Free The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman

level of swimming lessons your test places you in?”
    â€œYes, of course!” Hamilton’s voice, by contrast, had grown warm and hearty. Too hearty. “I’m
so
glad we could come to this understanding. We’re all grown-ups here, after all.” He patted Mr. Bentley on the arm.
    Mr. Bentley shook his head and turned back toward the office.
    Mrs. Spinelli’s voice called Gladys’s attention back to the kitchen. “How many apples are left, girlie? Lunch starts in ten minutes!”
    CIT duty was supposed to end at noon so that the CITs could eat lunch with the other campers, but when Gladys started to untie her apron, Mrs. Spinelli balked. “Where do you think you’re going? Who’s going to help me serve?”
    â€œI . . .” Gladys started, but then she thought better of it. If she complained about staying late, Mrs. Spinelli might decide to get rid of her—and as bad as this kitchen job was, Gladys wasn’t sure there were any other CIT duties she would be better at.
    So she took the spot next to Mrs. Spinelli at the serving window as the first kids lined up with their trays. “Ham or bologna?” Mrs. Spinelli asked each one, then passed them a plate. Gladys was in charge of handing out the apples, so at least she didn’t need to say anything to anybody, and the kids helped themselves to drinks from a cooler on the patio.
    Charissa showed up at the window about halfway through the lunch rush. “Hey, Gladys!” she cried. “How was your first morning in the kitchen?”
    â€œOh, um—”
    â€œNo talking!” Mrs. Spinelli barked. “You’re holding up the line!”
    Charissa rolled her eyes but accepted her apple from Gladys and moved on.
    Ten minutes later, the lunch supplies were running low, and the line had thinned out. Gladys was bending over to scoop one of the last wrapped apples out of her barrel when she heard a voice respond to Mrs. Spinelli’s “Ham or bologna?” question with “Excuse me, but have you got any herbs handy?”
    â€œAny
what
?”
    Gladys straightened up to see Mrs. Spinelli’s incredulous stare beaming through the window at Hamilton Herbertson.
    Hamilton smiled. “Herbs. You know, those green things that people use for seasoning. Maybe some basil, or oregano? Even arugula would work.”
    Mrs. Spinelli swung her gaze from Hamilton to Gladys. “Arugula?
You
put him up to this, didn’t you?”
    â€œWhat?” Gladys asked.
    â€œOh, I see what you’re up to,” the cook said. “You think I won’t listen to you about the lettuce, so you got one of your friends to ask me for it instead!”
    Gladys was outraged. “I did not!” she cried. “And he’s not my friend!”
    But Mrs. Spinelli wouldn’t listen. “Your tricks won’t work on me,” she muttered. “That’s strike two for attempted sabotage. You’re on thin ice now, girlie.” She turned back to Hamilton. “And you—you’ll eat the lunch you’re given, or nothing at all.” She shoved a ham sandwich at him and stepped away from the window. “You can serve the rest of the lunches yourself,” she told Gladys. “I’m taking my break.”
    Gladys’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly as she watched Mrs. Spinelli disappear through the screen door. Then she turned back to the window where, to her annoyance, Hamilton was still standing.
    â€œI didn’t get my apple,” he said.
    Gladys thought about throwing it at him. “What was that all about?” she demanded. “You just got me in a lot of trouble—and for something I didn’t even
do
!”
    Hamilton looked flustered. “Well, I’m sorry about that,” he said, his tone not unkind. “It’s just that I always like to have herbs on my ham sandwiches.”
    Gladys’s fury ebbed a tiny bit.