Grilled Cheese Please pages 16 - 21

Read the first seven pages of Grilled Cheese Please and answer the multiple choice questions.
Page 16

What was on the other side of the door was amazing! It was like a french-fry’s dream neighborhood.

Fries grew like leaves from potato trees. Some had shoestring fries, some had rippled fries and some had waffle-cut fries. Some even had ketchup flowers blossoming from potato branches.

There was a lake of thick, dark red ketchup, and it rained white and orange grains of mouth-watering seasoning salt.

"This is quite a strange school," said Richie. Though there was no one there to respond.

The rich smell of fried potatoes was everywhere. All of the houses in the neighborhood were different-sized containers that fries come in. Some were cardboard and some were made of paper. Others were large brown cups with french-fries painted on them. All were dripping with grease. There were even french-fry parents lying along the lake while their french-fry children splashed under the giant ketchup pump.

Page 17

It was truly paradise for Richie.

Like most human french fries, Richie felt the urge to dip himself into the ketchup. He couldn’t do fancy dives or jumps, but he sure could do belly smacks!

Page 18

"I love my new school!" Richie proclaimed as loud as he could.

He soon noticed that all of the fries were hopping away. Some shook their fists at him. One said, "Now you've done it! You yelled so loud they're going to find us all!"

Richie didn't understand. He got out of the lake to investigate. There seemed to be a large mob of people rushing toward him with big bottles of ketchup and shakers of salt in hand.

They looked hungry. They were headed right toward him.

Richie soon realized they wanted to eat him!

Page 19

So Richie tried his best to run.

As you can imagine, it was not easy to run being a large, mouth-watering french fry. After all, french fries are not known for their speed and agility.

Richie didn’t know what to do. The mob was getting closer. He could hear the clanging of their silvery knives and forks.

“We’re going to eat you, you delicious potato,” said someone in the mob.

“I’m going to savor your golden-fried flavor,” said another.

Page 20

Soon, all Richie heard was a deafening chant: “Eat him! Eat him! Eat him!”

The words grew louder as the mob came closer and closer.

Richie’s french-fried heart was pounding and pounding.

He tried to run, but could only manage a short, french-fried hop.

Page 21

The mob was nearly upon him. But then, as he hopped in desperation, Richie realized he still had his lunch with him. Maybe Mr. Ecnalab had put a clue inside. He quickly opened the package and offered the contents to the approaching mob.

It was no use; they were still heading right for him.

Richie was sick of being a french fry. He wanted to be a real boy again in the worst way.