“I’m sorry. I’m new.” She flicked the glob of relish from her glasses. It landed on top of a mangled bun. A fly immediately dove for it.
“No, you’re not. She’s not,” the boy in the back said. “She’s done this, like, a hundred times or something.”
“I have not, Dennis,” Ari shot back.
“Well, at least thirty,” the boy, whose name I now knew was Dennis, said.
“You’re not going to write about it in the newspaper, are you?” Tyler asked. “Because she can just make you a new one. I don’t want to get in trouble. This job is going on my college résumé.”
I opened my mouth to reassure them all that I was definitely not there to get anyone in trouble, but Dennis interrupted me.
“Wow, uncool, Arielle,” he said. “Get everyone in trouble, why don’t you? Now Tyler won’t get to go to college.”
“Oh! No, no,” I said, patting the air. “Tyler, I’m sure you’re going to go to a great coll—”
“It’ll be free,” Ari offered desperately. “The hot dog, I mean. I think? Yeah. I’m pretty sure Evangeline wouldn’t make me charge you. Since it was my fault. I’ll pay for it.”
“No, you don’t need to pay for anything. You didn’t mess up—”
Dennis made a pssh noise and shook his head. “It’s pretty pathetic if you ask me, to put the squeeze on somebody over a buck hot dog. They pay you at the newspaper or what?”
“I’m not putting the squeeze on—”
“Can you describe me as strong-chinned?” Tyler asked, elongating his neck. He slapped at his Adam’s apple with the back of his hand. “It would be nice to have something like that in writing.”
“I’m here to write a story!” I said, holding up both hands, so they could see my blank reporter’s notebook in one hand and my pencil in the other. “About the hot dog roller. A good story. A nice one. No complaints. Everyone’s going to college. If they want.”
All three paused, blinking at me.
“What? The roller? Why?” Arielle asked.
“It’s new?” I said, and then realizing I sounded as uncertain as she, repeated the words with far more enthusiasm than I felt. “It’s new! And…exciting!”
“Let me get Evangeline,” she said.
Dennis had already dropped the broom and disappeared through a door in the back of the concession stand. Arielle went to the same door and stood timidly by, one leg bent like a deer ready to bolt. She had nacho cheese smudged across the back of her jeans. Soon, she backed away, and Dennis came out, followed by a tall, robust redhead dressed head-to-toe in Parkwood High School spirit wear. She was carrying a giant box of plastic nacho trays. She passed it off to Dennis, who instantly dropped it, sending empty nacho trays scattering everywhere. The woman pretended not to notice, but I could see her wince as all three kids descended upon the mess, Tyler stepping in one accidentally, slipping, and crashing into the boxes of soda syrup.
“May I help you?” she asked, but her smile was posed enough for me to know that Dennis had already filled her in. That was something you learned quickly as a reporter—people get nervous when you’re around and wear wooden smiles.
I stuck out a hand. “Hollis Bisbee, Parkwood Chronicle Weekly.”
“Evangeline Crane, that’s an I-N-E and Crane like the bird,” she said, taking my hand and shaking it. So she’d definitely been filled in. Also, she had a crazy strong grip. Instinctively, I pulled back and wrote her name in my notebook, just so I could save myself from permanent nerve damage. “I understand you’re here about the new baby.” She gazed lovingly at the refilled dog roller.
I smiled through a cringe. New baby? “Yeah, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
There was the muffled sound of a football announcer, followed by a crowd roar of disapproval. Evangeline lost her smile for half a second, but quickly recovered. People around here took bad calls personally, even when they couldn’t see them directly. “Certainly. We’ve got plenty of time before the half. Here, let me get you a dog.” She hurried to the roller and expertly bunned and wrapped a hot dog.
“Great. Has it made things easier for you here in the concession stand?”
“Snack shop,” she corrected, pushing the dog across the counter toward me.
“Sorry,” I said, making a note and underlining it. “Snack shop. Of course.”
“Common mistake,” she said. “It just sounds more fun that way. More professional. And, oh goodness, yes. It is so nice not to have those pans of boiling water back here. Safer for the kids, too.”
There was another—this time louder—angry roar from the crowd. We both glanced. Things were getting serious out there. I hoped Ernie was having a rare moment of consciousness, because there might actually be a story going on right under his nose. One that didn’t already have a template.
“And the customers?”
She crinkled her eyebrows. “They never really had contact with the water pans.”
“No, I mean—” Another roar, including the clear sound of someone yelling, Come on, man, it’s obvious! I wondered what was so obvious.. “Have you had any feedback from the customers?”
When the roar sounded again, it rumbled like actual thunder. Angry, ready-to-mob thunder. We all stared at the concrete wall of the concession stand—snack shop—as if we could see through it and out onto the field.
“What is going on out there?” I wondered aloud.
She scowled. “Well, we are playing the River Fork Otters, you know,” she said. “Known nasty players. That coach—Farkle or whatever his name is—”
“Farley,” Arielle corrected.
Evangeline pointed at her with a hot dog that she seemed to produce out of nowhere. “Yeah, that’s it. River Fork’s notorious Coach Farley is just the worst. I don’t even like him near my snack shop. River Fork doesn’t have a roller like this one, though,” she said, patting the new machine. “So I can see why he’d want to eat here. All they’ve got is his wife Wilma Louise’s rickety old crock pot. She doesn’t
