Stuffed (5 page)

The good news was almost all of them were telling me they agreed with what I was doing, and they were going to boycott Frankie's. A few people were angry and a few more were just crazy.

The bad news was another two hundred new messages had flooded in. Maybe I shouldn't think of it as bad news. It was good because it meant more people were planning to stay away from Frankie's.

There was a knock on my door and I turned around.

“Can I come in?” It was my father on the other side of the door.

“Sure…just come in carefully.”

The door popped open a few inches before it jammed up against one of the piles on the floor. My father squeezed through the opening.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine.”

“I thought it was strange that you weren't coming for dinner. Aren't you hungry?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. It's just that I don't have time to eat,” I said.

“That doesn't look like schoolwork,” he said, pointing at the e-mail screen.

“It is schoolwork…sort of. It's related to my project in computer science on mass communication through the Internet. I'm just answering my e-mails.”

“How about if you eat first and then come back and do your e-mails later?” he said.

“I don't think I have time. This is important.”

“How about if I bring a plate down here and you can eat while you work?” he suggested.

“That would be great.”

“I'll get your mother to make it up and then
I'll
bring it down.” He paused. “If your mother saw this place she'd lose her appetite and maybe her supper.”

My father left and I went back to my e-mails. I clicked on another message.

Dear Sir,

It has come to our attention that you
are pursuing a campaign to organize
a boycott of our client, Frankie's Fast
Food Restaurants. As legal counsel
we are formally informing you that
your actions may result in a lawsuit to
recover damages, both in lost revenue
and reputation. Furthermore –

I stopped reading, too stunned to go on. This wasn't possible…I was going to be sued by Frankie's!

“Okay, explain it to me again,” my father said as he sat looking at the e-mail message from the law firm.

“It's because of my computer science project,” I said, trying to hide behind schoolwork.

“How can a school project get a law firm representing an international company to send you a letter threatening legal action?”

“Well, you remember I mentioned that documentary I saw about how bad fast food was for you?”

My father nodded.

“This is disgusting!”

I turned around. My mother was standing at the door, peering into the room.

“This is unbelievable!” she said.

“We have bigger problems than his room,” my father said. “Come in and sit down.”

“Sit down? There's no place to sit! I'm afraid I could catch something—”

“Then stand up, but have a look at this. The law firm of Smith and Evans has sent our son a letter.”

“They've what?” she said as she sloshed her way across my room.

“They've sent Ian an e-mail. Look.”

My mother stood behind where my father and I sat and looked at the screen. She leaned in and started to read.

“Scroll down,” she said.

I scrolled the letter down.

“This is your basic cease-and-desist letter. What exactly did you do?”

“Nothing really.” I explained about the documentary and how I came up with the idea of the boycott and spreading it through MSN and the Internet.

“And this is actually working?” my father asked.

“I don't know about the boycott, but I've had close to eight hundred e-mails since I sent it out last night.”

“Unbelievable,” my mother said.

“It must be believable enough that Frankie's is concerned enough to send this letter.”

“But are they serious, are they really going to sue me?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so.” She looked at my father. “What do you think, dear?”

“I agree. This is just a letter to threaten you. Just to be sure, show us what you sent.”

I grabbed the mouse and clicked on my sent box. I scrolled down and found the letter, double-clicking to open it. My parents read the message.

“There is nothing here that is liable,” my father said.

“Not that I can see,” my mother agreed.

“We're allowed freedom of assembly, so I don't see how you can't be allowed freedom to not assemble. You can decide not to go to a place if you want to, and you can suggest to other people that they don't go there either.”

“I agree,” my mother said. “You didn't make any threats or promises or say they were frying cats or rats or serving people poison. Nothing that is a basis for a lawsuit.”

“So they're not going to sue me?” I asked hopefully.

“Probably not,” my mother said.

“Probably?” I questioned.

“You never can tell,” my father said, “but personally, I'd love it if they tried.”

“So would I!” my mother exclaimed.

“You two want me to be sued?”

“Definitely. Can you imagine the headlines? Giant multinational conglomerate sues fifteen-year-old boy…we'd kill them!” my father said.

“After we got through countersuing them, we'd own a big chunk of Frankie's,” my mother said.

“But I'm sure it's not going to come to that,” my father said. “Just to be sure, I'm going to make a phone call tomorrow to Smith and Evans. I'll let them know we'd welcome a court battle. That should be enough to make them think twice.”

“Thanks…thanks a lot,” I said.

“That's what parents do for their kids,” my father said.

“And now you can do something for us,” my mother said.

“What? Anything,” I said.

My mother smiled and then motioned around the room.

“Couldn't I just get sued instead?”

I stuck a finger down the collar of my shirt and gave a little tug. The shirt was stiff and itchy and too tight around the neck. I didn't know how anybody could wear a shirt and tie to work every day.

Oswald looked equally uncomfortable. His tie and jacket didn't match and were too big. It looked like he'd borrowed them from his father. Julia looked relaxed—a bit distant, but relaxed. At first I thought she was mad at
me because I'd dragged her and Oswald into the meeting with the lawyers. Then I found out that wasn't it. She thought coming to this meeting, the whole idea of being threatened by a law firm, was actually quite cool. What was happening was that she and Oswald had had another “misunderstanding.” That was Julia-speak, which meant she wanted Oswald to do something or say something or think something or be something, and he'd objected. Good for Oswald.

I would have liked to be someplace else, almost any place other than in the law office of Smith and Evans. Thank goodness my parents were here to “represent” me. Julia and Oswald had come along to “back me up” since they were involved too.

My mother and father, dressed in suits, sat opposite us in the waiting room. If the fanciness of this waiting room meant anything, then this firm had a lot of money, and a lot of money meant they were probably pretty good lawyers, and that meant—I stopped myself from letting my mind run off, screaming and sweating and panicking.

There was no reason to panic.

“You look nervous,” Julia said to me.

“I am a little. You?”

She shook her head. “It's not me they were threatening to sue.”

“They're not going to sue anybody,” my mother said.

“It's just a meeting,” my father added. “And to be quite honest, I'm far more curious than I am worried.” He looked at his watch. “They've kept us waiting almost ten minutes. The meeting was to start five minutes ago. They have five more minutes before we tell them we're leaving.”

“We're going to leave?” I gasped.

“We might,” he said.

“But we might not,” my mother said. “It's all part of game playing.”

“Like sending a threatening letter on the e-mail,” my father said.

Just then the door to the inner office opened and we all turned.

“Eric, Anita, how good to see you!” a man exclaimed as he crossed the waiting room and shook hands with my parents.

“I'm surprised you're so happy to see us after we beat you so badly in court the last time we met,” my father said.

“Court is court. Hopefully this is a less combative situation.”

My mother introduced us to the man—Mr. Evans—one of the partners in the firm. He was friendly—almost too friendly. That made me even more nervous. He led us into a big, elegant boardroom. We all took seats around the polished wooden table.

“I must admit I'm a little disappointed to hear that,” my father said.

“How so?” Mr. Evans asked.

“I was really looking forward to a court battle. Can you imagine how this would play out?”

My mother laughed. “It would have been beautiful: Frankie's versus three teenagers. The very people they are trying to appeal to. The press would have eaten it up. Even if we'd lost the court battle—”

“And there's no way we would have lost,” my father interjected.

“—this would have generated enough
publicity to really make the boycott work,” my mother finished.

“It would not have been pleasant,” Mr. Evans said. “I had hoped my vague threat of legal action would have made this all go away.”

“And it might have, if it wasn't aimed at somebody who has two trial lawyers as parents,” my mother said.

“Yes, that was unfortunate,” Mr. Evans said. “Just out of curiosity, whose idea was this boycott to begin with?”

“It was sort of all—”

“It was all Ian's idea,” Oswald said, cutting me off.

Way to stand behind me—while holding a knife.

“My congratulations!” Mr. Evans beamed. “It was nothing short of brilliant!”

“Um…thank you,” I mumbled.

“That e-mail you wrote was perfect. It stated your case without saying anything that was a lie. You didn't say anything like the food was poisonous.”

“Then you agree that Frankie's food is bad for you?” Julia said.

“I agree it's not health food, and consuming mass amounts of it isn't a good idea. Denying that would be like denying the sky was blue, which I'd never do…unless I was hired to prove it was green.”

“Or at least a greenish shade of blue,” my father said. The three lawyers laughed.

Lawyers—pay them and they'll argue for, or against, anything. And my parents wondered why I didn't want to be a lawyer.

“Now, you didn't invite us all the way down here to simply offer compliments,” my father said.

“No. I invited you here to make an offer.”

“What sort of offer?” my mother questioned.

My parents had already explained to me— to all three of us—that asking for something from Frankie's might be seen as blackmailing them. The legal term was extortion, and you could get arrested for that. Would it be different if they offered me something without us asking?

“My client is prepared to offer lunch,” Mr. Evans said.

“Lunch…but it's only nine o'clock,” Julia said.

“Not lunch today and not just for the five of you,” Mr. Evans said. He paused, that sort of long pause lawyers use for dramatic effect. Why didn't he just go on and spit it out?

“Frankie's will provide lunch for every single person in your entire high school…on Friday the 13th.”

“That's the day of the boycott,” Julia said.

“What better way to show everybody that Frankie's food is not only
fast
food, but
fine
food.”

“That is brilliant,” my father said admiringly.

“No it isn't!” Julia snapped. “That is so slimy!”

“Oh, it's both,” my father said. “Brilliant and slimy. Is this your idea?” he asked Mr. Evans.

“I'm afraid I can't take all the credit. Of course there is one catch,” Mr. Evans continued.

“There's always a catch,” my mother said. “Go on.”

“In response to our generous offer, we are asking that your son send an e-mail explaining what is going to happen. He must also ask everybody to send out e-mails the same way they did about the boycott.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “If I just send out an e-mail, you'll give lunch to fifteen hundred kids at my school?”

“That is correct.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I'm afraid we can't provide the lunch,” Mr. Evans said. “We can't look like we're trying to undercut your efforts to boycott us. That would be unethical.”

“But you are trying to undercut and you are being unethical!” Julia said. “You're trying to bribe us!”

“Bribe is such an awful word,” Mr. Evans said. “I'm just trying to help you form an opinion.”

“Look,” I said, “even if I wanted to, what makes you think I could stop the boycott?”

“Yeah, it's like he lit a match, but now it's a gigantic forest fire. Do you really think he
can stop it just by sending another e-mail?” Julia asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not. All we want is for you to try. And I guess I should also mention one other fact. As we speak there are representatives of Frankie's meeting with your principal, vice-principal and student council to put this same offer of a free lunch before them.”

“So part of the reason for
this
meeting was to get us here instead of at the school,” my father said.

Mr. Evans didn't answer.

“So, do we have a deal?” Mr. Evans asked.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.

“I don't understand,” Mr. Evans said.