I hear the man yell, “Shit! God, damn-it!” before I’ve reached the counter. Then he says, “Are ya gonna stand there all day or are ya gonna order?”

The coins are all sweaty inside my fist. I can smell the tinny stink of it. I nod.

“All right, then what’ll it be?”

I point to the pepperoni behind the glass.

“How many?”

I hold up a finger.

“One? How ‘bout your friends there?”

I shake my head no from side to side.

He says, “Not much of a talker huh?”

I’m holding my breath and then I say quick as I can, “Two please, if we can owe you.”

He’s looking at the TV. I bite my bottom lip and wait. It is only a commercial but he watches closely because there are two pretty women at the beach in red, white, and blue bikinis. Together they smile and say, “This Bud’s for you.” The game comes back on. He puts a pepperoni slice on a paper plate. “There ya go, one-fifty,” he says. He sits back down with his eyes still glued to the screen.

I put the exact change on the counter beside the register. I wonder if the man didn’t hear me or if he was too embarrassed to say no. My shirt looks stupid and I yank it back down.

Sammie runs up and says, “Where’s my slice?”

Sophia says, “That’s mine.”

“Shut-up,” I say.

I leave so the man won’t be even more embarrassed for us. I pick the booth as far away from him as possible. We gather in the darkest corner of the room. It’s as if we’ve fallen in a well.

“But where’s mine?” says Sophia. Her bottom lip sticks out in a pout.

I give her the first bite so she won’t cry. We pass the slice around. Each one takes a bite and then watches as the next person takes their bite. We watch each other like tigers, or rats, or Viet Cong spies. We say to each other, “Don’t eat it all,” or “We’re skipping you next time,” or “Oink! Oink!”

The seven of us are bent over the one slice. Our elbows are on the table. There are five pieces of pepperoni so we divide them in half to make ten. There are three halves left and those go to the youngest. Our parents always tell us older siblings take care of younger siblings so Frank and I, and Dean and Marcel have to hold out. I see the spit bubble on the corners of Frank’s mouth. We are pigs at the trough, another secret to hide.

When we are done we stare at the white paper plate with the wet grease spots. Marcel picks up the paper plate and licks at the yellow-orange trickles of oil. He then puts the plate smack to his face and tries to suck out every last bit of it. We all understand that want. Not one of us makes fun of him for it, for cherishing that extra bit. We watch silently. It’s the first time we’ve been quiet all day.