by Manfred Koehler

Melanie’s lower lip stuck out, nearly touching her nose. She pushed her peas to the plate’s edge with a fork.

No garlic butter with my peas! she shouted in her mind. Peas without garlic butter were worse than a sundae without ice cream.

Her kid brother, Michael, shoveled peas into his mouth like a machine.

Then there were the baby potatoes.

Does Mom really expect me to eat plain baby potatoes? she wondered. They needed to be mashed and sprinkled with paprika. That’s the only way to eat potatoes.

Michael ate his plain baby potatoes whole.

The roast beef was a little dry. I don’t like chewing roast beef more than I have to, she reminded herself. Melanie chopped miserably at her meat with her knife.

Michael chewed his meat like a hungry wolf.

Worst of all, the gravy was lumpy. Melanie picked a tiny clump from the tip of her tongue and scowled. "I can’t stand to have lumps in my gravy," she mumbled.

Michael tried to lick the last smear of gravy from his plate. Mother stopped him.

So Long, Supper

"What were you mumbling?" Mother asked.

"I said I can’t stand to have lumps in my gravy," Melanie replied.

"Then scrape it aside and don’t eat it."

"But the meat’s too dry, and I don’t even like the peas and potatoes."

Mother frowned. She tapped a finger to her nose, which she always did when she was thinking deep thoughts.

Suddenly she picked up Melanie’s plate, wrapped it in plastic and set it in the fridge. Then she turned back to the table.

"Your food will be waiting," she said to Melanie.

Mother no longer frowned. Nor was she tapping her nose, which meant she had come to a big decision. There would be no changing her mind.

Melanie decided to try anyway.

"Can I have a bowl of ice cream?"

"Your food will be waiting," Mother repeated, quietly finishing her own meal.

Melanie’s eyes went big. This was something new. Usually Mother would just throw unwanted food in the garbage; then Melanie would eat something else. But not this time.

Melanie went to her room. I’m not hungry anyway, she told herself.

She sat on her bed, tapping her nose.

Yes, I’d rather starve than eat that food, she decided.

Goodbye, Breakfast

Melanie woke up the next day feeling hungry. Her stomach purred like a cat. While brushing her hair and washing her face, she thought about what to eat for breakfast.

The Alpha-Bits had been open for a week. They were probably going stale. The instant oatmeal was no good either. They were out of Peaches ’N Cream, the only flavor she liked. Fruit would be nice, but the bananas had tiny black freckles.

I’ll go with Raisin Bran, she decided. There’s a fresh box in the cupboard.

Melanie hoped to find some brown sugar. In her mind, Raisin Bran sprinkled with white sugar was like pineapple cake layered with dill pickles. And Melanie absolutely had to have 2 percent milk.

She ran downstairs and pulled out the Raisin Bran. She found the brown sugar. The milk was 2 percent.

Seeing the previous night’s supper on the shelf beneath the milk, Melanie paused. Then she shrugged her shoulders and carried the cereal fixings to the table. Breakfast was going to be perfect.

She poured a pile of Raisin Bran into her bowl. The raisin sitting on top looked strange. Picking it up, Melanie gasped.

The raisin had a stem. It was only an eighth of an inch long. But the raisin had a stem.

I’m supposed to eat this? Melanie wondered. She tapped her nose.

"No way!" she decided out loud. Melanie picked off the stem, made a face and threw it into the sink. Then she gazed at the bowl. Melanie couldn’t see any more stems. But she couldn’t be sure.

Yes, she could.

Melanie grabbed a cookie sheet and dumped her bowl onto it. Then she spread around the dry cereal.

One by one, she checked each raisin.

How gross, Melanie thought. How many raisin stems have I eaten without knowing? She fought to keep from gagging.

She finally found another stem on the second-to-last raisin. It was shorter than the first. Melanie threw the whole raisin into the sink in disgust.

She quickly dumped the cereal back into her bowl. She poured the milk and sprinkled the brown sugar. Now Melanie was ready to devour the perfect bowl of Raisin Bran. Her stomach growled like a dog’s.

Just as she was about to chomp the first spoonful, Mother walked into the kitchen. Without a word, she took away Melanie’s spoon and bowl.

Melanie’s eyes went big. She winced as the refrigerator door opened. She moaned as the microwave hummed. Then Melanie listened to Mother munch on the perfect bowl of Raisin Bran.

Melanie tapped her nose. She knew what was coming.

Mother laid the plate on the table. Peas without garlic butter. Potatoes that weren’t mashed. Meat that was dry. And gravy with lumps.

Melanie’s lower lip stuck out.

Michael sat at the table. He made himself a bowl of Raisin Bran and ate it without checking for raisin stems.

Melanie felt sick. She looked at her plate.

I’d rather starve.

She walked slowly downstairs to watch TV in the den.

"Your food will be waiting," Mother called behind her.

Hello, Lunch

Melanie soon turned off the television . . . too many food commercials.

Instead she booted up the computer and did a search on the Web using two words: fussy eaters. The search found 114 sites. Melanie started clicking.

One site told fussy eaters to consider themselves "connoisseurs of fine food." It suggested fussy eaters explore gourmet cooking.Sounds expensive, Melanie thought.

She read a line from another site: "This world is full of babies who spit their formula, adults who complain at every meal and kids who won’t eat their peas. Fussy eaters need to grow up."

Melanie groaned and clicked to the next site. She found these words in block letters: "Fussy eaters should learn thankfulness." The word "thankfulness" was in red. Melanie clicked on the word and a Bible appeared on the screen. The Bible opened itself to the book of 1 Thessalonians. The screen shifted, focusing on a phrase in blue: "Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus."

Melanie shut off the computer. She tapped her nose.

Suddenly she smelled the aroma of fresh baked bread. She spun around and found Michael standing behind her. He stuffed the last piece of a warm, buttery muffin into his mouth.

Melanie shut her mouth to keep from drooling. She loved muffins.

Melanie ran upstairs.

Standing in the kitchen, she pleaded with her eyes. Mother smiled and pulled a hot pan of fresh muffins from the oven. She pointed to the table. Melanie sat down. She didn’t want to look.

The fridge door opened.

The microwave hummed.

Muffins tumbled from the pan.

Melanie’s stomach roared like a grizzly.

Mother set two plates before her. One had peas without garlic butter, potatoes that weren’t mashed, meat that was dry and gravy with lumps. The other held a steaming, buttered muffin.

Melanie stared, eyes big as muffins.

"The muffin’s for dessert." Mother stressed the last word.

Melanie knew what that meant, but she asked anyway. "I guess that means the muffin comes last, right?"

Her mother nodded.

I’d rather starve was Melanie’s first thought.

She smelled the muffin. She tapped her nose. A computer Bible opened in her mind.

All at once Melanie shoveled peas into her mouth like a machine. She ate her plain baby potatoes whole. Melanie chewed her meat like a hungry wolf. But she stopped short of licking the last smear of gravy off her plate.

Munching the muffin, Melanie tapped her nose for a long time. She nodded and made a firm decision.

It’s time to be thankful, she thought. I think I’ll grow up.

	Q: What do you call a bag that’s asleep? A: A knapsack. Valerie L., 9, Wisconsin Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe