Fleabrain Loves Franny by Joanne Rocklin Read Free Book Online

staying home from the shoe store to be with Franny.
    But each day was essentially the same.
    And each day, Franny feared the very worst for Fleabrain.
    Exercises with Nurse Olivegarten, rest, meals, look out the window, read a chapter, homework, listen to the radio.
    Rest.
    Hope.
    Peek inside the journal. Find nothing.
    Exercises with Nurse Olivegarten, rest, meals, look out the window, read a chapter, homework, listen to the radio.
    Rest.
    Hope.
    Peek inside the journal. Nothing.
    Fleabrain was dead, just as they were beginning their friendship. It was all so hard to bear. Franny cried into her pillow every night.
    Hope, hope.
    But one day, at last!
    Something.
    One small word in her journal, discovered on a gray, lonely Sunday afternoon with intermittent thundershowers.
    Was
    The ink was pale, like a mushroom on the lawn after a rain.
    Franny found herself smiling into her tomato soup at supper, so grateful that Fleabrain was still alive. At least, she hoped he was. Her smile pleased her family very much.
    â€œIsn’t the soup good, Franny?” Min said. “I helped peel off the tomato skins.”
    â€œYes. My favorite,” Franny said.
    â€œOh, honey, I’m glad you’re feeling more like yourself again,” said her mother.
    Of course, those remarks would have disturbed Franny on any other day. Saint Min! Saint Min, who helped peel the tomato skins, which Franny had declined to do, peevishly, that morning.
    And Franny would never, ever be “herself” again. Her real, truest, actual self, of course, was a pedestrian.
    But.
    That beautiful little word.
Was
. One word helped so much!
    The next morning when she checked, another word had arrived in her journal.
    mich
    The ink was a bit darker, like strong tea with a drop of milk. But
mich
?
Mich?
    What did it mean?
    Could it be in German, again, like
Die Verwandlung?
    The next morning she discovered a nearly rhyming word,
    nicht
    and that same afternoon, a word that didn’t rhyme at all.
    umbringt
    Both words were written in a glossy red.
    Blood red.
    The hue was upsetting to Franny because of her dawning understanding of the source of Fleabrain’s “ink” and the implications for her dear Alf’s comfort. Now she understood why Fleabrain’s first note to her had tasted familiar when she’d impulsively eaten it. Of course, deep down, she’d probably known that blood was Fleabrain’s ink of choice. His only choice, really.
    On the other hand, the red was so cheerful. A ripe-strawberry red, a Santa Claus snowsuit red, a chirping cardinal red! And that could only mean one thing.
    Hurrah!
    Fleabrain was in top form, his appetite returned in full, though communicating (apparently) in German.
    Dear Fleabrain,
    I am so glad to hear from you! Get well soon
.
    Just so you know, I do not speak German. Or French, for that matter. But maybe someday I will
.
    Your friend,
    Franny

Sparky’s Finest
    M rs. Penelope Nelson was Franny’s favorite teacher so far.
    She was also a historic first, because she was the first black teacher Franny’s school had ever hired. Principal Woolcott had told all the students that Creswell School was “very progressive and open-minded,” and they should be proud.
    Mrs. Nelson was Franny’s favorite teacher, but it wasn’t because she was a historic first. It was because Mrs. Nelson knew all the words to every single popular radio tune and often burst into song, just like that. And also because she traveled around the world with her anthropologist husband every summer and had stories to tell of her adventures—for instance, camel-riding in a desert sandstorm. And because she said, “Call me Penny!” to all of the Katzenbacks when she came to their home.
    â€œOf course,
you’ll
have to call me Mrs. Nelson, as soon as you get back to school,” she said with a smile and a wink at Franny.
    Mrs. Nelson was a newlywed, another reason Franny liked herso