Absolutely Almost(70)

            Dad shut his laptop.

            “Did I ever show you how to make a famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese?” That’s what he asked me.

            Which seemed like a weird thing to ask.

            I shook my head.

            It turned out that the famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese was a grilled cheese sandwich that my dad learned how to make from his dad and that he said he wanted to teach me to make too.

            The famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese was made with sourdough bread, not regular white.

            The famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese had three different kinds of cheese in it—Swiss cheese and two other ones with funny-sounding names I couldn’t pronounce. We had to walk six whole blocks in the snow to the fancy grocery store to get them all, which you’d think wouldn’t be worth it, but Dad said it would be.

            The famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese had a secret layer of Dijon mustard.

            The famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese had to be made very precisely. First you put all the bread and the mustard and the cheese together. Not too much mustard.

            Then you heated up the pan on the stove to exactly the right temperature, without anything even inside it. That part was important.

            Then, while you were waiting for the pan to heat up, you spread butter on the outside sides of the sourdough bread. That was important too. Some people thought you melted the butter in the pan first to make grilled cheese, then put the sandwich down, but that was wrong because then the butter wouldn’t spread even on the bread.

            After that you had to stand and wait, patient patient patient, until you heard the Schaffhauser sizzle. That’s how you knew to flip the sandwich over. I did it perfectly, exactly right. Dad said I was a natural.

            The famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese was the best sandwich I ever ate.

            “Can I ask you something, Albie?” Dad said while we chewed. “About the election?”

            I looked at my famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese and found the perfect spot to take my next bite. “Sure,” I said.

            “Did you really want to be vice president?” Dad asked. “Or did you just want to win?”

            I thought about that. Back before the elections, I would’ve said I wanted to be vice president more than anything. But really, who wanted to turn the classroom lights off?

            “Maybe just winning,” I said.

            Dad nodded when I said that. “I think the hard thing for you, Albie,” he told me, wiping his fingers off on a napkin, “is not going to be getting what you want in life, but figuring out what that is. Once you know what you want—really, truly—I know you’ll get it.”

            I looked up at Dad while he took another bite of his famous Schaffhauser grilled cheese. There was a funny thing about Dad, I thought. Because sometimes he didn’t understand me at all. And sometimes, he understood me more than anyone else.

            “Thanks,” I said. And I took another bite of my own.





new lunch.




            I stopped sitting at the lunch table with Darren and Candace and Lizzy and everyone. And reading Captain Underpants on the bench by myself. Now me and Betsy and Darissa ate our lunch in Mr. Clifton’s room, which Mr. Clifton said was okay, even though Betsy wasn’t actually in math club.

            “We want to eat in here because we’re not cool,” I told him. Darissa wasn’t cool either. She told me that right away, I think because she could tell I was worried she might be. But she didn’t seem too upset about it. Darissa was friendly and funny and weird. She even knew how to do the Vulcan salute. She knew more about TV than any girl I’d ever met.