After school, Bella and her mom went to the supermarket. Bella’s mom did the grocery shopping, but she left the cooking up to Bella’s dad, who was a chef.
In the produce aisle, Mrs. Diaz suggested, “Why don’t you get the fruits and I’ll get the veggies.”
“Okay,” said Bella. She selected a pineapple, a bunch of bananas, and a bag of apples. Then she saw that mangoes were on sale. But as Bella took a mango from the display pile . . .
THUMP! SPLAT!
Several mangoes rolled off and landed on the floor. One was overripe and burst when it hit the ground, splattering Bella and other shoppers with sticky juice.
“I’m so sorry!” Bella bent down to pick up the mangoes. As she did, she dropped everything else she was trying to balance: the pineapple, the bananas, and the bag of apples. The fruit went flying in different directions.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” asked a store employee, coming over to help.
Bella nodded. The employee was just trying to be nice, but he made Bella feel like a helpless little kid.
Just then Bella’s mom appeared, holding a bunch of kale.
“Bella, que pasó? What happened?” she asked.
“I . . . I was just getting some mangoes, but then everything fell. . . .” Bella felt so frustrated. She couldn’t do anything right, and now here she was about to bawl like a baby in the middle of the produce aisle!
Her mom helped her collect everything. “There we go!” she announced once all the fruit was in the shopping cart.
“What’s wrong, Bella?” asked her mom after they moved on to the bread aisle. “You’re so quiet today.”
Bella shrugged, but said nothing.
They passed a shopping cart with a little boy in the seat. Bella’s mother smiled at him, then turned to Bella. “I don’t remember you ever sitting still in the cart. You just wanted to push the cart. You used to pretend it was a race car, remember?”
Bella smiled at the memory. But then it made her think of building the race cars, which made her think of Sam’s suggestion about the robotics team, which made her think about that team meeting again. And that memory didn’t make her smile.
“It’s just hard sometimes,” she told her mom. “I’m too big for little kid stuff, but I’m too little for anyone to take me seriously.” And the next thing Bella knew, it all came tumbling out: the flyers, the robotics team meeting, everything.
“I should probably just quit,” she told her mom. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to let me do anything—they didn’t even want to hear my ideas! And they don’t need a little kid messing things up. I mean, you saw what happened with the fruit. I’d probably drop their robot or break it—”
Bella’s mom cut her off. “Do you know how your father got his big break?” she asked.
“No,” said Bella. “How?”
“Well, he was in culinary school, and every student was required to prepare the same dish for a famous chef. Your father read the instructions again and again, but something didn’t look right to him. The recipe called for a tablespoon of salt, and your dad was pretty sure this would be overpowering. Finally, he trusted his intuition and made the adjustment—to a teaspoon of salt—and turned in his dish.”
“The famous chef went down the line of dishes like this.” Bella’s mom pretended to take a spoonful of soup, then made a pained face. “Again and again, until he came to your father’s dish.”
Bella’s mom took another pretend sip. This time, she beamed happily. “That famous chef offered your father his very first job. And you know what he told your dad? ‘Anyone can chop up ingredients. But a true artist uses his mind, not just his hands.’ ”
“That’s true when it comes to programming, too,” said Bella. She thought for a moment. She’d give the robotics team one more shot.
