Finding Elmo by Monique Polak Page B

would happen next month when we had to start paying rent. It was going to be way more expensive than the old location, and it didn’t take an accountant to know that sales this summer had been kind of slow.
    Dad hadn’t asked my opinion about the move. It was his store, and I was just a kid. If he had asked, I’d have told him I wasn’t worried about money. I was worried about the animals. A bigger store meant Dad had brought in more animals, but he hadn’t hired extra staff to take care of them. That meant more work for all of us and less attention for the animals.
    â€œEverything okay, Dad?” I didn’t know what else to say. For the first time I noticed Dad’s hair—it’s the same brown as mine— had some silver in it.
    â€œUh-huh,” Dad said, without lifting his eyes from the computer screen.
    â€œWant anything from the food court? Coffee? Blueberry muffin?”
    â€œNah.” Dad waved me out of his office. “Just trying to balance these books,” hemuttered. It sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me.
    When I let myself out of Dad’s office, I practically tripped on a piece of shiny black material.
    â€œRodney! You’ve gotta be more careful with that cape.”
    Rodney looked up at me with sad brown eyes. I’d hurt his feelings.
    â€œEr...Phantom of Doom, I should say.”
    Rodney lips curled up a little at the sides. He loved it when people called him Phantom of Doom.
    â€œWhatcha doin’ here, Phantom?”
    Rodney’s eyes dropped to the tile floor. “My mom needed cereal. So she left me here. Said she’d be back in half an hour.”
    I’d never met Rodney’s mom. But she must have bought groceries one item at a time, because she was always leaving Rodney at Four Feet and Feathers. I guess she hadn’t read the sign posted out front:
All children under age ten must be accompanied by an adult
.
    â€œOkay then, Rod—er...Phantom,” I said, “let’s go see how the Red Ears are doing.”
    As Rodney followed me to the terrarium where the Red Ear turtles live, his cape dragging on the floor, I thought he was kind of like a puppy. And if Rodney had a tail, he’d be wagging it.

chapter three
    â€œWhat can I get for you today, Baba?” Mr. Singh asked. He leaned over his counter, his orange turban perched on his head like a flying saucer. Tandoori Palace was the busiest counter at the food court. Some people came all the way from downtown for Mr. Singh’s homemade chai tea and creamy butter chicken. It was only 11:30AM, but customers were already snacking onsamosas or using their nan bread to scoop up Mr. Singh’s famous chicken.
    â€œThe usual, please. An order of butter chicken with basmati rice on the side.”
    Mr. Singh dipped his ladle into one of the copper vats on the stove behind him. “That will be four ninety-five,” he called out when he turned back toward me. His words came out like a song, his voice starting off high, and then dropping down a note at a time.
    Mr. Singh pointed to a stool near his cash register. “Why not keep me company, Baba?”
Baba
, he’d explained to me, was Indian for
dear
.
    Mr. Singh poured himself a cup of chai tea. It smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “Did I mention my great-niece Sapna arrives this weekend?” he asked after he took his first sip.
    I took a bite of butter chicken. “From India?”
    Mr. Singh nodded. “She’s coming to help out at Tandoori Palace. It’s hard for an old man like me to manage on my own. I told Sapna’s mother I needed an extra pairof hands, and she told me Sapna’s were available.”
    â€œWell, that’s good news.”
    â€œYou’ll like Sapna. She’s your age.”
    After Mr. Singh finished serving the next customer, he poured me a cup of chai tea. “My treat,” he said. “Drink up.”
    Mr. Singh