Who Won the War? by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

cement sidewalk, they wanted it hotter still. By one o'clock, Wally either saw or imagined he saw shimmering waves rise up from the hot concrete.
    The morning events at the college must have been over, and people began streaming back toward their cars, ready to go somewhere for lunch.
    A few bought lemonade, but almost everyone wanted to see Wally fry an egg on the sidewalk. Thequestion was, should he charge every person who stopped to look, or only the person who did the asking first and paid the dollar? There was a lot to think about when you went into business for yourself.
    Jake dashed inside the house and came out with his baseball cap, using it as a collection plate for dollar bills.
    “Who wants to see?” he asked, passing the cap around. “Who wants to pay a dollar to see us fry an egg on the sidewalk?”
    “I'll pay,” a man said, smiling, “but make it snappy, because I'm about ready to fry here myself.”
    Jake managed to collect four dollars. The others just stood back, waiting, and Wally knew he had to act fast.
    He opened the egg carton. He took out one big egg. Then he went to the hottest spot he could find on the sidewalk—a place where the sun had been beaming down all morning without shade. Squatting down with a flourish, Wally cracked the egg gently on the edge of the sidewalk, then held it up a few inches, broke the shell open, and let the yolk and the white fall out. Splat!
    At first it appeared that nothing was happening. There certainly was no sizzle of fat or scent of bacon, the way there was when their mother cooked breakfast. Jake and Josh and Peter watched uneasily. The girls were grinning.
    Then, slowly, the edges of the egg white began turning whiter. People began to smile. More peoplegathered to see what everyone was looking at. A couple more put dollar bills into the baseball cap.
    “Hey! Look at that! Some kid's frying an egg on the sidewalk!” someone called out behind Wally.
    “Well, I wouldn't call it fried, exactly, but I might call it poached,” said a woman in a sundress.
    A photographer who had been taking pictures at the college walked over. He edged his way through the crowd, saw the egg on the concrete, and immediately took a picture of Wally squatting over the cooking egg.
    “Hey, I'll take mine sunny-side up,” said a man, laughing.
    “How about over easy?” said another.
    “Do it, Wally!” said Peter. “Let's take orders and serve breakfast!”
    People laughed. Some began turning away to find their cars, while still others came over to see what was going on. Cars were not only parked on the Hatfords' side of the street but all along the riverbank as well.
    Wally took the kitchen spatula and tried to slip it under the egg. Part of the egg came up, but the rest didn't, and it slipped back onto the hot sidewalk, the yolk breaking.
    “Here, let me do it!” said Jake, grabbing the spatula out of Wally's hand. “Who wants to try one? Who wants one over easy?” he called out. But Josh had the egg carton, and Jake tried to get it out of his hand. Suddenly splat, splat, splat!
    The carton tipped over, out of their hands, and one after another the eggs fell on the hot cement.
    “Scrambled eggs!” yelled Peter, and everyone laughed some more.
    “Oh, boy, what a mess,” one woman said as she turned to leave. “Good luck, guys.”
    “Look what you've done!” Jake yelled at Josh.
    “You did it, not me!” said Josh.
    Peter chortled, “Scrambled eggs! Come and get your hot scrambled eggs!”
    “Shut up, Peter,” said Jake.
    Wally stood staring at the mess on the sidewalk. All the yolks had lost their shiny look and were beginning to turn dry. All the transparent whites of the eggs were turning opaque.
    Now it was the girls, sitting on the steps, their mouths as straight as rulers, who were laughing with their eyes.
    Mrs. Malloy came out on the porch to see what all the people were looking at. “What in the world … ?” she said. “Boys, did your mother say you