“Hey, you can’t yell at us,” Weasel cut in. “We just got a real good job offer from some lady outside.”
The Boss snapped his fingers and Cheese’s weighty hand clamped down on Weasel’s shoulder. Weasel glanced at it nervously. The Boss’s voice went smooth, quiet, and frightening. “I can yell at whoever I want, see? Whenever I want. Now, what lady are you talking about?”
“I don’t know, some old lady with red hair. She just left. She said she’d pay us double what you’re giving us. She said we should quit now without notice. After all, she reminded us, we’re respected chefs.”
An old lady with red hair! I’d spent the afternoon hoping that the clown mask had just been a scare tactic to throw me off in the game, but now I knew for certain. Mrs. Lutzkraut had heard me in the park that day and was trying to make sure Mama’s got a bad review. Anything to get me in trouble.
“Respected chefs?” the Boss was screaming. He kicked the stove and threw the garbage pail against the wall. “You two idiots are fired! Cheese!”
“Boss?”
“Get rid of dem!”
Big Earl and Weasel didn’t need any encouragement from Cheese. Making like his eggs, Weasel scrambled through the door with Big Earl close on his heels.
Once again, Mrs. Lutzkraut had gotten her way. Like some evil wizard or witch, she didn’t even need to be present to accomplish her goals! Mama’s Restaurant was now without its chefs. I shook my head and watched the Boss pace around the kitchen breathing hard. Josh watched the pot on the stove. “Bubbles!” He laughed.
The happy outburst brought the Boss back to his senses. He turned to me. “See that, Rodney? That’s how you handle a problem. Do it fast and hard. It’s never a good idea to think too much.” He straightened out the front of his suit—and suddenly smacked his forehead so hard that his head snapped back into some hanging pots. For a few seconds they swung and clunked into each other. “What am I going to do?” he cried. “I just fired our chefs!”
Evidently it took a few minutes for news to reach his brain, but now that it had arrived the Boss looked truly frightened. “Cheese, go out front and try to keep the customers happy. I’ll think of something.”
As Cheese walked by me he said, “Oh, I’m supposed to tell you that your bratty friends are here.”
I guessed that wasn’t the exact wording but I got the idea. After the football game, Wendy, Kayla, Dave, and Slim had said they would try to get their parents to drive them over to Mama’s tonight. They all wanted to see Josh, Rishi, and me dressed as waiters . . . even though I told them we were just busing tables. In all the excitement I hadn’t noticed them. “Where are they sitting?” I asked Cheese.
“They only wanted Cokes so I stuck ’em at that broken table off the dining room.”
The dining room!!! I suddenly remembered Jessica’s father and the bread. Now Jessica would be really mad at me—and for good reason. I turned to the Boss. “Where’s that bread I saw before? That the bakery delivered?”
He pointed without looking to the corner of the kitchen. Most of the trays were empty but there were two loaves left. I grabbed one, cut it into slices, threw it in a basket, and rushed through the swinging doors.
I was halfway to Jessica’s table when I noticed the flowers.
Some guy in a suit was placing the biggest, craziest floral arrangement I’d ever seen right on top of my mom’s table. All around her, people began sneezing and blowing their noses. Eyes were watering. The whole restaurant smelled like a giant florist. My mom looked worried and was waving me over excitedly. As I got closer to her table I noticed a silk banner hanging from some roses: WE’LL MISS YOU, FIDO.
“Rodney, do you know anything about this?” my mom asked.
I guessed it was my mom. I couldn’t really see around the flowers. “I have an idea who might have sent them,” I said, remembering Spats whispering to Toothpick. “By the way, where’s dad?”
“He’s with Rishi. Now Rodney, you know it’s supposed to be a secret when I review a restaurant!”
“Nice going,” Penny added, “and who are your creepy friends over there?” She motioned toward Spats’s table.
“Um, just some people I have to wait on tonight.”
“Very nice people, actually,” Mr. Windbagger told his wife. “Salt of the earth type. Say, is that for us, Rodney? The little miss and I are starving over here.” He was eyeing the breadbasket.
“Um, sure.” I placed it on the table, praying that Jessica and her parents weren’t watching. Just then the front door opened and Pablo walked in, looking shy and a little scared. “Excuse me,” I told my mom. “I have to go.”
“But Rodney . . . the flowers . . .”
I met Pablo at the door. He wasn’t exactly dressed up. In fact, he was wearing his trademark gray hoodie, his jeans were covered in grease, and I noticed his hands were black. “What’s that smell?” he asked.
“Just some flowers. Listen, where have you been?”
He looked sad. “Sorry I’m late, Rodney. The chain on my bike broke on the way here and it took a while for me to fix it.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “You can wash in a second, but right now we better go see the Boss. Everything’s going wrong tonight.”
As we headed toward the kitchen I noticed Rishi and my dad hooking up wires to a big TV that hung across the back wall. I was about to ask what they were doing when I heard, “Pssst!” from Spat’s table. I went over to investigate.
“So,” Spats asked, “did your mom like the flowers? If that don’t get us a good review, I don’t know what will!”
I was about to say, “Good food wouldn’t hurt,” but I had already been down that road with the Boss. Instead I just thanked him.
Toothpick looked like he was ready to eat the tablecloth. “Where’s da food we ordered from Willy?”
Not wanting to be the bearer of bad news, I said, “Should be out in a minute,” and turned to join Pablo, who was talking with Rishi and my dad.
Rishi was grinning like a fool, which usually spelled trouble for me. “Rodney, check it out! I came up with a great way to keep people occupied while they’re waiting for dinner. Your dad and I just hooked it up.” He clicked a remote and I was shocked to see today’s football game against Windham appear on the TV. “You like it? It’s plugged into my phone. I edited it so people can watch the highlights.”
I doubted that anyone but Coach Laimbardi and my dad would enjoy it, but at least it would keep people’s minds off their stomachs! “Great,” I said.
Still looking at the TV, Rishi asked, “Oh, did you see the gang? They’re sitting in the corner. Josh just went over to say hi to Wendy.”
“I’ll go over in a minute. Listen, we have a big problem. Mrs. Lutzkraut fixed it so we don’t have any chefs in the kitchen. All these people will freak out when they realize there’s no food coming—especially those tough guys from Chicago. Rishi?”
“Here comes the part where Coach Belicheat throws his phone in the grass!”
I shook my head. “Let me know how it ends.”
As Pablo and I headed back to the kitchen, he said something that was to change the events of the night—in lots of ways. “If you need someone to cook,” Pablo volunteered, “I’m pretty good at it. I’m the one who cooks for my family. You know, with my mom gone and all . . .”
“Yeah? Do you think you can cook for this many people?” I motioned to the hungry diners . . . and found myself staring into Jessica’s angry eyes. The bread! “Wait right here,” I told him as I dashed over to where she and her mom were sitting.
“Forget something?” Jessica asked.
“I’m so sorry. All this stuff is going on. I’ll get some bread and come right back. I promise!”
“Promise?”
“Promise! Hey, where’s your dad?”
It was Jessica’s mom wh
o answered this time. “He went out for pizza. Said he couldn’t take it anymore.”
I felt awful . . . until Jessica giggled. “He’s really in the men’s room.” Both she and her mom started laughing and I realized that Mrs. Clearwater had the same fun sense of humor—and smile—as her daughter.
“Good one.” I laughed. “See you in a minute.”
I grabbed Pablo and headed into the kitchen, eager to tell the Boss that I might have a solution to his chef problem.
“Who’s this?” the Boss barked, eyeing Pablo up and down. “Like I don’t got enough on my mind.”
“This is my friend Pablo,” I said, not liking the way the Boss was acting in front of him. “He’s the fourth guy who’s helping out tonight. He designed the menu.”
“Yeah, well, he might be good with a crayon but I don’t need someone like him moping around and scaring customers away.”
I motioned for Pablo to pop back into the dining room. Once he was gone I said, “I think you got bigger problems with the customers right now. You don’t have a cook, remember?”
“You’re right, and I’m probably a goner, but I don’t intend to spend my final moments with someone like dat kid.”
“What’s your problem with Pablo?” I demanded. It came out a lot louder than I expected. I could feel my face turning red, either from anger or fear or both.
“Not that I gotta explain myself to a runt like you, but I’m running a classy joint here. That kid ain’t classy. Let’s just say he’s from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“And what’s the right side?” I asked. “Where you come from?” My voice felt like it belonged to someone else. I wanted to tell it to shut up before it got me tossed in the freezer.
“You better watch it,” the Boss warned.
“Or what?” My heart was racing. All I could think about was how right my dad had been about the Boss. He was turning out to be a real creep. What came out of my mouth next probably shocked the Boss as much as it did me. “Either Pablo stays, or we all walk out, right now! Me, Rishi, and Josh! See how good you manage!”
I couldn’t believe I said it. I got ready to bolt if the Boss went nuts.
It sure looked like it was going in that direction. He eyed a big soup pot. Was he going to clobber me with it? The two of us stood staring at each other listening to the water boil. After a minute his eyes fell to the floor. He was in trouble and he knew it. “All right. Your friend can stay.”
“And . . .”
“And what?”
“And you have to apologize to him.”
By now I was sure some prizefighter had taken over my body. In my whole life I had never stood up to anyone like this—especially to a full-grown bully like the Boss. He stared at me and shook his head. “You’re really pushing it kid, but fine, send him in.”
“Pablo!” I yelled.
He came back in. Before the Boss could open his mouth, Pablo said in his quiet voice, “Sorry about the way I look. The chain broke on my bike on the way here. I’ll go wash up.” He started to turn around.
“Wait,” the Boss called, “there’s a sink back here you can use. And listen, sorry about before. This is my big opening and my two cooks just quit. I’m a little jumpy.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Pablo answered, “but I think I can help. I know my way around a kitchen pretty well. I can cook anything.”
The Boss smiled. “Well, go wash your hands, put an apron on, and . . .” Suddenly he paused and sagged down onto a milk crate. “What am I saying? I’m going to have a twelve-year-old be my chef?” He stuck his face into his hands and moaned.
“What’s the matter, Francis?” the Boss’s mother asked, entering the kitchen.
The Boss jumped up and put on a fake smile. “Nothing! Everything’s great. Are you having a good time?”
“Yes, honey, but it looks like the customers are getting tired of watching football. They want to eat.”
“Watching football?” the Boss grumbled. “Who put on the TV?”
His mom looked concerned. “Why are you so upset, sweetie puffs?”
“Cause I got a whole crowd of people and no chefs. I fired them . . . by accident.”
“That wasn’t too smart now, was it, Francis?” She picked an apron off of a hook on the wall.
“Whadaya doin’? You know how I feel about you working in the kitchen.”
“Honey, someone has to cook dinner for those people.”
The Boss sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
“I could use some help though,” she said.
Louder than I’d ever heard him before, Pablo told her all about how he could cook. “Let me help!” he suggested.
“Really? How wonderful. What’s your name?”
“Pablo.”
Mama smiled and patted him on his head. Then she looked at the stack of orders Willy and Cheese had left on the counter. It was almost a foot high. “I’m afraid Pablo and I are going to need a bit more help to get these dinner orders turned around. Maybe you could ask your Chicago friends if they want to—”
“No!” the Boss shouted. “I mean, I wouldn’t bother them. They’re not exactly the kitchen type.”
It was finally my turn to speak up. “I have an idea. It’s our only chance! Wait here a second.”
I was about to charge into the dining room, but this time I remembered. I grabbed the last loaf of bread and tossed it like a football to Mr. Clearwater as I flew past Jessica’s table. A minute later I was back in the kitchen—with Josh, Wendy, Slim, Dave, and Kayla.
Mama smiled and clasped her hands. The Boss looked annoyed. “What’s this, tryouts for Annie? I got a restaurant to run. These kids can’t be back here.”
“These kids,” I said, “are your new junior chefs!”
My friends had jumped at the idea of helping out with the cooking—especially Slim, who had licked his lips and shouted, “I always wanted to see a restaurant kitchen!”
Mama seemed to love the idea. “All right, everyone. Wash your hands and come right back. We have a lot of prep to do.” She had already begun placing large containers of meats and sauces and vegetables on the counters. Luckily, Weasel and Big Earl had begun thawing most of the food before Mrs. Lutzkraut tried to ruin everything.
“Can I help too?” a familiar voice called from the door.
Mama answered, “Only if you promise not to get any sauce on that beautiful blue dress. Better grab an apron, sweetie.”
Jessica gave me a big smile and joined the group. They all stood on one side of the counter with Mama and Pablo on the other. Mama began, “You can call me Mama or you can call me Chef. Got it?”
“Got it!” everyone cheered.
“And I think you all know my partner this evening, Chef Pablo.”
Pablo smiled and bowed. They all clapped.
“Okay, good then. Pablo will show you two boys how to peel potatoes. And you,” she asked Wendy, “have you ever stuffed a cabbage? Now, I’ll need you two girls to start seasoning the meat . . .”
Seeing that Mama was firmly in charge and that things were heading in the right direction, the Boss left to return to the front of the restaurant. As he passed me he looked down and smiled. “Thanks for saving my butt, kid. A lot is riding on tonight with Spats and me. You have no idea.”
“Actually I do,” I told him. “Now get out there before he thinks you forgot about him.”
“You ain’t half bad,” he said before disappearing through the swinging doors.
I turned back to see if Mama needed anything else. She was talking to the one junior chef who was still mesmerized by boiling water. “I’m sorry,” Mama asked, “but what’s your name?”
“Josh.”
“Well, Josh, stop gazing into that pot . . . you’re making me nervous. Do you know anything about beets?”
Josh jumped and spun around. “Yes! Beets make your poo—”
“He just loves beets,” I interrupted.
“How nice, so do I,” Mama said. “Tonight everyone’s going to eat a lot of beets.”
“Hahahahaha!” Josh grabbed his stomach and pounded the counter.
Mama watched him and smiled. “A happy kitchen makes tasty food! So, how is everyone doing?”
I looked around the busy kitchen. I had never seen my friends so quiet. Even Kayla! They were all busy slicing and dicing and mincing and chopping. Giant pots of sauce began simmering on the burners. Pablo carefully checked each one, adding salt or spices where needed. Before long the kitchen erupted with wonderful smells. I smiled. “See you guys in a minute,” I called out. “Just going to check if Rishi needs help.”
I walked back into the dining room and saw that the football game was still on. My dad, Mr. Windbagger, and the two coaches were having a great time. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the customers, who were frowning and sighing. I guess I couldn’t blame them. They were starving—and half were probably Windham fans—but I definitely didn’t mind seeing myself on that giant TV catching the game-winning touchdown.
“Way to go, Rodney!” my dad called over to me.
I gave him a thumbs-up but was busy watching what came next. I was being hoisted on some shoulders. And there I was congratulating Coach Laimbardi in the middle of the celebration. And there was the G-Men float going crazy up and down the field . . . which would mean . . .
I started looking frantically for Rishi. He wouldn’t! I ran over to Spats’s table and asked the Boss, “Have you seen Rishi?”
“No, why?”
Please tell me he wouldn’t be dumb enough to include . . .
AHHHHhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! The restaurant erupted into a horrified scream. I joined in as I watched the porta-potty explode near the Windham bench. The sound of chairs falling backward filled the air as half the restaurant bolted outside gagging. The Boss grabbed his chest like he was having a heart attack.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Spats yelled at him. “You think you can ruin me by making sure this place fails? First you make people wait two hours for food and now this?”
Revenge of the Bully Page 19