NO EXIT (The Apple Grove Gang #1) Page 7

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  “Moe, you’ve hardly touched your casserole. If you don’t eat well, you’re not going to grow up to be strong. Besides, there are starving children in other parts of the world who would give anything to have what you’re not eating.”

  Moe’s mom had a way that made you feel crummy if you didn’t eat her tuna casserole. Despite Moe’s disgust, his dad loved it and insisted they eat it every Tuesday night. “Ugh, I hate it!” Moe always told the gang. “It smells like fish.”

  “Hey, Dad, how much would it cost for electricity every month for a house about four times bigger than ours or for one as big as the community center?”

  “Moe, eat your dinner,” his mom said.

  “How much money does someone who has a job make, Dad?”

  “Moe, take another bite of your casserole.”

  Moe’s face began to turn an unusual shade of red and then white as he forced down another bite of the tuna. Unfortunately, a large piece of potato chip caught in his throat, and he began coughing.

  “Moses Aloysius Harris! If you don’t stop acting out and eat your dinner— He’s choking! Do something, he’s choking!”

  Moe’s dad stood up, took a step toward the kitchen and stopped. He turned, took a step toward the living room and stopped. He completed this strange series of indecisive movements three times. When at last he chose a direction to run, it was to the kitchen. As he entered it, he slipped on a rug and landed flat on his back.

  Watching him, Moe thought it was funny, and he began to laugh. Moe laughed and laughed and finally laughed so hard that the potato chip shot out of his mouth and landed directly on his father’s forehead. Their dog, Sammy, was lying on the floor with his back legs stretched out behind him and his chin resting between his front legs. Noticing the tuna flavored potato chip, Sammy lifted his head. He turned and smelled the chip, gave his head a funny little shake, then put his head down and pretended to sleep.

  “Moe, you poor thing, let me get you some ice cream. You don’t have to eat that ol’ tuna casserole,” his mother cooed.

  In his weakest voice, Moe said, “Thanks, Mommy,” all the while thinking to himself, Hah, I will never have to eat tuna casserole again! Happy days are here.