Hardy Boys Fan Fiction at the HDA - Let Freedom Ring

“Yeah, thanks,” Joe replied. The two brothers both put on their black and gold Bayport High School letter jackets. They ambled outside and hopped into their van, Frank getting into the driver’s seat.

Frank started the engine. “All to the Worcestershire sauce!” he exclaimed.

Joe laughed. “Why do you always say that when you start the van?”

“I picked it up from some dumb book for kids.” Frank reached over and put a CD of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos into the CD player.

Joe rolled his eyes. “Frank, you’re not going to play that sewing machine music again, are you?”

“Don’t act like a little classical music is going to kill you!” Frank retorted.

“So tell me again about Boys State,” Joe said as Frank backed the van out of the driveway. “What’s the deal?”

“Well, the American Legion sponsors this program called Boys State. It’s sort of a model state government. Just about every American Legion post in the state sends at least one guy to participate. It almost always takes place at U. of M. because it’s the largest college campus in the state. We’ll live in the dorms for a few days. They split the guys up into different counties and cities, and we serve as mayors and councilmen and such, passing laws and ordinances. Some guys get elected to be state representatives and senators--even governor. At the end, two guys from every state get selected to go to Boys Nation.”

“How many guys will be there?”

“I’m not sure--between three-fifty and four hundred.”

Joe grinned at his brother. “Hey, Frank, maybe you’ll be elected governor!”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it! Let’s face it--you know guys all over the state from sports and debating--not to mention our detective work! With your personality, intelligence, and looks, if somebody nominated you, you’d be a shoo-in!”

“I love you, too, Joe. Frankly, I don’t know why you didn’t apply. You’re a lot more outgoing than I am. I think that you’d be in your element in something like this.”

Joe wrinkled his nose. “Sitting around in meetings and talking is not my idea of a good time. Besides, I made a promise to myself never to compete with you--as if I would have had a chance in the first place. Here we are.” The van rolled into the parking lot of Prito’s, Bayport’s leading Italian restaurant.

Carlo Prito had established Prito’s right after he emigrated to America from Italy at the end of World War II. After he retired, his son, Paul, took over the restaurant. Paul’s son, Tony, was one of Frank and Joe’s best friends.

The aroma of tomato, oregano, and Romano cheese wafted outside the restaurant. Joe closed his eyes and inhaled, a blissful expression on his face. “Ah, Frank, there’s no place in the world like this!”

“Be sure to tell Mr. Prito that,” said Frank as he opened the door. “Or you can tell Tony--here he is! Hey, Tony!”

“Frank! Joe! Hey, what took you so long to get here? We’re almost out of food!”

Joe laughed. “I wouldn’t let your dad hear you say that, Tony! Not the way he works to keep this place running! Not even Chet could eat all the food you’ve got stored up here! Hey, Chet!”

A large, muscular boy turned around from a booth and looked over at Joe. “Is my name being taken in vain?”

“Nothing that isn’t true, big boy,” a short, wiry fellow sitting next to Chet said.

“And what would you know about it, Phil?” Chet asked. “Hey, Joe, it’s about time you and Frank got here. A guy could starve waiting for you guys.”

“Hi, chums!” Frank exclaimed.

“Chums?” Chet hooted. “Frank, have you been reading those goofy kids’ books again?”

Frank and Joe exchanged hand slaps and pats on the shoulders with Chet, Phil, and Biff Hooper, who had been enjoying watching Chet and Phil bicker. Frank and Joe eased into the booth on the same side as Biff, with Chet and Phil on the other.

“It’s true, guys,” Phil said. “I was afraid Chet was going to start chewing on the tablecloth.”

“Tablecloth! I was about ready to sprinkle some Parmesan on you and see how you taste, shrimp!”

“You wouldn’t like me. Too much gristle,” Phil retorted.

“Before violence breaks out, boys, I believe our pizza is coming,” Frank interjected. Tony Prito appeared with a large deluxe pizza, placed it on the table, and slid into the booth next to Phil.

“Fantastic!” Chet cried. Everyone paused and waited for Chet to finish. “What are the rest of you guys going to have?”

The other five boys burst out laughing. “You say that every single week!” Joe exclaimed.

“And it gets funnier every single week,” Chet responded with a grin. “Okay, guys, let’s dig in!”

While they ate their pizza, talked, and laughed, Frank observed the four fellows who, besides Joe, were his best friends in the world. Biff Hooper was the tall, muscular, blond quarterback of the football team, easygoing and extroverted. Frank had once told Joe that he and Biff should have been brothers. “Oh, no, Frank,” Joe responded with a twinkle in his eye. “If Biff and I had been brothers, we’d have burned Bayport down by now!”

Chet Morton was a large, affable fellow. When younger, he was inclined to be overweight, but with diligent exercise and watching his diet, he had developed into quite the athlete, starting at center on the football team and catcher on the baseball team.

Tony Prito also shared in the Hardys’ athletic exploits. At six feet tall and one hundred seventy pounds, he started at shortstop on the baseball team and guard on the basketball team. With light brown hair and blue eyes, he did not fit most people’s ideas of what someone of Italian ancestry looked like. His grandfather was born in northern Italy, near the Austrian border.

And then there was Phil Cohen. In many ways, Frank felt closest to him of all. The other boys had been Joe’s friends first, back in the years when Frank was still ahead of Joe in school by one grade. Phil had moved to Bayport with his mother the summer before Frank was to have started the seventh grade--just before Frank became so ill. Frank had been one of the few kids to befriend the short, thin, solemn boy from New York. And in the coming weeks and months, Phil was a constant visitor to Frank’s bedside--reading to him, talking to him, trying to get his mind off his pain. They remained fast friends as the years went by. Phil was a friend Frank could talk about philosophy or classical music with--someone to whom he could confide his wildest hopes and darkest fears.

“Phil,” Chet said, “I don’t know how someone can eat so much and stay so little!”

“It all has to do with metabolism, Chet,” Phil began to respond.

Biff groaned. “Chet, when are you going to learn not to ask Phil a question like that? You know he’s almost sure to have an answer--and if he doesn’t, he’ll talk about why he doesn’t and analyze the devil out of that!”

“I like to listen to the little guy talk,” Chet responded.

“Why, thank you, Chet. I didn’t know you found my little discourses edifying,” Phil replied.

“Well, just about all Mr. Quarterback over there can talk about is the Oakland Raiders!” Chet said.

“I can talk about other stuff, too!” Biff exclaimed.

“That’s right, Chet--there’s baseball,” Phil smiled.

“And basketball,” Tony chimed in.

“Yeah, that’s right, make fun of the big, dumb jock! That reminds me--how did everybody do with grades this time? Phil, you don’t even have to answer. You, too, Frank. How about you, little brother?” Biff asked, indicating Joe.

Joe grinned. “All A minuses and B pluses! Best ever! No summer school for me this year!”

“Way to go, Joe!” Chet exclaimed. “Or should I say, ‘Way to go, Frank’?”

“I don’t mind giving credit where credit is due. If it weren’t for my big brother--I mean my real big brother, Biff--I’d probably be facing a summer without baseball--and a lot of other things, too!”

“I could only do so much. You earned those grades, Joe,” Frank responded.

“In any event, gentlemen, I propose a toast--to Frank Hardy, next governor of Maryland Boys State!”

The others laughed and clinked their glasses together as Joe put an arm around Frank and gave him a squeeze.

“Boys State--pretty big honor, Frank,” said Phil. “I know how much you wanted that. You’ll do great there.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me how much you wanted it, Frank.”

“He didn’t tell me, either, Joe,” Phil quickly added. “I was just making an observation.”

“Speaking of observations,” Chet interjected, “I can observe two young ladies over in the corner of the restaurant who look like they could use a little attention.”

“Might one of those young ladies be your blood kin?” Joe asked.

“You are so astute, sir,” Chet responded.

Back in that corner of the restaurant there were, indeed, two young ladies who were as interested in the activities of Frank and Joe Hardy as anyone else there--or in Bayport, for that matter. Iola Morton was Chet’s younger sister, having just finished her sophomore year at Bayport High. Callie Shaw had just finished her junior year. Their conversation was not as light-hearted as that of the boys, but every bit as spirited.

“Did you see that? Why does he have to hang all over him so much?” Callie asked.

“Why do boys do most of the things they do? And why do we like them so much in spite of it?” Iola responded.

“And why do I ever ask you questions? You always stick up for Joe.”

“Of course. Maybe you should stick up for Frank more than you do. I think the way Frank and Joe get along is absolutely wonderful.”

“Absolutely wonderful. You would think Joe was absolutely wonderful if he burned down City Hall!”

Iola giggled. “Now there’s a thought! Yes, I believe I would! I would stand in front of the television cameras and say, ‘I realize that my boyfriend just burned down City Hall. But I think we should hear him out before we jump to any rash conclusions. After all, he may have had a very good reason for doing it!’”

Callie frowned. “It’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you!”

“I don’t want to be serious at the beginning of summer break. But if you want serious, I’ll give you serious. The longer you carry these feelings of resentment about Joe, the more adversely it will affect any relationship you have with Frank. Frank and Joe have been through a lot together. They have a bond like no one else I know. For goodness sake, Joe gave Frank his bone marrow when he was sick! There’s nothing wrong with your wanting to be close to Frank. But if you expect him to ignore his brother and devote all his time to you, you’re setting yourself up for a big disappointment!” Iola wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Was that serious enough for you?”

Callie sighed. “Plenty serious. How did someone so young get to be so wise?”

Iola smiled. “I can’t let you in on all my secrets. Hi, Joe! Hi, Frank!”

“Hi, beautiful!” Joe leaned over and gave Iola a peck on the cheek. “Hello, Callie.”

“Hello, Joe. Hi, Frank,” Callie responded. “I was beginning to think you’d never make it over here!”

“Oh, that will go over really well,” Iola thought to herself.

“Now when have I ever come to Prito’s and not come over to talk to you?” Frank protested.

“My big brother has a lot to celebrate today. The American Legion selected him to go to Boys State!” Joe interjected.

“Oh. When does that take place?” Callie could not help but look slightly crestfallen.

“End of June. I’ll be gone for eight days,” Frank answered.

Callie sighed. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be gone and back before you know it.”

“Joe, let’s go talk to Chet for a minute,” Iola said.

“Why, sure. See you back at the booth, Frank.” Joe paused. “So nice to see you, Callie.”

As Joe and Iola walked back to the boys’ booth, Joe murmured to her, “That was about as subtle as a brick in the head.”

“Thank you, Joe,” Iola responded, giving Joe’s arm a squeeze. “You always say the sweetest things!”

Frank and Callie sat silently at the table for a moment. “Are we still on for tonight?” Frank asked.

“Well, that depends. Don’t you have any cases you’re working on? Any kidnappers or bank robbers to chase? Any kittens stuck in trees?”

Frank frowned. “No. And no exploding chemical factories, either.” He paused for a minute. “You know, I really wish you liked Joe.”

Callie looked away. “We’ve been through this before.”

“Yes, I suppose we have.” Frank reached across the table and took Callie’s hand in his. “Maybe we can have a good time tonight.”

“I hope so, Frank.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Just you and me?”

“Just you and me. No crooks, no spies, no baby brother. OK?”

“OK,” Callie answered.

Frank leaned over and kissed Callie on the cheek. “See you later.”

Frank walked back to the booth, passing Iola on the way. He smiled at her and said, “Your timing is impeccable!”

Iola laughed and responded, “I’ve had lots of practice!”

Frank eased back into the booth. Joe reached over and gave the back of his brother’s neck a gentle squeeze. “What was that for?” Frank asked.

“You just looked like you needed it--and I just felt like doing it!” Joe answered. “Are we about ready to roll?”

“Yeah, as soon as I pay our bill. Oh, hi, Mr. Prito!” Tony’s dad had suddenly appeared at the booth.

“Hi, fellas. Frank, Tony just told me about Boys State. Congratulations!”

“Thanks, Mr. Prito, I appreciate it.”

“Well, in honor of the occasion, every thing is on the house today!”

“Oh, Mr. Prito, you don’t have to do that!” Frank protested.

“I know I don’t have to--I want to! You’ve done so much for us and the community over the years. Let this just be my little way of saying thanks!”

“Don’t argue with the gentleman, Frank, it’s very ungracious,” Chet chimed in.

Frank rolled his eyes. “The etiquette expert has spoken! Thanks again, Mr. Prito! Joe?”

“Right behind you. Later, guys!”

Frank and Joe left the restaurant and got into their van. “Oh, I’m going to have to do a few extra sit-ups tonight,” Joe groaned.

“You and me both. Man, it seems so unusual not to have any schoolwork or a case to work on.”

“Something will turn up. It always does,” Joe responded. He paused, then asked, “Are you OK?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know--Callie.”

Frank shrugged. “About as OK as ever, if you know what I mean.” The two brothers rode in silence for a few minutes.

Joe spoke again. “Frank, if there’s anything I can ever do for you, just let me know, OK? You know, I’d do anything in the world for you.”

Frank smiled. “I know you would, kid. You already have--so many times. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. I know you’ll always be here for me.”

“Right, buddy--always.”

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.