THE SCIENCE OF COMPETITION
When the gang got outside, Freddy stopped abruptly and the others bumped into him.
“What’s up, Freddio?” asked Si.
Freddy pointed across the street. In front of the Patty Cakes restaurant sat a dilapidated old station wagon and next to it an even more beat-up trash truck.
“I think that’s Harold’s dad’s truck,” said Freddy. “And that’s his mom’s station wagon.”
As they watched, Harold’s entire family came out of the restaurant. Harold had four brothers and sisters. They were carrying big boxes filled with burgers, fries, cakes and pies, and other food. They crammed the boxes inside the station wagon and the cab of the truck. Freddy glanced over at the volcano and saw that Harold was still working on it. Harold turned and waved to his family, who waved back at him.
“Come on, son,” said Harold’s father. “It’s time to go home.”
Right then, Adam Spanker and his father appeared at the door of the Patty Cakes. Freddy and the gang hid behind some bushes and continued to watch.
“He’s got some more work to do,” said Stewie Spanker. “We’ll drive him home in the Cadillac.” He looked at the Pumpernickel’s old cars in disgust. “I’m sure he’d like that a lot better.”
“But it’s late,” said Mrs. Pumpernickel, “and he still has to do his homework.”
“He’s a smart kid. He can do it fast,” said Adam with a snarl.
“And remember,” said Stewie Spanker, “You should be grateful we’re giving you all that food.”
“We are, we are,” said Mrs. Pumpernickel quickly, although her husband didn’t look very happy about it. He was a very big man with thick orange hair like Harold’s, and he wore blue overalls and heavy work gloves.
“I want Harold home in one hour,” Mr. Pumpernickel said. “No later.” He stared down at Stewie Spanker. Then he glanced up at his son on the volcano’s frame. “Harold, you be careful up there, son, okay?”
“Okay, Dad.”
The Pumpernickels got in their vehicles and drove off. The Spankers immediately rushed over to Harold.
“Okay, listen up, pumpkin head,” said Adam. “We’re running behind schedule, so you better start working harder.”
“I’m working as hard as I can, Adam.”
“Hey, hey, what are you forgetting?”
Harold sighed. “I mean, Captain Spanker.”
“You don’t want Freddy Freako to win, do you?” snapped Adam.
“I think the person with the best project should win. That’s what’s fair.”
Stewie Spanker roared, “Fair has nothing to do with it. Winning is everything. And don’t you forget it, you little twerp.” He turned and stomped away.
Adam scowled at Harold. “So you just better do what you’re told or there’ll be no more food for your family. Got it?” Then he stormed off, leaving behind a very depressed Harold.
Freddy and the gang had heard all of this.
Theodore rubbed his chin like Alfred Funkhouser did when he was thinking hard. “So that’s why Harold is working with Adam. His family needed food.”
Freddy looked crestfallen. “I didn’t know they were that bad off. We would have given them any food they needed.” Freddy stared over at Harold working all alone on the big volcano, and he got a very determined look on his face. “Come on, guys, we’re going to help Harold.”
“Are you nuts?” cried Howie. “We’re in a competition, Freddy. We can’t help them win. Heck, we haven’t even started our project.”
“There are some things more important than winning,” said Freddy.
“Good grief,” complained Howie. “What kind of thinking is that?”
Theodore smiled. “I believe one might call it the beginning of wisdom.”
They trooped over to Harold and told him what they’d come to do.
He was overwhelmed. “But, Freddy, I don’t know what to say.”
“The only thing you have to say, Harold, is what you want us to do,” replied a smiling Freddy.
The gang started working alongside Harold. While Harold wasn’t looking, Curly used his long arms to bring boards and rolls of chicken wire up onto the wooden frame, where Ziggy would nail them in under Harold’s direction. They mixed up the goop that would be used to cover the frame and chicken wire to make it look like a volcano. Very soon, they had Harold way ahead of schedule.
As they climbed down from the volcano, Harold said, “Thanks, Freddy. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”
“It’s okay, Harold. That’s what friends are for.”
Harold looked embarrassed and was about to say something when they all heard a familiar voice.
“Hey, pumpkin head, what have I told you about talking to the enemy,” yelled Adam Spanker as he came running out of the Patty Cakes.
“They’re not the enemy, they’re my friends,” said Harold hotly.
“They’re spies, you little dope.”
Freddy faced Adam. “He needed help and we helped him. And you’re his partner, so why aren’t you helping him?”
Adam balled up his fat fists. “You wanna get knocked into next week, nerd?”
The Fries all stood behind Freddy. “I think you’re outnumbered,” said Freddy.
Adam laughed, ran over to his lounge chair, and pulled out his paintball gun from behind it. He pointed it at the gang. “Okay, who wants to get blasted first?”
Things were looking ugly when a calm voice said, “Boys, I think it’s time everyone went home.”
They turned and there was Alfred Funkhouser. He walked over to them. “Hello, Harold,” he said. “How’s your family doing?”
“Fine, Mr. Funkhouser. Uh, Freddy and his friends were just helping me.”
“Actually, I saw them,” said Alfred, with a smile.
“Come on, Harold, you can drive home with us.”
“But he’s my partner,” yelled Adam. “And my dad’s driving him home.”
“That’s right!” roared Stewie Spanker, who had just raced outside. “In my brand new Cadillac over there.”
They all looked over to see Wally sniffing around the car.
“Me smell something really good,” he moaned.
“Hey, get away from my car,” yelled Stewie.
“There’s food in there,” said Wally.
“You bet there is, you big polka-dotted freak. There’s a box of our special super fatted barbecue ribs that I’m taking home for my midnight snack. Now get away from there.”
Wally was drooling all over the Cadillac. “Me love barbecue.”
“Okay, you asked for it,” yelled Adam. He pointed his paintball gun at Wally’s big butt and fired.
“Look out, Wal —, er, I mean, Wilma!” yelled Freddy.
At that instant Wally bent through the driver’s side window to get to the barbecue, and the paintball bullet hit the windshield and splattered it in black paint.
“AAAAHHHH!” screamed Stewie. “My beautiful car!”
“Well,” said Alfred Funkhouser, “I guess you wont be driving Harold home now.”
Stewie didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to get the barbecue ribs away from Wally. And losing.