How to Be Brave Read Online Free PDF Page A

dad would counter. “That is all that should matter.”
    And for a few customers, he was right. He continues to do a decent lunch since he does have a prime location—near State and Kinzie—and it’s still enough to make ends meet. But dinnertime is always empty. Prospective customers head down the street to the newer cafés and bars, all with hip, idiotic names like the Hog Trough (slow-smoked ribs) and Green Pastures (build your own salad). I spent all summer working the register so my dad could save a few bucks and I’d have something to do. And I’ve promised to be here on Saturdays, A) to help my dad, and B) to earn some extra cash. It’s an easy job since it rarely gets busy. I mostly just sit at the register and read.
    Now that school’s started, I still come here after school instead of home. It’s partly to keep him company and mostly to avoid being in an empty apartment staring at my mom’s paintings that fill up the place. Tonight, I also need to talk to him about getting some extra money for cheerleading. If I make it—I mean when I make it (Think Positive!)—I’ll need some cash for uniforms and trips. The packet said they’ll provide funding to those in need, but I’ll still need to pay for part of it.
    I take out my homework and the cheers that I have to practice for next week while I eat. I wind a few strands of spaghetti around a fork and slurp it up. It’s so good, better than most places. I can taste my dad’s secret ingredient: cinnamon. He cooks all the food himself. He opens early at six A.M , closes at seven P.M. , and manages and cooks all day long. My mom used to call him a workhorse. I said he was a control freak.
    â€œNancy,” my dad calls out to the only other person working tonight, “why don’t you just go home now? Georgia and I, we can take care of somebody if they come in.” Nancy is his most dedicated server, who’s been working for him for more than twenty years. She and my mom were about the same age, and they always got along well. Nancy sat with my mom at the hospital at the end.
    Nancy unties her apron, packs up her stuff, and starts to head out. “Thanks, boss,” she says to my dad. Then she turns to me. “You take good care of him, okay?”
    I nod and turn my attention back to my spaghetti and homework. Revolutionary War. Second Continental Congress. Thomas Paine. Declaration of Independence. Then I pull out the packet of cheers and practice under my breath. Memorize, memorize, memorize.
    My dad stops his counting and looks at me. “Tell me some news. Tell me what you learned today.”
    This is something my dad has said nearly every day since I was in kindergarten. It might partly be a way for him to try to connect with me, but I think it’s also a way for him to learn, since he stopped going to school in the eighth grade. He’s actually really smart, but he never had a chance to prove it.
    â€œUm, well…” I put down the cheers and slide my history book back in front of me. “Now we’re learning about the making of America, like Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin and all of that.”
    My dad shuffles a few bills on the glass counter. “I remember, from my citizenship tests way back.” He takes a hundred-dollar bill from the pile of money and holds it up. “Look, I have one of Franklin. Only one, though.” He shakes his head. “It used to be that we’d have at least nine of these come in every day.…
    â€œAnyway.” He catches himself and lays the lone paper in its own stack. “Benjamin Franklin. He was a good man. Did you know he spoke Greek? I bet your teacher doesn’t know that. And he wanted Greek to be the official language of the United States. If he had it his way, we’d all be speaking Greek and then you and I could understand each other.”
    I act surprised, like I didn’t know