Kimchi & Calamari by Rose Kent Page A

store. It was drizzling and windy and we knew we were nuts to have ridden into town, but we both needed a pick-me-up. Nash wanted to join a summer roller hockey league, but his mom wouldn’t let him because of his migraines. And last night had been the Celebrating Our Heritage Night at school, but my family hadn’t gone. Mrs. Peroutka encouraged me to go, but I couldn’t get past Essaygate. Everyone would have whispered and stared at me like I was an ex-con.
    All wasn’t doomed, however. Today was the lastWednesday of the month, which meant good news for diehard comic fans: the latest Amazing Spider-Man would be on the shelf!
    I wiped rain off my forehead as Nash opened the door to Nothing But Comics. It felt warm inside and it smelled musty, as usual. No one was there but Corn Head, the guy who owns the store. He’s got choppy dark hair, but he bleaches the tips yellow like corn kernels. For five years Nash and I have been coming to this store, and I doubt Corn Head has ever said more than ten words to us. Me, if I owned a comic book store—and I just might someday—I’d yack for hours with my customers. And I’d copycat the bookstore chains and open up a Superhero Café right inside. Only I’d skip the lattes and biscotti and sell barbecue potato chips, candy bars, and sodas. Nothing else goes better with a crisp new comic.
    Nash and I walked straight to the Marvel section, and I grabbed “Amazing Spider-Man #788.” He picked up the latest “Wolverine,” then put it back again.
    â€œJust this,” I said, handing the comic and my money to Corn Head. Then I waited for Nash. I had a feeling he was low on cash, so I tried to give him my change, but he shook his head no.
    â€œTake it. It’s not like I’ve got a girl to spend it on,” I said.
    I knew Nash wanted the comic. The cover had an awesome hologram of Wolverine with his claws wrapped around Magneto’s neck, on top of a skyscraper.
    â€œThanks. I’ll pay you back, promise,” he assured me.
    â€œJust think of it as a cash advance for my search fee,” I said.
    We crossed the street and went to Salvo’s Corner Store. I was drooling for some chocolate, and we still had money to blow.
    â€œSo what happened with Kelly?” Nash asked as we walked to the back of the store.
    â€œShe turned on me after Essaygate. It hurt her reputation to hang out with a pond-scum plagiarizer,” I said.
    Nash pulled open the refrigerator case and grabbed two root beers off the shelf. “What does Kelly Gerken know? The only subject she’s an expert on is herself,” he said, shaking his head.
    The rain was pouring down in buckets when left the store, so we waited under the awning for it to stop. We watched the street get soaked, drinking our root beers and splitting a Baby Ruth bar.
    â€œTalk about bad luck, Joseph. I finally got my chance to talk with Ok-hee the other day because we’d finished our lab before the rest of the class. But wouldn’t you know, I get called down to the office. My mom signed meout of school for another neurologist appointment.”
    â€œThat stinks worse than skunk juice!”
    He nodded. “My mom’s obsessed with my migraines. She’s dragged me to three doctors so far this month.”
    â€œCan’t they just give you something to stop them?” I asked.
    Nash shrugged. “It’s not that easy. My mom still thinks sports trigger the headaches since they started last year during hockey. But I read that sometimes it’s diet. I’ve started keeping track of what I eat and drink every day to figure it out myself.”
    â€œYou should rig your journal to prove homework causes migraines,” I suggested.
    â€œHmm,” Nash said, rubbing his chin.
    We both laughed.
    As we walked back toward our bikes, Nash told me he’d been checking my posting every day. “One response came in yesterday, but the