I was getting used to the chaos. I shifted behind the serving counter and grabbed my spatula. Bernita, the woman running the register, shot me a wry grin. “Those kids love Pizza Mondays.” It was true. Since starting here, I’d come to realize that kids were bottomless pits of hunger when it came to pizza. They didn’t even mind that Mrs. Portwell snuck vegetables under the cheese. Probably didn’t bother to chew the food, just inhaled it as fast as they could. I seemed to remember Natalie and me having contests about who could eat their pizza the fastest. Some things never changed. The lunch line filled fast, and I had trays thrust in my direction as I served up slices of pizza and a scoop of corn on their plates. Mrs. Portwell stared at me from her spot on the far end of the counter then gave a short, approving nod. The gesture warmed my chest. Yeah, this wasn’t my dream job, but at least I was doing my best—and the effort was being noticed.
