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told him I had to talk to you about it. I know you and Mom depend on me to work here part time, but this could really look great on my application, and the experience would be incredible. What do you think, Dad?”
    Mr. Port knew the day was coming when his baby would leave him, but he thought that day would be at the end of summer, not the beginning of spring. He knew Shasta loved writing articles for the school newspaper, and she had dreams of becoming a really respected journalist. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do, but he wished it didn’t have to be so soon.
    “Shasta, honey,” he said, “There is no way a hot dog stand is going to come between my girl and her dreams of greatness. Of course you should take it. The Hallston Daily Journal is going to be lucky to have you.”
    Shasta was relieved. She loved her folks so much, she didn’t want them to be short on help for the summer, but this internship was perfect and at just the right time. She hugged her dad tightly thinking how lucky she was to have caring parents.
    “Thanks, Daddy, I really…”
    “Stop it!” Bug screamed from the other side of the Hut. “Give those back you primate!”
    Mr. Port and Shasta whirled toward the commotion to see Hansen Reynolds holding Bug’s paper cup of tater tots up out of her reach. Standing on the seat of the booth, Bug was trying to stretch far enough to snatch them back.
    “What’s wrong, little Bookie Wookie Worm,” Hansen taunted. “Did somebody steal your widdle snackie?”
    He kept the cup of tots just out of her reach and would jerk them further away when she tried to snag them. His crew was laughing behind him and egging him on.
    “Give them back! You’re contaminating them with your idiot juice!” Bug wailed.
    That insult was just biting enough for Hansen to mean business. Nobody embarrasses Hansen Reynolds in front of his subjects. He put the cup right in front of Bug’s face, and, when she made to grab it, he stepped quickly to the side causing Bug to fall face first out of the booth and land on the cold cement floor of the Hut.
    “Now listen here,” Mr. Port bellowed. “I’ll have none of that bullying in my place! You get out, Reynolds. And take your crew with you. If you can’t behave in public, you’re not welcome.” He locked his steely gaze on Hansen.
    Giggling and making quiet insults aimed at Mr. Port, Hansen and his followers moved toward the door. None of them were brave enough to actually be overheard because they knew Bill Port had been in the service. They also knew he kept a bat behind the cash register, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
    As Clara Stagg passed the floor where Shasta was helping Bug to sit up, she quietly said, “Sorry, Buggie. You okay?”
    “Yeth. Thankth, Clara,” replied Bug holding a napkin to her bloody nose.
    “Sometimes he can be a jerk, but he’s not that way all the time,” responded Clara, looking genuinely worried.
    “I guess he keeps those other times secret,” snapped Shasta. “Come on, Bug. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
    As Shasta was helping Bug to her feet, Hansen, looking for Clara, turned from the door. “Come on, Babe. Don’t keep me waitin’.” His gentle tone was belied by the menacing look in his eyes as he kept them on Clara.
    “I’m coming,” said Clara and gave Bug and Shasta an apologetic glance.
    “Out!” Mr. Port said sternly, glaring at Hansen. Hansen met his eyes in defiance for a moment before Clara caught up to him. They turned together and left.
    Mrs. Port was rushing toward the booth with a tray. She placed it in front of Bug and smiled sweetly. “Here you go, Pumpkin, a brand new batch fresh from the fryer!”
    “Thanth Mithus Pord,” said Bug. The bleeding was easing up, and she felt better since the jerks were gone. Mrs. Port winked and hurried back to the front counter. The after school crowd was still trickling in, and she had a line waiting.
    Mr. Port sat down opposite Bug and checked her nose.