Free It's a Little Haywire by Elle Strauss

for a minute that she’ll say no
and I’ll have to go alone, but then she answers, “Okay, I’ll
go.”
    The next morning I put on my grubbiest
clothes. I feel protective of Mikala and if anyone is going to
judge her, well, they can judge me too.
    Gramps starts his 1971, forest green
Pontiac sedan. It’s the longest, bulkiest car I’ve ever seen and
the only one Gramps has ever owned. My Dad keeps teasing Gramps
that his car better be in his will with Dad’s name on it. It’s in
mint condition, so Dad keeps saying, and Gramps treats it like it’s
his baby.
    Actually, it’s worth going to church
just to ride in it.
    We pick up Mrs. Pershishnick and it’s a
little weird seeing her sit in the seat Gran used to always sit in,
but I don’t dwell on it.
    Mikala is in the back seat beside me,
hanging on to the door handle like she never drove in a car
before.
    “You okay?” I whisper.
    She nods. She’s wearing her faded dress,
but it’s clean, and sandals on her feet. Her hair is washed and it
looks like she brushed it ‘til it shined.
    We have to drive over the bridge and my
heart jumps as I remember Mr. Joseph and how he stood on the wrong
side of the rail. Out the window I see the bottom of the ravine and
it makes me feel a little sick.
    At the church we pile out of the Pontiac
and I’m surprised by all the people there. Not just old folks, but
people my parents’ ages, teenagers and lots of little kids too.
They’re wearing whatever they want to from what I can tell. Blue
jeans, dresses, suit jacket, shorts—it doesn’t seem to matter.
Turns out Mikala and I had worried for nothing.
    A band plays some music, a guitar and
bass and drum and everything. I don’t remember that from Gramps’
old church. Then another guy announces some things including Sunday
School classes for kids our age. I look at Mikala and she sharply
shakes her head. We’re both too shy to go off with a bunch of new
kids so I tell Gramps that we’ll stay with him and Mrs.
Pershishnik.
    The pastor starts preaching and this is
where I plan to zone out and make up my own stories in my head.
Which I do. But I tune back in time to hear the pastor read this
from the Bible: “...for the worker deserves his wages.”
    For the worker deserves
his wages . Then I hear Mr. Joseph’s voice, I don’t need no charity.
    “Mikala,” I lean over and whisper in her
ear. “We have to try again.”
    “What?”
    “The soup line. We have to try again,
only this time I know what we need to do.”
     
    We still have lots of soup and buns, and
Gramps and Mrs. Pershishnick agreed to warm it all up for our
second try, after we tell them our new strategy. Mikala and I write
up more posters but this time they don’t say Free Soup. They say
this:
    Charlie True needs help
with his big garden. Soup and buns in exchange for
labor .
    We replace all the old posters with new
ones, and then, before we go back to Gramps’, we stop by the
alley.
    “Mr. Red!” I see him first. His bushy
fiery head peeks out of his tent.
    “Owen True.”
    “Is Mr. Joseph here?” When I don’t see
him at first, I feel a surge of prickly fear, scared that Mr.
Joseph might have gone back to the bridge. But then he walks around
the corner. I let out a relieved breath.
    “Oh, good, um, I just wanted to let you
know that Gramps needs help. He keeps planting this humongous
garden and it’s just more than he can handle. Even with my help.” I
feel myself talking too fast and pause. Speaking more slowly, I
say, “He can’t pay for help in money but he has lots of food.
Really good soup. Can you come?”
    They don’t say anything. My eyes
dart to Mikala and hers are wide with hope. Please say you’ll come.
    Finally Mr. Red speaks. “We’ll think
about it, how’s that?”
    “We’ve done our best,” Mikala says later
as we wait in Gramps’ yard. I turn on the hose and slurp from
it.
    “Crickets, Owen True, what more can a
person do?”
    I offer her the hose and she takes it.