The oven beeped.
It was Brooklyn’s first day running *Tiny Tony’s Pizza Shop*, and everyone said she was too little for such a big job.
A long line waited outside.
Brooklyn whispered to herself, *I can do this.*
She grabbed the dough to make the first pizza.
It slipped out of her hands and flopped to the floor like a tired pancake.
People groaned.
Someone mumbled, “See? She can’t do it.”
Brooklyn stood tall.
She wiped her hands, grabbed new dough, and tried again—slow and steady.
A girl named Mia stepped up to the counter.
She said, “I believe you can make the best pizza ever.”
Brooklyn’s chest felt warm.
She tossed the dough gently, the way she tossed herself into a cartwheel.
The dough flew up… and landed on her head.
Mia giggled, “That means it’s super lucky!”
Brooklyn laughed, reshaped the dough, and placed it on the pan.
This time it stayed put.
She added sauce, cheese, and a big pepperoni smile.
It looked like it was cheering for her.
Then she spotted a giant bubble forming in another pizza.
The whole shop gasped.
POP! The bubble burst like a mini firework.
Cheese sprinkled everywhere—even on Brooklyn’s gym shoes.
The crowd laughed.
Brooklyn laughed too, because mistakes weren’t stopping her—they were teaching her.
She finished Mia’s pizza with care.
Mia took a bite and grinned. “It’s perfect!”
More customers cheered for Brooklyn.
Not because everything was smooth, but because she never quit trying.
By closing time, the shop was a cheesy mess.
Brooklyn felt proud—like she’d stuck the landing on a tough routine.
She handed the last customer their pizza.
She wiped cheese off her face and smiled. “See? I can do it.”
The oven beeped again.
A tiny bubble popped into a perfect cheese star.
Brooklyn laughed. “Even the pizza believes in me now!”
The end