Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 "Mom," I said, walking up to her. "I want you to stay calm." "I don't like the sound of this," she said. She put down the coffee pot and put her hands on my shoulders. "You look so serious," she said. "Last time I saw that look, you left the front door open and Cheerio ran away. Remember, we had to spend the whole afternoon searching the apartment building until we found him." "Yeah, but it was so cute when we found him in the laundry room, all curled up in Mrs. Fink's warm clothes right out of the dryer," I said. "Her sweat socks were hanging off his ears. You've got to admit that was funny, Mom." I tried to laugh and hoped my mom would, too.

"Hank," she said, not laughing even a little, "you can't turn everything into a joke. This is my business, and we have to take it seriously. So just tell me what happened." "It's about those men at Table Seven. They want to see you. I kind of messed up their order a little tiny bit." "How tiny is a little bit?" "Let's just say there was pickle juice on their waffles." "Oh, this isn't good." She shook her head. "And blueberries on the cheeseburger. I thought I told Vlady the right order, but..." She didn't even let me finish. She just spun around and marched right over to the men. I hid behind the bagel counter as I watched her talking to them. Her hands were flying all over the place, and I knew she was apologizing. My mom is so good at talking with people, I was sure she could make the men understand. I was positive—right up to the moment they grabbed their jackets and walked out without

paying. My mom was frowning as she walked back to me. "How did it go?" I asked hopefully. "It went well for the diner down the block," she said. "That's where they're going." "Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry," I said. "It's my fault. You don't have to give me my allowance for the next three weeks." "Hank, how did this happen?" she asked. "Those three men all wanted a lot of food," I said, the words just pouring out of my mouth. "And I couldn't write it down quickly enough and even if I could, I didn't know how to spell a lot of the words like 'syrup' or 'sausage.' So I tried to

remember it all in my head, but my head didn't cooperate and got it all mixed up." "I understand, but what you did was wrong," she said. "If you knew you couldn't remember the order, you should have asked for help. If you know you can't do something, don't try to hide it. Just ask for help." That was easy for her to say. She almost never has to ask for help. There are so many things I can't do that I would be asking for help every two seconds. And that's embarrassing. Just then, the front door of the deli swung open, and my grandfather, Papa Pete, burst in.

He was wearing his favorite red sweat suit that makes him look like a giant strawberry. "Oh, here's my favorite grandson," he said, giving me a bear hug. "I'm your only grandson, Papa Pete." "Which is exactly why you're my favorite," he said, and let out a big laugh. That laugh changed my whole mood. "Hank is working here today," my mom said. "And we're looking for a job he'd be comfortable doing." "I know exactly what Hank should do," Papa Pete said. "I used to run this place, remember? And not to brag, but I was known

as the King of the Triple-Decker Sandwich. How would you like to learn how to make one, Hankie?" "Could I, Mom?" I asked. "Sure," she said. "That sounds like a good job for you. I'll be busy filling the order for the Teacher Appreciation Dinner. So Papa Pete is in charge of you." "Don't worry about Hankie and me," Papa Pete said. Then, turning to me, he added, "Step into my office, youngster, and I'll teach you the tricks of the trade." I followed Papa Pete over to the sandwich- making area, where Vlady and Carlos were just starting to prepare for the lunch rush. "Vlady, my good man," Papa Pete said, slapping him on the back. "Nice to see you." "Welcome back, Papa Pete," Vlady said. "We miss you around here."