Cocoa by Ellen Miles

“And veggie lo mein! Don’t forget the veggie lo mein for Mom!” Charles tugged on his dad’s sleeve as they turned the corner. They were on their way to China Star, the Peterson family’s favorite take-out place.
    “How could we forget the veggie lo mein?” Dad asked. “Mom would kill me. And Lizzie would be furious if we forgot the spring rolls.”
    Charles grinned. “Shrimp, not pork,” he sang out, mimicking his older sister. “And what about the Bean’s Special Chicken?” His younger brother, whose real name was Adam, adored a certain chicken dish on China Star’s menu. The Bean thought it was named Special Chicken,since that’s what Mom called it when she put some on his plate, but its real name was General Tso’s.
    Dad nodded. “We won’t forget that. And of course, I’m ordering the beef with broccoli. What about you?” he asked, as he pulled open China Star’s door.
    Charles stepped inside. A sudden blast of steamy, fragrant air surrounded him. It was cold outside, but the restaurant was warm and bright and bustling. Friday night was always a busy night at China Star. People stood in line, looking up at the menu board above the counter. Behind the counter was an open kitchen, where three men worked at a fast, steady pace. They stirred ingredients in big, round woks over the leaping flames of two gigantic stoves, shouting to one another and to the counter person as they worked.
    Charles loved coming to China Star. The usual routine was that he and Dad drove downtown, ordered the food, and then stopped in at the firehouse where Dad worked. They’d visit there for a few minutes until their food was ready, then pick it up and drive home quickly. Lizzie and Mom would have the table all set, and moments later the whole family would be sighing happily as they filled their plates and dug into the delicious food. Buddy, the Petersons’ puppy, would sit under the table waiting hopefully for a scrap to fall on the floor. China Star night was always a good night.
    There was only one problem. Charles wished he had a favorite dish, like everybody else in the family. Every time he came to China Star, he would stare up at the brightly lit menu, trying to puzzle out which item to order. Thepicture of shrimp wo bar always made his mouth water, but he had tried it once and it was greasy and gross. He liked the sound of sing ding snow dim, but his dad had warned him that it would probably be too spicy for him. He had tried sweet and sour pork, moo shu chicken, and beef chop suey, and they were all good. But he wasn’t quite ready to name any of them as his favorite.
    Fortunately, there were three people ahead of them in line, so Charles had a little time to think.
    Unfortunately, the line moved very quickly.
    “Yes?” The woman at the counter looked at Dad, waiting for his order.
    “Beef with broccoli, please,” Dad said. “And shrimp spring rolls, one order, and vegetable lo mein, and General Tso’s chicken. And …” He looked at Charles.
    Charles panicked. He had been trying to decide between moo goo gai pan, egg foo young, and chicken chow mein, but none of them seemed exactly right. The woman was waiting, pen in hand. Dad was waiting. The customers in line behind them were waiting. He glanced up at the menu again and blurted out, “House Special chow fun!” which was the first thing his eye fell on.
    “Are you sure?” Dad asked.
    Charles nodded.
    “Okay, then,” Dad said.
    The woman at the counter rang up their order and Dad paid. “Twenty minutes,” she told them, as she spun around to hand the order to one of the cooks.
    When they turned to go, Charles spotted a tall, skinny guy who’d been standing in line a few places behind them. “Harry!” he said.
    “Hey there, man,” said Harry, grinning at Charles as he held up a hand for a high five. “What’s up?”
    Charles beamed back at Harry. “The sky,” he said, as he smacked Harry’s hand. “The sky is up.”
    Harry let out a huge