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Authors: Peg Kehret
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watching.
I let out a huge sigh of relief as the patrol car disappeared from view.
“What are you doing?”
The voice was right behind me, so close that the hair on my arms stood on end as I turned to see who had spoken. It was a woman about Mama’s age. She stood beside a cart load of groceries, with a car key in her hand.
“Why are you looking in my car?” she demanded. “Were you trying to break in?”
I realized this was the owner of the minivan.
“I’m playing hide-and-seek,” I said. “I didn’t bother your car any; I just used it to hide behind.” I backed away from the van.
The woman carefully examined the side of her van, where I had been crouched, before she answered.
“A parking lot is not a safe place to play,” she said. “What’s wrong with parents these days, allowing their children to run wild?”
“Sorry,” I said. I walked away from her toward my bike, keeping my eyes on the front window of the store, in case the manager was looking out.
I fingered the slip of paper in my pocket, longing to go to the deli counter and collect my sandwich. ButI knew I couldn’t turn in the note. If I set foot in that store, the manager would be on the phone before the mustard for my sandwich hit the bread.
It wasn’t fair not to get any pay after I did the work, but facts are facts. I had been lucky to spot the police before they spotted me. I couldn’t take a chance that they would return.
With my stomach still grumbling, I tied Foxey’s box on my bike, and took off. I pedaled the long way out of the parking lot, to avoid going past the front of the store. I also kept a sharp eye out for police cars.
I went six blocks and then stopped to think. I could wait until the night shift was on duty at the grocery store, and then go back and give my note to the deli clerk. But what if the store manager alerted the night crew? What if he told them to watch for me? By now, the whole store probably knew that if a kid came in with a note good for a sandwich and a drink, they were supposed to call the cops.
I rode on, looking for a bakery or a sandwich shop. Maybe I could buy day-old bread for twenty-seven cents. There was no point saving the quarter for a phone call, since I didn’t have anyone to call. I might as well spend my fortune on food.
CHAPTER
NINE
T wo blocks ahead, golden arches curved against the sky. I knew I couldn’t get anything for twenty-seven cents at McDonald’s, but it was a good place to wash. The parking lot litter had left my hands sticky and dirty. I scrubbed good, rinsed out my mouth, and put on my clean T-shirt.
When I finished, I walked through the restaurant toward the door. As I passed a table where a woman, a man, and a little girl sat, the little girl said, “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat your dinner,” her mother said. “There are starving children in Bosnia who would give anything for those French fries.”
Bosnia? I thought. There’s a starving kid right herebeside you who would give anything for those French fries.
“I don’t like French fries,” the little girl said.
My mouth watered. On impulse, I sat down in the booth behind them, and listened. If the kid refused to eat her French fries, maybe they would get left on the table.
“I don’t want the rest of my hamburger,” the girl said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” her father said. “I don’t know why we bring her here. She doesn’t eat enough to keep an ant alive.”
I remembered the potato chips, and wished he hadn’t mentioned ants.
“Can I go play now?” the child asked.
“One more bite,” her mother said.
The girl took a tiny bite of the hamburger and then ran outside to the play area. Her mother stood up, gathering coats. Her father started to put the food containers on a tray.
I jumped to my feet. “I’ll clear the table for you, sir,” I said.
He looked surprised, but handed me the tray. “When did McDonald’s start offering this service?” he asked his wife, as they
I let out a huge sigh of relief as the patrol car disappeared from view.
“What are you doing?”
The voice was right behind me, so close that the hair on my arms stood on end as I turned to see who had spoken. It was a woman about Mama’s age. She stood beside a cart load of groceries, with a car key in her hand.
“Why are you looking in my car?” she demanded. “Were you trying to break in?”
I realized this was the owner of the minivan.
“I’m playing hide-and-seek,” I said. “I didn’t bother your car any; I just used it to hide behind.” I backed away from the van.
The woman carefully examined the side of her van, where I had been crouched, before she answered.
“A parking lot is not a safe place to play,” she said. “What’s wrong with parents these days, allowing their children to run wild?”
“Sorry,” I said. I walked away from her toward my bike, keeping my eyes on the front window of the store, in case the manager was looking out.
I fingered the slip of paper in my pocket, longing to go to the deli counter and collect my sandwich. ButI knew I couldn’t turn in the note. If I set foot in that store, the manager would be on the phone before the mustard for my sandwich hit the bread.
It wasn’t fair not to get any pay after I did the work, but facts are facts. I had been lucky to spot the police before they spotted me. I couldn’t take a chance that they would return.
With my stomach still grumbling, I tied Foxey’s box on my bike, and took off. I pedaled the long way out of the parking lot, to avoid going past the front of the store. I also kept a sharp eye out for police cars.
I went six blocks and then stopped to think. I could wait until the night shift was on duty at the grocery store, and then go back and give my note to the deli clerk. But what if the store manager alerted the night crew? What if he told them to watch for me? By now, the whole store probably knew that if a kid came in with a note good for a sandwich and a drink, they were supposed to call the cops.
I rode on, looking for a bakery or a sandwich shop. Maybe I could buy day-old bread for twenty-seven cents. There was no point saving the quarter for a phone call, since I didn’t have anyone to call. I might as well spend my fortune on food.
CHAPTER
NINE
T wo blocks ahead, golden arches curved against the sky. I knew I couldn’t get anything for twenty-seven cents at McDonald’s, but it was a good place to wash. The parking lot litter had left my hands sticky and dirty. I scrubbed good, rinsed out my mouth, and put on my clean T-shirt.
When I finished, I walked through the restaurant toward the door. As I passed a table where a woman, a man, and a little girl sat, the little girl said, “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat your dinner,” her mother said. “There are starving children in Bosnia who would give anything for those French fries.”
Bosnia? I thought. There’s a starving kid right herebeside you who would give anything for those French fries.
“I don’t like French fries,” the little girl said.
My mouth watered. On impulse, I sat down in the booth behind them, and listened. If the kid refused to eat her French fries, maybe they would get left on the table.
“I don’t want the rest of my hamburger,” the girl said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” her father said. “I don’t know why we bring her here. She doesn’t eat enough to keep an ant alive.”
I remembered the potato chips, and wished he hadn’t mentioned ants.
“Can I go play now?” the child asked.
“One more bite,” her mother said.
The girl took a tiny bite of the hamburger and then ran outside to the play area. Her mother stood up, gathering coats. Her father started to put the food containers on a tray.
I jumped to my feet. “I’ll clear the table for you, sir,” I said.
He looked surprised, but handed me the tray. “When did McDonald’s start offering this service?” he asked his wife, as they
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