Frankly, Frannie Read online

  When I turned back, my mom and Mrs. Pellington were shaking hands. Then my mom turned to wave to me and left.

  As Mrs. Pellington walked back into the room, her face was very in-charge-ish. Almost like she was the mayor herself.

  “Let’s step outside the classroom and talk for a second,” she whispered in my ear. I had a maybe I’m not getting ANY presents for Christmas feeling as I followed her out. What if I wasn’t allowed to go on the trip? What if I had to sit in the classroom all by myself and wait twenty-eighteen hours for everyone to come back?

  Mrs. Pellington cleared her throat. “Your mother and I talked and we decided that we will allow you to join the class on this trip.”

  I let out a sigh the size of the Grand Canyon.

  “But . . .” added Mrs. P.

  “I will be assigning special buddies for this trip.”

  And that’s when I knew exactly where the no Christmas presents feeling was coming from.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Class, I will be assigning special buddies for this upcoming Tuesday’s class trip,” announced Mrs. P. when we got back to the classroom.

  The best part about buddies is that we always get to choose our own. Elliott is always mine and I am always his. I knew how sad Elliott would be when he found out we would not be buddies this time. But before I could send him a note about it through my brainwaves, Mrs. P. was already saying, “Millicent will be Frannie’s buddy.”

  Millicent looked up and smiled at Mrs. P. in a very official way even though she secretly had a book on her lap and was not being official at all.

  I could see all of Elliott’s hopes pour through his body and drip onto the floor in a big disappointment puddle. If Millicent was truly a special buddy, then maybe on Tuesday she would let me switch her for Elliott.

  Mrs. P. said she wanted to tell us a very good and funny story. I love stories and Mrs. P.’s are good because she tells us about what life was like in the olden times, when she was a kid.

  I leaned forward to make sure not to miss anything. That was the exact moment that Elliott gave a note to Sarah who gave it to Aaron who gave it to Elizabeth who gave it to Sasha who gave it to me. That was also the moment Millicent took her book back out and started reading again.

  I love getting notes in class, even though it is against the law. I opened it up on my lap so Mrs. Pellington wouldn’t see.

  Elliott had drawn a picture of himself frowning. The word BUDDYwas written on top and under the drawing his own name was crossed out. It gave me a sad feeling. I had to be very careful about sending a note because if I got caught, Mrs. P. might give me two “special buddies.”

  I drew a picture of myself and wrote, “Frankly Boredy Miller,” which is a joke about being bored and also about my middle name. (Elliott is the only person who’s not in my family who knows my middle name.) Then Elliott sent another note and I wrote him back again. Millicent squinched her face at me. She was getting the “Frannie’s special buddy” job confused with the “Frannie’s boss” job.

  I looked right into Elliott’s eyes and sent a note to his brain. It said, “We should probably pay attention now.” I know he got it because we both turned to the front of the class to listen to Mrs. P.

  “. . . the election has been moved from our school to the local theater!” she said. I must have missed the end of her story because now she was talking about the election again.

  CHAPTER 5

  On Monday night, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson came over for dinner. They are my parents’ bestest friends in the world. I like them because they talk to me like I am a real-life person, which is not the way all grown-ups talk to kids.

  My mom let me wear her apron and my dad stapled together scrap paper so I could be the waitress and write down everyone’s order on a pad. I went around the table, one by one, just like my favorite waitress, Betsy, does at Longfellows.

  “May I take your order?” I asked Mr. Wilson.

  “I will have the prime rib, rare, a pound of potatoes, a gravy boat, and yam soup.”

  “That will be one chicken pot pie and salad coming right up,” which was actually what we were having for dinner.

  “May I take your order?” I asked Mrs. Wilson.

  “I will have thirteen slices of pizza, a frog leg sandwich in razzle-dazzle sauce, and asparagus lemonade.”

  “One chicken pot pie and salad coming right up.”

  Then I sat down and watched my mom bring out the food that was too hot and too heavy for me to carry.

  When we were finished with dinner, my dad let me be the busgirl. I’m a very good table clearer. Everyone thinks so and that is not an opinion.

  Over dessert, they talked about who our mayor would be. Even though politics are boring, I felt very grown-up when they asked if I would vote for Frank Meloy.

  “Does Frank Meloy carry a briefcase?” I asked.

  “I think he does, yes,” my dad answered.

  “Then he’s the person I would vote for,” I announced.

  “Because of the briefcase?” Mrs. Wilson asked.

  “Not only. Also because both our names start with the same four letters. And because he carries a briefcase.”

  “Plus, he has a very good résumé,” my mom said.

  I looked up. “Résumé?”

  “That’s a list of all the jobs and schools a person has worked at and attended. You need one to get a job,” said my mom.

  “What’s one look like?” I asked.

  “I have some in my briefcase, actually,” my dad said. “People applying to work at my office have sent me their résumés to look over. If you get me my briefcase, I’ll show you one.”

  Before he even finished the sentence, I had his briefcase on his lap. He popped it open, pulled out a small pile of papers, and handed me the one on top. I held it very carefully. I knew it was paper, but still, it was very professional paper and I did not want to make a crease. Then I got a great idea.

  “Can I borrow this?” I asked.

  “If you’re very careful,” my dad said.

  I looked right into his eyes. “I will be very careful.”

  “Then my answer is yes.”

  After dinner I sat at my desk and pulled out my nicest paper. If I brought my résumé with me to the radio station visit, then certainly I could get a job. And if I brought business cards like the ones my dad has, they might want to give me a job even more. Business cards are for leaving your phone number and e-mail address with other business people. If you have a card, then nobody has to go looking for a pen and paper. My dad once showed me how he brings them to meetings and leaves them on a table all spread out like a fan.

  I found a very serious pen that did not have an eraser and I looked at the résumé from my dad in order to write mine. I carefully put down all of my jobs—Table Clearer, Temperature Taker, Mustard Sniffer. When I was done, I put it in my dad’s old briefcase, which I found in the basement, along with some other workerish things like paper clips, a legal pad, an old cell phone, and an old pair of glasses with the lenses missing. And when I finished that, I cut up an empty Kleenex box and made business cards that said:

  I put those in my briefcase as well. I was so excited, I almost couldn’t fall asleep that night. I knew that if they liked my résumé and business card at the radio station, there was a chance they’d give me a job!

  CHAPTER 6

  Even though Millicent was also my special buddy for the bus, the ride to the radio station was still fun. Everyone was so excitified that we filled the air up with extra loud chattiness. I could tell that Mrs. P. was happy, too. A for instance of what I mean is that she led us in a round of my favorite clapping song!

  Double, double this this

  Double, double that that

  Double this, double that

  Double, double this that

  Before my clapping hands even knew it, we were at the most professional radio station building I’d ever seen. On the street we lined up with our special buddies and
then, when Mrs. Pellington said we could, we roundy rounded inside the building using a revolving door! Inside, there were lots of people rushing around importantly. Elliott’s mouth dropped off his entire face. He pointed.

  “You. Are. Not. Going. To. Believe. This.” I followed his finger. There was a little store with at least a hundredteen shelves of candy and gum! I had, had, had to work there. I never knew that work buildings had places to buy candy. For breakfast! Even Millicent looked up from her book to see all the deliciousity. And Elizabeth seemed really excited, too. Her smile wasn’t nearly as big as mine or Elliott’s, but I’m really smart about amounts of excitement, so I knew she was happy. But then, you will not even believe the rest. It is a scientific fact that:1. . There were turnstiles INSIDE the building

  2. . We had to get our picture taken

  3. . The picture was put on a special, real-life professional pass

  4. . That

  5. . We

  6. . Got

  7. . To

  8. . KEEP!

  I almost hyperventilated from the excitement of it all. I held on really tightly to the pass even though it was fastened to a necklace made of tiny, little silver balls. I kept looking at the pass and every time I saw my face on it, my heart started thumping extra hard.

  Then we got in a line and a very nice lady handed out white stickers for name tags. We took turns waiting for the magic marker, which gave me time to think. When it was my turn, I very carefully wrote my name in the neatest letters my hand could make: MRS. FRANKLYB. MILLER. When it was Millicent’s turn, Elliott tapped her on the shoulder to get her to stop reading. His tap said, “I wish I was Frannie’s buddy.”

  Then we went through the turnstiles in the lobby to a bank of elevators. There were eight elevators there. Just like in the Chester Mall! When I looked over at Elliott, he sent me big-buggy eyes which meant he was also hyperventilating.

  When we got into the elevator, Mrs. Pellington pressed sixteen. And that’s when I knew just how lucky a day this would be. My very luckiest number in the universe is seven, and one plus six equals seven. When the doors opened, we could hear The Sandy Sanders Show over the loudspeaker. There were a machillion framed posters on the wall and one of them read: THE SANDY SANDERS SHOW. I imagined another poster right next to it that read: THE FRANKLY B. MILLER SHOW.

  When Mrs. Pellington told us to hold hands with our buddy, Elliott looked back at me with sad eyes. Millicent took my hand, but I could tell she wished it were a book.

  A lady who sat behind a big, round desk pointed us to a waiting room with lots of radio magazines. There was a bowl of mints on the table, which Mrs. Pellington quickly took away. That’s when I pulled out three business cards from my briefcase and fanned them out right where the candy had been. Elliott looked very impressed. So did other kids in my class. Drew asked me if he could have one. But he didn’t have a job to give me so I had to say no.

  When Mrs. P. came back, she gave the longest, most boringest speech in the entire universe. And the worst part was that she looked at me the whole time!

  As she talked, I realized that I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to hold it in as long as possible because that felt like something an adult would do. But after a little while, I was not so sure how adults did this because it was getting very hard to sit still. I jittered my knees. I crossed my legs. I stood up. I sat back down. I stood up again. Finally, Mrs. Pellington said, “Frannie, what on earth is going on with you?”

  Now was my chance to tell her, but I was too embarrassed to say it in front of my whole class.

  “My legs are very excited,” I said.

  “Well, sit back down, please. You can stand when the tour guide gets here, which should be any minute.”

  I sat back down and realized right then that I was not adult in the holding in way. I needed to get Mrs. Pellington alone so I could tell her this in a whisper.

  CHAPTER 7

  The tour guide’s hair was dyed purple but just at her bangs. I wondered if her parents were really mad about that. She was very bouncy. I think she was even more excited than we were. I guess Elizabeth already forgot the part about not being rude because before she could stop it, she blurted, “Where’s my dad?”

  “He’s doing his show, silly! And when he’s done at ten o’clock, he will show you all the inside of the actual radio studio. And you will each get the chance to sit in the host’s chair.”

  That’s where we all ooohed and ahhhed.

  “Okay, class, let’s get in line,” Mrs. Pellington said. I took Millicent’s hand with my left one and held my briefcase with my right. We followed the tour guide down the hallway. The tour guide’s name was Tuesday. I had never heard a person named after a day of the week. This was very interesting to me, especially because Tuesday was not actually the best day of the week.

  Off the long hallway were some of the twenty offices that Mr. Sanders had told us about. I tried to peek and see what radio offices looked like, but we were walking too fast. All I saw was a tray with a stack of paper in it. When I got home, I had to remember to put a tray with a stack of paper on my desk.

  Finally we stood in front of a huge glass window and inside we saw Mr. Sanders wearing headphones and talking and laughing into a microphone.

  There was a machine in front of him with a lot of buttons and Mr. Sanders pressed some but not others. He looked really professional with headphones on. It was the most gigantic room ever. There was a big, black sign and in red neon it yelled, “ON AIR.” When I got home I also had to remember to make an ON AIR sign for my bedroom.

  The door to the studio was really thick and had a sign that read: DO NOT OPEN THISDOOR! There were so many things I needed to remember but I was in pain because I REALLY, REALLY had to go to the bathroom.

  “We’ll come back when the show is over and then we’ll go inside and Mr. Sanders will give everyone a chance in front of the microphone,” Tuesday said. “Now, I want to give you a tour of the offices.”

  How would I pay attention to all the offices if the only thing I could think about was how badly I had to go to the bathroom?

  Everyone started to follow Tuesday down the hall and I raised my arm and Mrs. Pellington called on me. I waved my hand at her so she’d come over to me and I could whisper.

  When she bent down, I said very quietly, “I really have to go to the bathroom.” She gave me a bothered look, but then called Tuesday over who said the bathroom was just right down the hall.

  Millicent and I ran down the hall with my briefcase slapping against my leg and when I opened the bathroom door, Millicent banged into it. Do you want to know why? Because she was reading! While she was running!

  “Millicent!” I scolded. “You are not paying attention!”

  “I am too paying attention!” she said. “But in the book, Jackie just told Joanna a secret, but Joanna got the secret wrong!” Secrets interested me. Maybe Millicent could tell me the secret later when we weren’t rushing.

  The bathroom was the biggest I’d ever seen. It was as big as the radio studio! There was an actual real chair, like the kind we had at home in our living room! And there was a basket of makeup that was free! And another basket with candy! This made Millicent put down her book. Elliott was not going to believe this.

  I went to the bathroom as fast as is scientifically possible and then Millicent and I went to catch up with our class. But when we came out of the bathroom, our class wasn’t standing where it stood before. We didn’t see anyone anywhere. I looked at Millicent who looked just as confused as I was.

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know!”

  She grabbed my hand and we ran down the hall. As we neared the studio door, I noticed that it was open and no one was inside hosting the show!

  This was not a good sign and I knew it. I looked at the clock and it said 9:45 AM. That meant there were only fifteen minutes left of the show. Which meant it was the end of the show, which meant it was the call-in par
t of the show—the part where Mr. Sanders gave advice. Maybe my parents weren’t the only ones who thought he wasn’t good at this part of the show. Maybe someone told him and he got upset and left? What if he was crying by himself in his office? If that was the case, then who would do the advice part? I know that I give really good advice because sometimes my dad says to me, “Good advice, Bird!”

  I felt sad Mr. Sanders was so upset that he had to leave his own show, but I also knew the saying “The show must go on!” It couldn’t go on without Mr. Sanders, though. Unless . . . Unless . . .

  I looked at Millicent who looked stumpified.

  “We have to go in there to help Mr. Sanders,” I said.

  “We’re not allowed!” she protested.

  “But it’s an emergency!” I cried. Mr. Sanders was going to really appreciate this. He’d probably give me my own radio show.

  I grabbed Millicent’s hand and ran inside the studio. She closed the door behind us and looked really worried.

  “We’re going to get in trouble,” she said.

  I ran over to Mr. Sanders’s chair and put my briefcase on the table. Then I clicked it wide open and took out the things that made me look workerish. I put the glasses with no lenses on my face, but they were too big and fell off. Then I sat in Mr. Sanders’s chair (which was still warm) and put on his headphones. Those slid right off my head, too, but I adjusted them so they’d fit better.

  When I looked over at Millicent, she had forgotten about getting in trouble because she was on the floor, reading the last pages of her book. Just then I heard a smacking sound. There was a man behind a glass window and he had headphones on, too! He was banging on the glass and pointing. I gave a big smile because I knew he was trying to thank me for saving the day.

  Just then the phone rang and I looked at Millicent.

  “Should I answer it?”