Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9 As much as I wanted to squish the pastrami with my sneaker and then serve it to Nick, a little voice inside me said, You can't do that at your mom's restaurant. You don't know my mom, but she's a clean freak. At home, she vacuums under the couch first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Those poor dust balls never even have a chance to get to know one another under there. That same little voice inside didn't stop there. It went on to say that squishing the pastrami under my feet would be a really mean thing to do. That little voice had so much to say that I decided I had better listen to it. I bent down and picked up the pile of pastrami and plopped it back on the wax paper. I wiped off as much of the tomato slime as I

could and walked over to the sink. I turned on the water, not too hot and not too cold. Then I held the pastrami under it. To be sure I got it really clean, I added just one tiny drop of liquid soap. There were two bottles of soap there. One smelled like coconuts. The other smelled like roses. I picked the coconut one. I thought it would give the pastrami a nice fruity touch. Let me just say this. It's amazing how many bubbles one little drop of soap can make. The pastrami looked like it swallowed a bubble maker. I quickly looked over my shoulder to see if Carlos was on his way back. He was! As fast as I could, I rinsed the bubbles off one more time and tossed the meat onto a paper towel to dry it. "Hey, Little Man," Carlos said, looking at the paper towel. "You don't have to dry off our pastrami. People like it when it's juicy."

"Oh, then McKelty's going to love this pile," I said. Carlos made the two triple-decker sandwiches in no time. On Nick's, he piled on my pastrami, a glob of coleslaw, and some Swiss cheese. On Mr. McKelty's sandwich, he put roast beef, cheddar cheese, and another glob of coleslaw. Dropping two pickles on each of the plates, he said, "If you carry one, I'll take the other. Teamwork, Little Man, that's what it's all about." Carlos handed me the plate with Nick's sandwich, and he took Mr. McKelty's. As we crossed the restaurant, I glanced down at Nick's sandwich. I thought that I saw a tiny bubble squirting out from the meat. Could it be? No, not possible. I rinsed that pastrami really well. At least I think I did. I hope I did. I'm sure I did. Well, pretty sure.

"Here you go, gentlemen," Carlos said to the McKeltys as he slid his plate onto the table. "The best-looking sandwiches in the city. From, if I do say so myself, two of the best-looking guys in the city." Carlos tapped the top of his spiky hair and flashed a confident smile. Mr. McKelty let out a friendly laugh. Then he picked up his sandwich. "I can't wait to dig in to this beauty," he said. Nick the Tick had already dug in to his. Even though his mouth is the size of a dinosaur cave, he could only fit in two out of the three layers. One of them was the pastrami layer. I held my breath while he started to chew. All of a sudden, he wrinkled up his nose, his mouth, and then his entire face. He looked like the raisin you leave behind in your cereal bowl. "Ugh," he said, spitting some pastrami into his hand. "This meat tastes like coconuts." As he spoke, a thin bubble flew out of his mouth and popped in the air.

"Coconuts?" Carlos said with a laugh. "You've got some imagination, kid." Carlos turned to Mr. McKelty. "How's the roast beef?" "Tastes like roast beef to me," Mr. McKelty answered. "That's what I'm talking about," Carlos said. While they were chatting, I glanced back at Nick to see more bubbles drift out of his mouth. "What did you put in here, Zipperhead?" McKelty said. "This is the worst sandwich I've ever had." He threw the sandwich down onto the table, missing the plate entirely. "Nick!" his father said. "That is a very rude thing to do."

"I agree with you," Carlos said. "I'm riding the same train you are." Nick stood up, picked up his napkin, and spit out what was in his mouth. "That's what I think of your sandwich," he said, staring at me. A little drool slid down the side of his mouth. "That's it," Mr. McKelty said. "Even if you don't like the taste of your sandwich, this is not the way we behave in a restaurant. May we just have our bill, please? Obviously my son needs a lesson in manners before we go out to lunch again." Carlos grabbed the plates and went back to the counter to prepare the bill. McKelty frowned at me, but I just gave him the old Zipzer smile. As I turned to walk away, I could hear his father saying, "That Hank's a nice boy. You two should be friends. You could learn a few things from him." "Yeah, like how to flunk a spelling test," McKelty said. "He's great at that."