Hit and Run Read Online Free PDF Page A

Michael?” Mr. Scorza said. He always called guys by their full names. I was Michael. Tom was Thomas. Steve was Stephen.
    â€œI was wondering, Mr. Scorza,” I began. All of a sudden my mouth turned dry and my tongue got tangled up in my teeth. I must have sounded like a kindergartenkid on his first day away from mommy, all nervous and shy.
Spit it out
, I told myself.
So what if he says no? It’s not going to kill you, is it?
    â€œI have some extra time,” I began, rushing the words out.
    Mr. Scorza’s eyes were fixed on mine. The smile had vanished from behind his moustache. I backed up a little without looking where I was going. My foot hit a box and I started to topple backwards. My hands flew out and I grabbed at another box to stop myself from falling, but the one I grabbed must have been empty or filled with feathers or something because when I grabbed at it, it lifted easily and I kept falling. Mr. Scorza started to get up from his desk. He looked worried. I sat down hard on the box behind me. Then, with him still watching and still not saying anything, I stood up and tried not to look like a major goof.
    â€œRelax, Michael,” Mr. Scorza said. “I don’t bite.”
    I tried to smile. My lips trembled. It was too late to back out. I had already started.
    â€œWhat I mean is, if you needed someone to work a few more hours, I’m available,” I said. “I’m a hard worker, Mr. Scorza.” It was true. I didn’t spend any time out behind the store like some guys who said they were going back to the storeroom to get another case of peanut butter or margarine or whatever, but who slipped out into the alley for a smoke first. I never did that. I don’t even smoke.
    â€œI know you are, Michael,” Mr. Scorza said. “You’vebeen working here how long?”
    â€œAlmost a year,” I said.
    â€œTen months, two weeks,” Mr. Scorza said. For all I knew, he was right on the nose. “I had to let Thomas Manelli go today,” he said. “You know Thomas?”
    Sure I did. Thomas was two years older than me and a real jerk. Where some guys would slip out for one smoke, Thomas would settle in for three or four, and he’d go on about how stupid Mr. Scorza was, how easy it was to put one over on him.
Guess not, eh, Tommy?
    â€œThomas worked for me three days a week, four to nine. His shift is available,” Mr. Scorza said.
    I stared at him. “You mean, me?”
    â€œIf you think you can handle it.”
    â€œYou mean, on top of what I already do?”
    â€œIf you think you can handle it,” Mr. Scorza said again. “I like to see a boy get a good education. Your schoolwork is important, Michael. You don’t want to let it suffer.”
    I nodded, but I wasn’t thinking about school. Instead I was calculating how much more money I would make. Five hours a day times three days a week would add fifteen more hours to my paycheck. I’d have more money than I’d know what to do with.
    â€œI can handle it, Mr. Scorza,” I said. “I know I can.”
    â€œYou can start Tuesday, Michael. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, right after school. Okay?”
    â€œOkay,” I said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had thrust out a hand. Mr. Scorza smiled at me as he shook it.
    â€œYour mama used to come in here every Friday night and buy her groceries for the week,” he said. “From the time you were this big.” He held his hands barely a shoulder width apart. “She always had you with her. She would be proud of you, Michael, if she could see you now.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Scorza.”
    I was careful not to trip over any more boxes as I let myself out of Mr. Scorza’s tiny office. And I had done it! I had asked for extra hours, and I had got them. Now I was going to be making more money, which meant maybe I could buy a couple of pairs of new jeans and some new sneakers,