whopper.”
11. HELLO,
Buñuelos
The host at Mi Pueblo said the wait would be ten minutes, but the minutes were passing like hours. “Dad. Would you ever consider babysitting Mr. Nibblenose? He’s a very good boy. He is!”
“No! No rats. No rodents of any kind.
No!
”
“Sometimes you get a little bit grumpy when you’re hungry, huh, Dad?”
“I’m sorry, son, but you know how I feel about rats. And with those horrible little yellow teeth.” He made rat teeth at Carson.
“They don’t have an opportunity to brush, Dad.”
Carson strolled up to the white cement fountainin the enclosed courtyard and counted up the coins resting on the bottom: four dollars and sixty-eight cents.
From where he was standing, near a large potted palm in a colorful ceramic pot, Carson noticed that— What?! Was that Mrs. Crabbly? It was! Wearing a wide-brimmed pink straw hat decorated with a big, fake purple marguerite daisy.
Carson decided to hide from her. To spy on her, truthfully. He slipped behind the potted palm, close to the wall. Then he parted two palm fronds and peered out. He saw two tiny LED lights blinking on her collar.
Carson observed Mrs. Crabbly buy a bag of
buñuelos
. She whirled around and looked directly at him. “I had a funny feeling I was being watched. What are you doing behind that tree?”
“Waiting for a booth,” said Carson quietly.
Carson’s dad offered his hand. “Nicholas Blum.”
She shook it. “Abby Crabbly. Sorry about that darn crow incident.”
“Oh well. That’s the way the cookie crumbles,” said Carson’s dad.
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” said Mrs. Crabbly.
“But it did take me an hour to barbecue that tri-tip,” he admitted.
“What’s your marinade?”
“It’s posted on my blog,
Gourmet Grub
.”
“Have you blogged your way to Buster’s Barbecue? It’s just around the corner.”
“In fact, we have.”
“How ’bout them ranch beans, huh?”
Mrs. Crabbly untwisted the tie on the
buñuelos
bag. “Ever tried these?” She offered them to Carson and his dad and they each took one. “Bon appétit. See you at school, Carson.” She lifted her hat from her head, put it back on again, and walked out.
“She seems like something of a character,” Carson’s dad said.
“You can say that again,” said Carson.
“She seems like something of a character,” Carson’s dad said. “And what an unusual alien brooch,” he added.
“What’s a brooch?”
“A pin.”
“She got that one from the Mystery Lights of Marfa gift shop in Marfa, Texas. She has a cuckoo clock from Switzerland also. And a legendary dog I’ve heard about, but haven’t seen. She’s funny! She reminds me of Grandma.”
Through the glass door, Carson watched Mrs. Crabbly cross the street and head down the sidewalk. He liked Mrs. Crabbly and everything about her. He liked how grouchy she was with Wes.
He deserved it, the liar!
Carson savored the crispy, cinnamony, sugary
buñuelo
. He watched Mrs. Crabbly peer over a fence, then open a gate and stroll through. Maybe that’s where Mrs. Crabbly lived. Maybe they were neighbors. In fact, of course they were neighbors because they had all walked to Mi Pueblo!
Carson dug into his pocket for a coin to throw in the fountain.
This will make it four seventy-eight
, he told himself. He wasn’t great at math but he added money well. He threw a dime into the water and wished they could hurry up and sit down.
Bingo! It worked! Carson and his dad were seated in a bright blue-green booth by the window. Carsonwould have what he had last time: the
carne asada
burrito supreme. He’d eat half and ask the server to wrap the other half up in aluminum foil for tomorrow’s lunch.
Yum!
His dad was examining the menu with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
Carson slid his dad’s shirt cuff up and looked at his watch. “It’s six-forty-five, Dad. Let’s order.”
“Okay, okay. Let me think.”
Carson watched a
11. HELLO,
Buñuelos
The host at Mi Pueblo said the wait would be ten minutes, but the minutes were passing like hours. “Dad. Would you ever consider babysitting Mr. Nibblenose? He’s a very good boy. He is!”
“No! No rats. No rodents of any kind.
No!
”
“Sometimes you get a little bit grumpy when you’re hungry, huh, Dad?”
“I’m sorry, son, but you know how I feel about rats. And with those horrible little yellow teeth.” He made rat teeth at Carson.
“They don’t have an opportunity to brush, Dad.”
Carson strolled up to the white cement fountainin the enclosed courtyard and counted up the coins resting on the bottom: four dollars and sixty-eight cents.
From where he was standing, near a large potted palm in a colorful ceramic pot, Carson noticed that— What?! Was that Mrs. Crabbly? It was! Wearing a wide-brimmed pink straw hat decorated with a big, fake purple marguerite daisy.
Carson decided to hide from her. To spy on her, truthfully. He slipped behind the potted palm, close to the wall. Then he parted two palm fronds and peered out. He saw two tiny LED lights blinking on her collar.
Carson observed Mrs. Crabbly buy a bag of
buñuelos
. She whirled around and looked directly at him. “I had a funny feeling I was being watched. What are you doing behind that tree?”
“Waiting for a booth,” said Carson quietly.
Carson’s dad offered his hand. “Nicholas Blum.”
She shook it. “Abby Crabbly. Sorry about that darn crow incident.”
“Oh well. That’s the way the cookie crumbles,” said Carson’s dad.
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” said Mrs. Crabbly.
“But it did take me an hour to barbecue that tri-tip,” he admitted.
“What’s your marinade?”
“It’s posted on my blog,
Gourmet Grub
.”
“Have you blogged your way to Buster’s Barbecue? It’s just around the corner.”
“In fact, we have.”
“How ’bout them ranch beans, huh?”
Mrs. Crabbly untwisted the tie on the
buñuelos
bag. “Ever tried these?” She offered them to Carson and his dad and they each took one. “Bon appétit. See you at school, Carson.” She lifted her hat from her head, put it back on again, and walked out.
“She seems like something of a character,” Carson’s dad said.
“You can say that again,” said Carson.
“She seems like something of a character,” Carson’s dad said. “And what an unusual alien brooch,” he added.
“What’s a brooch?”
“A pin.”
“She got that one from the Mystery Lights of Marfa gift shop in Marfa, Texas. She has a cuckoo clock from Switzerland also. And a legendary dog I’ve heard about, but haven’t seen. She’s funny! She reminds me of Grandma.”
Through the glass door, Carson watched Mrs. Crabbly cross the street and head down the sidewalk. He liked Mrs. Crabbly and everything about her. He liked how grouchy she was with Wes.
He deserved it, the liar!
Carson savored the crispy, cinnamony, sugary
buñuelo
. He watched Mrs. Crabbly peer over a fence, then open a gate and stroll through. Maybe that’s where Mrs. Crabbly lived. Maybe they were neighbors. In fact, of course they were neighbors because they had all walked to Mi Pueblo!
Carson dug into his pocket for a coin to throw in the fountain.
This will make it four seventy-eight
, he told himself. He wasn’t great at math but he added money well. He threw a dime into the water and wished they could hurry up and sit down.
Bingo! It worked! Carson and his dad were seated in a bright blue-green booth by the window. Carsonwould have what he had last time: the
carne asada
burrito supreme. He’d eat half and ask the server to wrap the other half up in aluminum foil for tomorrow’s lunch.
Yum!
His dad was examining the menu with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
Carson slid his dad’s shirt cuff up and looked at his watch. “It’s six-forty-five, Dad. Let’s order.”
“Okay, okay. Let me think.”
Carson watched a
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