Freaky Fast Frankie Joe Read Free Page A

explains. “Farmers have to comply with laws to make sure what they grow is safe for consumption and other uses. I visit farms, inspect grain for quality, and analyze it for chemical content. Round here, that
grain
is corn and soybeans.”
    â€œSo . . . you’re pretty important, huh?”
    â€œWell, it’s an important job. Making sure grain doesn’t contain bacteria and disease is a big responsibility.” He nods out the window. “Corn and soybeans are what puts the food on our table.”
    I look out the window again, imagining corn and soybeans on the table. Sometimes I make bean burritos for Mom’s supper. Refried beans rolled up in a corn tortilla that I warm up in a skillet.
    â€œYou like burritos?”
    â€œBurritos?” He pauses. “Not really, least not as a regular diet. Why?”
    â€œOh, nothing.” I’m disappointed because I want him to like burritos, too. Then I decide that it’s okay if he doesn’t, because Mom does. I decide to fix her bean burritos the minute she gets back home.
2:45 P.M.
    We exit I-39 North and weave our way down narrow asphalt roads that run alongside big white farmhouses and huge red barns and tall metal silos painted blue.
    Silo blue . . . barn red. Finally! Colors Mr. Lopez will like. I can hardly wait to describe them to him.
    A few minutes later, we pass a sign pointing the way to Chicago. “Aren’t we going through Chicago?”
    Mr. O’Hare has told me about Chicago. It’s called the Windy City, and the street vendors sell Chicago dogs—hot dogs with tomatoes and dill pickles on them.
    â€œBypassed it.” He points toward the east. “Chicago’s that way, on Lake Michigan.”
    Great
. I missed Chicago, too.
    Out the window, I see herds of cows penned up next to red barns. Not skin-and-bone cows like those in Texas—huge black-and-white cows. Some with spots all over like dalmatian dogs; some with white stripes around their middles like Oreo cookies.
    â€œThat’s dairy cattle,” FJ says as I crane my neck looking at them. “Some farmers still keep a few on their farms. Most dairies are run different these days, though. Cows are kept in big barns, never let outside. Lights are kept burning all night to improve milk production. Did you know that? That light improves milk production? At night the barns look like flying saucers that have landed in the middle of the cornfields.”
    Cool
. Things are looking up.
    â€œHow far is it to those barns? Close enough to bike?”
    He gives me a look. “That would be trespassing. Besides, can’t go disturbing the cows—could affect milk production.”
    My adventure is feeling like a roller-coaster ride.
    â€œWell, here we are,” he says, tapping a spot on the map. He slows down as we pass a sign that says CLEARVIEW . “We are now five miles from the Wisconsin state line. Wisconsin’s known as the Dairy State. They make a lot of butter and cheese up there.”
    Clearview is circled on the Illinois map, and I can see that it’s right at the top of the state. We’ve almost driven across the entire country, from bottom to top.
    Just past the town sign is another one that says BUSINESSES IN CLEARVIEW . I glance at the dozen-or-so names on the sign. There isn’t a McDonald’s or DQ or Taco Bell or movie theater listed. Not even a Walmart. In fact, I don’t recognize the name of a single one of the businesses on the sign.
    â€œWhere’s the McDonald’s?” I ask, feeling panicky.
    He laughs. “Don’t have one.”
    â€œDairy Queen?”
    Another laugh. “Have to drive twenty-five miles east or west to find a McDonald’s or a DQ.”
    Twenty-five miles? Why would anyone want to live in such a place?
    He reads my mind. “Clearview is close to my work. And it’s a good place to raise kids. First-class school district,