Pete’s Repeat shop was a small store at the far end of an outdoor mall where all the stores’ front doors faced the parking lot. The boys walked along, glancing through the store windows.
“Boy, guys,” Leon said, “this is really nice of you. If I don’t get that plate back, I’m sunk.”
“Hey!” Philip pointed at a window display. “They look like the pants my aunt gave my mom and dad.”
“See the sign?” said Emery. “I told you they were made of sat . . .”
“There’s the store,” Leon interrupted.
“Stop jumping up and down, Leon,” ordered Philip. “Or else we’re not going in there with you.”
“I’m still. I’m not jumping. See.” Leon walked in a proper manner to the door of Pete’s and pulled it open for his friends. The boys walked inside. The store was small and not lit very brightly. The aisles were narrow. Tables, shelves, and glass cases of old, used, no-longer-wanted stuff spread out across the floor. Items hung on the walls, and a few even dangled from the ceiling.
“Find the old plates,” whispered Leon.
Pete sat at the front counter and eyed the boys. “Help you?”
Emery gave Philip a push forward. Philip tossed an uncomfortable glare over his shoulder at his friend and said, “Leon, tell him.”
“Me? Uh, hi, sir.”
Pete puffed out his cheeks. “Yeah, hi. May I help you, young man?”
“You got plates?”
“No, they’re my own teeth.” Pete made a face like he was growling.
The boys looked at each other, perplexed.
“Never mind,” said Pete. “A joke. Plates, dishes, glassware over there. And be careful. You break it, you bought it.”
“We won’t break nothing,” Leon assured Pete.
“Be sure.” Pete went back to his newspaper.
The boys maneuvered their way through the aisles until they reached a table covered with glasses of all sizes and shapes.
“Can you find it?” asked Emery. He pointed to a case with glass doors. “How about there?”
Leon studied the case and suddenly did a little dance. “Oh! That’s it. See it? In there. See it?”
“Which one?” asked Philip.
“There. That one. The one with the big red rose on it.”
Philip and Emery knelt in front of the case and studied the plate.
“I don’t see any crack,” said Philip.
“The thing coming out of the rose at the bottom.” Leon touched the case. “There.”
“That black line?” asked Emery.
“Yeah.”
He turned to his cousin. “That’s the stem of the rose.”
Leon pressed his nose to the glass. He shrugged. “Looked like a crack to me.”
“Your head has a crack,” said Emery. “What’s the tag say?”
“Eiiiii,” Leon moaned. “Eighteen dollars. I don’t have eighteen dollars. I only have five dollars.”
“Emery and I each have two.”
“That’s only nine dollars. I’m sunk. I’m really sunk.”
“Stop with the sunk stuff,” said Emery. “You talk like you’re a boat with a hole in the bottom.”
“I am. I don’t even have a bottom. I’m underwater. I’m drowned. I’m . . .”
“Will you shut up, Leon? Look, do this.” Philip explained and the boys went back to the front of the store.
“Mr. Pete,” Leon began.
Pete lowered his newspaper. “Yeah?”
“The plate back there. Ya gotta help me, or I’m sunk.”
Philip poked Leon, and Emery whispered, “No sinking, Leon.”
Leon explained to Pete the circumstances surrounding the plate.
“I can’t give you the plate,” said Pete. “I gave the guy who gave it to me eight bucks for it.”
“We’ll give you nine,” said Philip, and he put his hand on Leon’s shoulder. “He’s going to get beaten if he doesn’t get the plate back for his mother.”
“Yeah,” Emery added. “His mother’s gonna lock him in his room all summer if he doesn’t get that plate back. It was her favorite plate ever.”
“I gotta get it or I’m sunk,” Leon said gloomily, throwing his saddest look at Pete.
Pete cast his weary eyes toward the ceiling for a moment. “Lemme see your money.”
The boys dug in their pockets and produced a five-dollar bill and four ones.
Pete took the money and said, “Stay here.” He walked around from his counter and a few moments later reappeared with the dish in his hand. “Since I’m making a whole dollar on the deal, I’ll wrap it up real pretty for ya.”
“Gee thanks,” Leon gushed. “You’re nice. We’ve been helping Mr. Sorino.”
“Who’s Mr. Sorino?” Pete asked as he wrapped old newspapers around the plate.
“The man who gave you that dish,” Leon explained.
“That his name?” Pete asked, reaching for another sheet of newspaper.
“You don’t know his name?” asked Philip. “He gives you a lot of stuff, right?”
“Who? The guy who gave me this?”
“Yeah,” said Philip. “He gives us money to find old stuff he can give to you.”
Pete taped the newspaper closed. “He don’t give me that much stuff. Been in a few times with a few things. Usually pretty good things.”
“He doesn’t give you a lot of old, fixed-up stuff?” Philip repeated, wanting to be sure he heard correctly.
“Look around. Ain’t I got enough junk already? Here, kid. Be careful what you give away next time.”
“But Mr. Sorino?” Philip insisted, as two people walked up to the counter, one holding a lamp, the other holding four old books.
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t give you fixed up stuff?”
“No, now get going. I got work to do.”
The boys left the store.
“That’s funny,” Philip said as they walked. “He hardly knows Mr. Sorino.”
“Maybe he knows Mr. Sorino’s first name and not his last name,” Emery suggested.
“I don’t think so. You heard what he said. He hardly sees him.”
“This is great. So great,” Leon bubbled, clutching his package tightly. “Thanks, guys. Thanks. I’m gonna get you that four dollars back real fast. I’m gonna knock on doors and take Mr. Sorino lots of stuff. You’ll see.” Leon started singing. “I’m gonna pay you ba-ack. I’m gonna pay you ba-ack.”
“Leon, just shut up,” Emery pleaded.
Leon happily obeyed, and the boys walked back to their neighborhood.