THE DAY CREPT ALONG in the tiniest of increments. After the remark about Frankie’s name and the period of silence that had followed, it didn’t take too long for Seaweed to start up his tricks again. Mr. Washington tried several times to cut him down to size, but Seaweed had the sort of personality, it seemed, that could not be easily cut down or contained, at least not within the four white walls of a reasonably small kitchen.
Frankie concentrated on clearing the stack of boxes by the door. Finally, after every pot and pan was properly shelved, she gathered up the empty boxes to take outside. She pushed open the door, but could only open it partway, as the brick building next to the restaurant was so close, it hindered the door’s full potential. The space between the buildings was wide enough that Frankie could squeeze through the door, but not with all of the boxes filling her arms. She looked back inside the kitchen. Everyone was tending to their own tasks. Everyone, that is, except for Seaweed. But as soon as Frankie noticed him watching, he turned his back and emptied the dirtied wash bucket into the deep porcelain sink.
Frankie let the boxes fall to her feet and then slipped through the door. She stepped out into a very narrow alleyway, if you could even call it that, because it was so thin, she could fit only if she kept her arms by her side. Once outside, even as she was so confined, she found she could breathe. She looked up at the narrow strip of sky that lit the small space around her, and with stiff soldier arms followed the alley all the way to the street.
The alley emptied out at Potomac Street, and she stood for a minute trying to decide which direction would be the quickest route home. Before she could make up her mind, Leroy Price came up behind her and kicked the backs of her knees so that her legs buckled and she fell to the brick sidewalk. “Smell that?” said Leroy to Marty, who was standing a few feet behind him. Leroy got close to Frankie and sniffed her hair. “Stinks like sauerkraut.”
Frankie got to her feet and charged at Leroy, swinging. He put his hand on her forehead and kept her at such a distance that her arms couldn’t connect. And he laughed. Oh brother, did he laugh.
Marty Price came forward then, just as casual as could be. “So, Frankie,” he said, “have you been swimming yet this summer?” He said this as if it were the most normal thing in the world to have a conversation with someone while she’s in the act of trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to knock their big brother’s head off. “Me and Leroy’s been twice,” he went on, “and I can do a backflip off the side. Just learned how.”
Frankie was still swinging at Leroy and grunting like a trapped pig. “That’s nice, Marty,” she managed to say.
“Think you might be going sometime soon?” he asked. “You can watch me.”
Finally, Frankie’s flailing arms got tired and she quit fighting. “I don’t think so,” she said, catching her breath and turning her head under Leroy’s grip so she could eyeball him.
“How come?” said Marty.
She grabbed Leroy’s wrist with both hands and tried to pry his hand loose. “Because I guess I have to be here, most days.”
Leroy maintained his hold. “What kind of a restaurant is this, anyway?” He reached down with his thumb and pushed against the tip of Frankie’s nose. “What do Germans like to eat?”
A fire ignited inside Frankie. “What did you say?” she yelled.
Then Seaweed stepped out of the alley holding a wire brush. He cleared his throat and it sounded like a low warning growl of a dog. “Heard a lot of racket out here. Thought maybe one of the pigs from the butcher down the street done got loose. And here it was just you, Frankie.”
Frankie gritted her teeth at him.
Leroy let go of Frankie’s head, finally. “What business is it of yours?” he said.
Seaweed looked right past Leroy and said to Frankie, “Your daddy come huntin’ for you in the kitchen.”
Leroy kept his eyes on Seaweed, and while he did, Frankie kept hers on Leroy and thought of at least two clever things she wanted to say about him being so stupid, but since he wasn’t paying attention, she decided instead to kick him in the kneecaps. As she brought her leg back, though, Seaweed warned, “Now, Frankie. I know you don’t want to keep your daddy waiting.”
Frankie dropped her leg mid-kick and nearly lost her balance. Leroy looked right at her. “Yeah, Frankie,” he said, laughing. “Better do what you’re told.”
Frankie was burnt up about the both of them: Leroy, for being . . . well, Leroy, and Seaweed, for treating her like a Number Three. What she didn’t need was another keeper. She made her way back to the alley and kept going past Seaweed without even putting eyes on him.
“See you, Frankie,” said Marty, before Leroy smacked him on the back of his head.
Frankie didn’t reply, but marched stiff-armed down the alley back toward the kitchen. Only then did she notice the wooden, painted sign on the door: colored entrance.
“There you are,” said Daddy, who, along with Mother and Elizabeth, was standing next to Mr. Stannum. Daddy smiled when he saw Frankie and held out his arm to fold her in, but she pretended not to notice and instead kept her eyes on the floor. The fire inside her was still burning. Daddy dropped his arm and gave Mr. Stannum a pat on the shoulder. “The kitchen is certainly shaping up. But are we on track to open on the fifth?”
Mr. Stannum swallowed. “Yes, Mr. Baum.” He glanced around at Mr. Washington, Amy, and Julie, and then his eyes narrowed on Seaweed, who had just come in from the alley. “Come hell or high water.” Then he looked at Frankie, and Mother and Elizabeth, and cleared his throat. “Pardon me.”
Mother gave a polite smile, but Frankie had other things on her mind. She didn’t know where Leroy Price was getting his information, but she was not about to let his remark go unanswered. She took a step forward so that she was in front of Daddy’s good eye and asked, “Are we making German food?”