The Great Peach Experiment 1 by Erin Downing (top 10 books to read TXT) 📗

“Eh?” Dad said softly.

“The truck is smoking.”

“Goodness me!” Dad shrieked. “The truck is smoking.”

Freddy and Herb both stirred in the back seat, craning their necks to look out the windshield as the truck lurched and swayed briefly out of its lane. There was a sign announcing the exit for a town called Jackson, Michigan. Lucy glanced at the atlas and discovered that Jackson was the largest town around for miles. Hopefully they could find a mechanic—and if not, at least a small town was better than being broken down on the side of the road. “Exit here,” Lucy told him. “I think we’re going to need help.”

From the Sketchbook of Freddy Peach:

HOW TO SPEND A MILLION DOLLARS

When I’m rich, I’m going to fly to space…or at the very least, fly SOMEWHERE cool, like an undiscovered planet that looks like the giant bean sculpture in downtown Chicago. (I know the Bean is right there in the middle of downtown, so it’s not technically a RANDOM roadside attraction—but it was still very cool.)

19

  HAPPY CAMPGROUND

Herb had decided that this campground—the one they checked into after their truck broke down—was his new favorite place.

First, there was a pool. A real, honest-to-goodness pool with warm water, a deepish section, ladders, a comfy reading chair for Lucy, and water noodles they could use for battles and water horse races.

Second, there was also a lake—one you could swim in, with canoes anyone was allowed to borrow, and a sauna that magically stayed warm all day long!

Third, there was a game room with two video game machines (PAC-MAN and a deer-hunting game), a pool table, and even more comfy chairs.

Fourth, and most important, the check-in guy sold soft-serve ice cream right at the front desk!

But the cherry on top of it all was, the campground offered a seven-dollar all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast where Herb was allowed to get Frosted Flakes, a bagel (which he wrapped up in a napkin for later), and make his very own cinnamon waffle in a special waffle machine.

Herb had dubbed it Happy Campground. This was the good life. Better than a hotel, even.

The previous night, after Dad had pulled the truck off the highway and rumbled into a service station, Herb had perused lottery tickets (which his dad still refused to buy, even though Herb reminded him to “just think about it” every time they stopped) while he listened to Dad and Lucy talking to the man in charge. He’d overheard the man say that all the mechanic shops were closed until morning, but they were welcome to leave the truck there for the night until someone could come and take a look at it.

So, all four Peaches (along with one tank of mice, two tents, and three big bags of gear) loaded into the gas station attendant’s minivan, left their weary food truck behind, and got a ride to the nearest campground. It was late—almost ten o’clock—when they checked in, but Lucy begged Dad to let Herb take a quick swim before bed to get the wiggles out. As he settled into his sleeping bag, wet hair soaking into his pillow and stuffed pig, Herb felt pretty sure he had never gone to sleep happier.

First thing the next morning, Dad headed back to the service station to check on the food truck, while Herb and his siblings enjoyed a whole morning free! No baking, no cleaning, no planning, no strange customers, no generator humming, no pie smell in the air, nothing.

Glorious, glorious nothing.

It was perfect.

Herb spent part of the morning collecting empty toilet paper rolls for his mice to chew on and play with. Next, he found a few choice pine cones that he added to the box he’d been filling with nature souvenirs from their trip. Then he and his siblings swam until their fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruney, played a few games of pool, and ate watermelon left over from the breakfast buffet. After, they each got an ice cream cone and roamed around the campground, checking out other campsites while Freddy introduced himself to their neighbors.

After they’d been wandering for a bit, Freddy tossed more than half his ice cream into a big dumpster. “I can’t eat this,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m officially sweeted out. I’ve eaten too much pie these past two weeks. If I eat any more, I’m gonna need to pull a Herb.” Then, to make sure the other two understood what he was saying, he pantomimed puking. “Did you know that the pumpkin pie–eating champion earned a world record after she ate fifty pieces of pumpkin pie in ten minutes?”

“Gross,” Herb said. “I dare you to try to beat that.”

Freddy filled his cheeks with air, then blew it out again—making a glurching, vomity noise. “I pass.”

“I know I’m not supposed to say this, but is anyone else kinda glad our truck broke?” Herb asked softly, glancing at his siblings.

“Yes,” Freddy and Lucy said in unison. Herb kicked a stone, watching it roll down one of the dirt-crusted lanes that crisscrossed the campground.

“The past couple weeks have actually been pretty fun,” Lucy admitted, as Herb slipped his small hand inside her bigger one. “Exploring Minneapolis was great. And I liked selling pies to all those bearded dudes at the music festival in Madison, even though we got that ticket. Chicago was cool, too. But I’m not sure I can survive another two weeks of baking and working in the food truck….” Herb caught his sister glancing at Freddy. “I know it’s really important to you and Dad that we make some real money and win the Ohio Food Truck Festival, Freddy, but—”

Herb cut her off. “But hard work is hard?”

Lucy laughed. “Exactly. And if it were just the Food Truck Festival we had left, that would be one thing. But another few weeks running the Peach