on the line,” I whispered. “I’ll go ask my mom.”
    Before I could make