Read Online The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman - Free Book Online Page A

shelves around her held dull brown cardboard boxes. One box simply read HAM . Another read BOLOGNA . Gladys scanned the boxes for cheese names, but the only one she came across was A ME RICAN , which barely counted as cheese at all.
    The results were even worse when she started looking for vegetables. There were no tomatoes, and she had to shift several heavy boxes out of the way on the bottom shelf before she revealed a small one labeled ICEBERG . Pulling open the flaps, she found a single soccer-ball-shaped head of the pale, tasteless lettuce, its leaves already brown around the edges. Still, it seemed to be her only option, so she added it to the pile of boxes she was amassing by the door.
    The sandwiches probably also needed a condiment, and Gladys advanced farther into the fridge to search for one. She found industrial-size jars of peanut butter, grape jelly, and mayonnaise before she spotted an enormous carton of butter on a high shelf. A vision of sandwiches sizzling in a pan came to her: boring white bread crisping up, bright orange American cheese melting slowly over the edges. She could save the sandwiches from mediocrity by grilling them! Standing on her tiptoes, Gladys stretched toward the butter and was just edging the carton off the shelf when—
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?”
    Mrs. Spinelli stood in the refrigerator doorway, her left hand on her hip and her right gripping a long wooden spoon. Then she charged into the refrigerator, holding the spoon like a sword, and for a moment Gladys was sure the cook was going to whack her with it. But she stepped around Gladys at the last second, reached up, and used the spoon to shove the butter carton back into its place on the shelf.
    â€œButter?!” she bellowed. “Haven’t you ever made a lunch-meat sandwich before, girlie?” She turned back toward the door and noticed the small box on the top of Gladys’s pile. “And what on earth is this?”
    Gladys rushed over. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I looked and looked, but that was the only lettuce I could find in the whole refrigerator.”
    â€œLettuce!” Mrs. Spinelli spat the word like it was poisoned. “Why would I want to put lettuce on my sandwiches? Just so I could watch the campers pull them apart and throw the green stuff away? No thanks! I’m not in the business of wasting this camp’s money on food that kids don’t eat.”
    â€œBut,” Gladys said, “maybe if you used a bettertasting green, like red leaf lettuce or arugula . . .” Her voice trailed off under the cook’s stare.
    â€œBack talk,” Mrs. Spinelli said simply. “That’s strike one.” She tucked her wooden spoon into a loop on her apron. “Now, you grab that mayonnaise and meet me in the kitchen.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Gladys mumbled. She took two steps back toward the condiments and slid the enormous mayonnaise jar off the shelf while Mrs. Spinelli shoved the box of iceberg into a corner with her heel.
    â€œI know what the kids like,” the cook murmured half to herself as Gladys followed her out of the refrigerator. “Been feeding ’em for decades, and oh, I know. Bologna sandwiches. Hot dogs and French fries. And sloppy joes on Tuesdays for variety. Salty meat on white bread and nothing too fancy, that’s what the kids go for. I know.”

Chapter 7
    THE “HAM HERB”
    G LADYS SPENT THE REST OF THE MORN- ing keeping her mouth shut and doing whatever Mrs. Spinelli told her to do. Spreading mayonnaise carefully onto two hundred and twenty pieces of bread took almost an hour. Layering three slices of meat and one slice of cheese onto them took almost another. And of course, Mrs. Spinelli saved the only fun part—chopping the sandwiches in half with the biggest knife Gladys had ever seen—for herself.
    By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, Gladys was already