Page 1

Once, there was a boy named Richie.

Richie was much like the other boys in his neighborhood.

He liked playing freeze tag. He liked playing football. He especially liked playing water balloon massacre.

Page 2

But, in some ways, Richie was different from the other kids.

He hated the bells of the ice-cream truck, for instance.

He hated brownies and cupcakes at classroom birthday parties.

Page 3

He especially hated when Johnny's mother brought the class ice-cube popsicles.

For Richie only ate french fries.

He would say, "Mom, I hate vegetables. I hate fruit. I especially hate chicken pot pie."

"Oh dear," his mother would say. "I guess I’ll cook you french fries then."

And she did. At home and for Richie to bring to school on his birthday.

Page 4

Richie loved shoestring french fries. He loved curly french fries. And he especially liked waffle-cut french fries.

For Halloween, Richie dressed up as a giant, golden french fry.

He even did his school report on the history of french fries.

And, for every birthday, his mother brought his entire class super-sized buckets of homemade fries.

Page 5

All Richie thought about were french fries.

French fries at breakfast.

French fries at lunch.

And french fries at dinner.

Page 6

And then one day it happened — Richie felt his skin turn crispy and golden. He felt his body stiffen. He even felt the urge to find ketchup or locate a deep fryer.

Richie had turned into a french fry!
"Oh dear," said Richie's mother. "I was afraid this would happen."

Late that night, after she tucked her french-fried son into bed, Richie's mother made a phone call.

Page 7

The next morning a different bus picked Richie up for school. It was not the yellow bus he had grown accustomed to, but an enormous kitchen on wheels.

Wait! Where was the usual bus driver?

"Come aboard," the man who opened the door quipped cheerfully.
Richie hopped up the steps.