Ever since I was in first grade, I have had a very strong interest in swords. I amused myself for years making small wooden swords by nailing two pieces of wood together in a cross shape. I had a ball with these for about five years, but soon I started to want make a sword that was made of steel. Last summer I was finally able to make one. I owe it all to a friend who shares the same interest of sword making. He showed me a special tool called an angle grinder, that will grind and shape steel into almost any shape you can imagine. Almost immediately, I used this tool to carve some knife blades out of construction steel and then attached wooden handles to them.

The knives were great, but I really wanted a steel medieval sword. I checked out some books from the library and spent two weeks doing research. Then I finally decided on a design. It took me about two months of grinding and gluing pieces of steel together, but it is now finally done. The sword turned out very big and heavy, but it looks almost real. Since then it has been used for many different costumes and has even been used for a few school plays and homemade movies. I entered my sword in our county fair exhibition, and it won a first prize ribbon. Sword making has really been a great hobby, and I can’t wait to make another!

“I want to do the mustard,” Renzo said.

“No,” Emilia said. “You can watch.”

Emilia was helping Nana make Christmas dinner. This dinner wasn’t a
turkey with stuffing. It was sandwiches — a whole table full! Emilia
was in the kitchen in the church basement, making a free Christmas
dinner for homeless people.

First Nana laid rows and rows of bread on the counter. Emilia put
two slices of turkey on each slice of bread. Nana put two slices of
cheese. Emilia squirted mustard. Nana squirted mayonnaise. And
Emilia put another slice of bread on top.

“Please can I do the mustard?” Renzo said.

“You’re only four,” Emilia said.

“You’re only seven!”

“Why don’t you go play with Mark?” Nana said. Renzo stomped away.

They put the sandwiches on a big platter. “I can carry it,” Emilia
said.

“Okay,” Nana said. “Be careful.”

The sandwiches were heavy. Very heavy. Nana went out of the
kitchen, and Emilia followed her. The church hall was packed with
tables and wreaths and strangers.

“Hi, Emilia!” said Father Poppo. He was wide and loud, like Santa
Claus. “You sure you won’t drop that mountain of sandwiches?”

Emilia nodded. The sandwiches were so heavy she couldn’t talk.

She walked with Nana walked towards a table. Emilia imagined
dropping the sandwiches. Cheese and turkey would go
everywhere. Renzo would dance on the squishy pile and soak his
sneakers with mustard.

At the table, a woman sat alone. She stared at her hands. She
didn’t smile or frown. She was like a statue of ice.

Emilia tried to skip her, but Nana nodded at her. Emilia’s hands
started to shake. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” Nana whispered.

But Emilia knew she was about to drop those sandwiches. She ran
over and slammed the platter on the table.

The mountain of sandwiches collapsed.

Sandwiches slid like an avalanche. They tumbled onto the table. One
skittered right onto the woman’s lap. It left a bright trail of
mustard.

Emilia wished she could turn into a sandwich herself, at the bottom
of the pile. She tried to say, “I’m sorry,” but she just squeaked.

But the woman started to laugh. “It’s okay, honey. I’m not going to
eat you. Just what’s left of this sandwich.”

Then Nana laughed. And Emilia laughed too, because otherwise she
would start crying.

Nana said, “I hope you like mustard.”

“I look good in mustard,” the woman said. “Everyone always tells
me.”

Emilia and Nana piled the sandwiches and took them to other
people. Some thanked Emilia. Others didn’t look up. But everyone
got something to eat.

When the platter was empty, they went to the kitchen to make
more. Renzo was waiting. “Nana, can I please, please do the
mustard?”

“Ask Emilia,” Nana said.

“Please?”

Emilia hesitated. Renzo actually waited, and didn’t ask again, so
she said, “Sure.”

“Hooray!” Renzo shouted. They laid out some bread, and Renzo
squeezed the mustard.

SQUIRT! Mustard went everywhere.

“Oh no! I made a mess!” He looked at Emilia to see if she was mad.

But she smiled. “It’s okay. I look good in mustard. And so does
everything else.”