Marcel says, “This sucks! Maybe we should split up.”

I tell him, “Fine, walk. But you won’t get any extra pizza.”

Frank backs me up and says, “Yeah, it’s still a community pot.”

We ride the bus with our eyes looking down. We look at the aisle’s ridges and the gum stuck in the ruts. We don’t notice the blue skies, or the green leaves, or the smiling flowers everywhere. We only see the oil spills that rise like genies from the streets and think one wish, give me just one.

Inside Big Yo’s, it’s dark and the lights are off. The pizza parlor feels like outer space because of the blinking video games and flashing beer signs and the ring from the TV with the volume on high. There’s a man under the TV and he gets up from his stool. The fan on the counter blows his hair into cotton candy clouds. He says, “What you kids want?” But we don’t say anything. “Why aren’t ya barbecuing or something with the rest of the masses out there?” He signals toward the open door and squints against the glare of sun streaming in. We all look down at the black and white checkered floors. He says, “Whatever,” and goes back to his seat.

He’s watching Giants baseball. When he’s not in front of the fan his hair settles into waves like the ones in Malaysia. Not too big and not too small but fun enough. He has nice eyes and big white teeth. He asks me, “See something ya like?”

I blush. I can see my face in the mirrored beer sign all red. I can see my goose bumps because I get cold when I’m hungry. I can see my hair flattened against my head, and my soggy shirt with the little triangles poking through, a shy hello, right under where it says Chips on my chest.

“Just holler,” he says. “It’s the bottom of the ninth and we’re down by two. But we already have two men on base and only one out.” He punches his left palm with his right fist and says, “C’mon now, nice and easy, nice and easy.” When he does this, he looks like Erik Estrada.

The kids are hovering around Ms. Pac-Man. They are fighting over who gets to hold on to the joy stick. Frank is sitting with his head on the table. He’s not being bossy anymore. He’s just holding his stomach with both of his hands. I collect everyone’s money. I count the quarters first, then the dimes, then the lonely nickel from behind the fridge, and finally the pennies. I recount it to double check but still we only have enough for exactly one slice of pepperoni. If we had thirty more cents we could have had two cheese slices. If we hadn’t taken the bus, we could have gotten one cheese and one pepperoni.

I smash my hair back into place. I borrow Frank’s comb. I fluff up my shirt to air it out and tie it in a knot above my belly button. I pinch my cheeks to make them have rosy apples like I’ve seen mom do. Finally, I take a deep breath before I approach.