Sunday Sundaes

by Coco Simon

  “The Book Fest committee meeting is at eleven thirty tomorrow,” said Tamiko. “If we’re not finished in time for us to get to work at one, we’ll just leave early.”

  “Yup,” agreed Sierra.

  “Okay, guys. Just remember, this is our test. We’ve got to do a good job or my mom won’t take us seriously.” I really did not want to mess this up, for our sakes and my mom’s.

  Sierra nodded on my tiny phone screen, with big, earnest eyes. “Yes, Allie. I’ll make it! I’m saving up to learn mountain climbing. I said I’d join the mountaineering club at school, so I need all the gear—and I really need the money.”

  Tamiko and I sighed in exasperation, and Tamiko said, “Well, I need it for my toilet customization fund.”

  “Tamiko!” I laughed. “I was joking, remember?”

  “One person’s joke is another person’s treasure!” said Tamiko.

  “Okay, wait. Before you hang up, Allie,” said Sierra. “Um, how many volunteers do you think we need for Book Fest?”

  “Well, how many do you have?” I asked.

  There was a brief silence. “Um, three? Me, Tamiko, and MacKenzie?”

  My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “Sierra! You’ll need at least ten kids to lug in the boxes and set up the books on all the tables. Then a rotating schedule of two per shopping session—they can miss sports for it but no academic classes. Then you need at least fifteen kids to clean up: to repack the boxes, throw away the empties, break down displays, whatever. I guess it could be the same fifteen to twenty kids, but . . .” I paused. “Have you made an announcement in assembly?”

  “Oh, Allie,” wailed Sierra. “I wish you were here to do it. You’re so good at all this. Oh, why did I ever say yes?”

  Tamiko and I glanced at each other as Sierra buried her head in her hands. This was how it always went: Sierra would overcommit, and Tamiko and I would bail her out, with mixed results.

  I began to walk them through what they needed to do, and I forced Sierra to take good notes on what I said. For goodness’ sake, I didn’t even go to their school anymore and I felt like I was still running Book Fest. The funny thing was, I didn’t miss it as much as I’d thought I would.

  On Sunday, Dad dropped me off at Molly’s at twelve thirty. He reminded me that I needed to treat this as a real job, not just as catch-up time with my friends, and that Mom was really counting on us. “Promise, Allie?” he said.

  “Scoop’s honor,” I said, holding my hand to my heart, and he laughed.

  “Mom told me about what happened with the girls from the new neighborhood,” said Dad. I was surprised. I mean, I knew Mom and Dad still talked, but I didn’t know how that was going to work. I guess they had to talk about me and Tanner.

  “I know it’s hard,” Dad said, “but—”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “Better. Better. Better.” I sighed.

  “Well, yes,” said Dad, “but I was going to say that it’s going to take some time. And that even if I don’t live in the house with you all the time, I’m still here if you need me.”

  I realized that I hadn’t actually seen Dad too much this past week. It had gone by so fast. I thought about him in his apartment by himself and wondered if he was lonely without us.

  “Now,” he said, hitting the auto-unlock in the car, “go forth and scoop.”

  “Will do!” I said.

  “And if you encounter a bully,” he said, turning serious, “then just—”

  I waited.

  “Cone them with kindness.”

  “Dad!” I sputtered, and giggled. He grinned. I scrambled out of the car.

  I waved to Mom, who was with a customer, and headed to the back of the store. I tied a crisp white apron at my waist and washed up.

  We were at the lunchtime lull, as my mom had come to call it. Noon to one thirty was a great time for her to return calls and get some business stuff done, since it was always quiet while people were off having their lunches. Then we’d get hit hard for an hour from one thirty to two thirty. After that, business would slow to a trickle, and then we’d get really socked at four o’clock as people left the beach or came home from soccer games or whatever. By five thirty things were usually quiet again, though there was an after-dinner rush on Fridays and Saturdays.

  I checked my watch as a customer with two kids walked in. It was twelve fifty-three, and there was still no sign of Tamiko and Sierra. I was stressed and annoyed. Were they going to let me down?

  I finished up with the lady and her two kids, and while they sat to eat, I peeked at my phone, which I’d tucked into my back pocket. As luck would have it, my mom walked in from her back office right then.

  “Allie! Remember what I said! No phones on duty!”

  “Sorry! I just was checking this once . . .” I didn’t want to finish my sentence and highlight the fact that Tamiko and Sierra were late. But luckily I didn’t have to! Tamiko came bounding into the store in a T-shirt she’d made—it had pictures of sprinkles and ice cream cones all over it, and it said Molly’s in flowing script across the back, in the same exact font as my mom’s store window.

  Luckily, the awesomeness of the T-shirt distracted my mom from the fact that it was now exactly twelve fifty-nine. While Tamiko washed and aproned up, I turned to help another customer. By the time Tamiko was at my side and my mom had gone back to the kitchen, I was able to huff, “Where is Sierra?”

  Tamiko rolled her eyes. “She’ll be here shortly. I finally insisted I had to leave, and I said she should do the same, but she had ‘just one more thing’ to do.”

  “Annoying,” I said. “I knew that was going to happen.”

  Tamiko laughed. “Didn’t we all! I promise, Allie, I’ll be here early from now on.”

  I squeezed Tamiko in a sideways hug. “Thanks, chica. Or niña. Whatever you go by these days.”

  “I like to go by ‘Allie Shear’s best friend,’ ”  Tamiko said.

  It made me feel better to hear that.

  It wasn’t until one twenty-five that the jingling of the door caused me to look up from the banana split I was making. In walked Sierra, red-faced and huffing. She raced into the back to ditch her stuff, then raced behind the counter, strapping on her apron as she came.

  “Wash your hands!” hissed Tamiko. I was glad she’d said it and not me.

  In a panic, Sierra knocked over a metal milkshake canister that was mostly empty but dirty, so it splattered chocolaty milk all over. Mom was working the cash register and glanced over. As Sierra bent to clean it up, I could see she was crying.

  I squatted down next to her so that the customers couldn’t see me. “Sierra. I’ll clean it up. Go take a minute in the bathroom to calm down, okay?”

  She nodded and fled while I heaved a heavy sigh. Soon the customers had all been helped, Tamiko and I had cleaned everything up, and Sierra emerged, calmer and clear-eyed. She came behind the counter and washed up again.

  I wanted to be mad at her—mostly because this happened all the time—but now that I wasn’t with her all the time, I could see that things were a legitimate challenge for her in a way they weren’t for me and Tamiko. Time management, planning, organization of materials—Sierra couldn’t do it alone.

  We couldn’t really have a conversation while we worked, so we didn’t address anything about Book Fest or Sierra’s shortcomings as an employee. But we did end up having fun.

  Tamiko’s sassy personality was great with customers. If they ordered something that she thought was too plain or boring, she’d push them to be more adventurous, always making them laugh in the process. Like when a bald, middle-aged dad came in and copped out by ordering a vanilla shake, Tamiko leaned over the counter and said, “Dude. What would your seventeen-year-old self say to you now if he saw you ordering a vanilla shake? Come on. You owe it to yourself to have a little more fun than that. I bet you had a wild youth!”  The guy roared with laughter, and he changed his order to a triple banana split! If I had one complaint abou
t Tamiko, it might be that she spent too much time with each customer. The line grew pretty long at one point, and I had to nudge her to move her along.

  Where Tamiko was jazzy, Sierra was sweet. She was good with the little kids who dropped their ice cream, soothing their tears as she replaced their cones. She was great with grandmas who wanted to chat a lot about the weather. If she had one flaw, it was probably that she made the scoops too big; she was too generous with the product. But I didn’t want to be harsh on her on her first real day, especially not with the beginning she’d had. Plus, Mom was really the boss, not me. And so far at least, Mom seemed pretty pleased. She kept looking over and smiling at us. Maybe because I was smiling a lot too.

  My best idea of the day was that I put a tiny pinch of sprinkles on top of each ice cream when I made it. It started by accident, when I thought someone wanted sprinkles, but they stopped me, so only about twelve sprinkles landed on top of their ice cream. The customer laughed it off and called it “a little sprinkle of happy.”

  For the rest of the day, the girls and I would put tiny smatterings of sprinkles on each ice cream and say, “Here’s a sprinkle of happy!” and people loved it.

  As our shift drew to a close, there was a bit of a lull. We helped my mom load her ice cream into the deep freeze in the back of the store.

  “Good start today, girls. I appreciate your being on time and working so hard.”

  The three of us exchanged uneasy glances. Had she not noticed that Sierra had been almost half an hour late?

  “Next week I’ll probably assign you some tasks that you can rotate through. Two people on the counter and one doing other stuff, like cleaning the fridge or smashing cookies for toppings.”

  We all agreed, and then Tamiko spoke up. “Mrs. S., I had a few ideas for some ice cream designs. Would you let me try some next time if I sent you some photos to show what we could do?”

  “Sure, Tamiko. Thanks. If we can do them economically and it doesn’t take too long or make too much of a mess, I’d always be up for trying cool new things.”

  “Great! Because I have tons of ideas for rainbow-dipped cones, and unicorn sundaes, and mermaid pops—”

  “Okay, okay, I get it!” said my mom, putting her palms in the air in surrender.

  We all laughed. Tamiko was never short on ideas.

  “All right. Then let’s say I’ll see you three back here next Sunday at twelve forty-five. That way you’re all set and ready for a one o’clock start. If tardiness stays an issue, this won’t work.”

  I cringed. I guessed she had noticed Sierra’s late arrival. Sierra blushed and nodded, but Tamiko lightened the mood by saying, “We love our sprinkle Sundays, don’t we, girls? Hey, get it? Sprinkle sundaes?” We all laughed. “We’re the Sprinkle Sunday sisters!” Tamiko added, and we all dove in for a group hug, including Mom.

  We hung up our aprons and helped ourselves to an ice cream each while we waited for Mrs. Sato. I showed Tamiko and Sierra the book corner Mom and I had arranged. So far it seemed like a good idea. Right then one woman was reading Olivia to two kids as they ate their ice cream. And earlier in the day I’d seen a little girl pick up a copy of Anne of Green Gables and not want to put it down when they left, which had made me really happy.

  “Oh, I remember this book!” said Sierra, picking up a picture book. “I used to love this one.”

  Just then the bell over the door jingled, and we all looked up. In walked the Mean Team, and my heart dropped as they sauntered over to our table.

  Blair cast an appraising eye over the group of us and sighed, shaking her head. “Still reading little kids’ books, Allie?” she said, and snickered.

  Tamiko bristled, but I put a hand on her leg to shush her.

  “These are my friends, Blair. Why do you want to come in here and be mean to us?”

  “It’s a free country,” said Blair with a shrug. Suddenly my mom came out from behind the counter and was standing by our side. “Hi, girls. What’s going on? Can I help you with anything?”

  I kept my eyes locked on Blair. “Nothing. Blair was just about to apologize, and then she was going to leave. Palmer and Maria want ice cream.”

  “Okay,” said my mom, gathering Palmer and Maria, one under each arm. “Let’s get you girls something.”

  Alone, Blair’s courage faltered; you could just see it evaporate. She looked at Palmer and Maria, who were both engrossed in choosing a flavor.

  “It’s not so easy being alone, is it, Blair?” I said quietly. “Imagine being the new girl at school and being alone. We don’t have to be friends. But you can’t come in here and insult me. I think you should leave now.” Blair held my gaze for a few seconds, and then she turned to her friends.

  “Palmer? Maria?” she said, but they ignored her.

  She stood awkwardly for a minute in the middle of the store, and then she turned on her heel and left. As the door whooshed closed behind her, my friends cheered.

  I was shaking, but I felt good. Sierra hugged me, and Tamiko patted my back.

  Palmer and Maria had just paid, and they came back over to our table. Mom was hanging back, but close enough to hear.

  “Sorry about Blair,” said Palmer. “She’s going through a bad stage, since her parents are getting divorced. Things are rough for her right now.”

  “There’s no excuse for being mean,” I said. “My parents are getting a divorce. It’s hard, and sometimes it seems unfair, but it doesn’t mean you can treat other people badly. Nothing gives you that excuse.”

  Maria leaned in to see the book. “Oh, I loved that one,” she said, sighing. “I used to read it all the time.”

  “Me too,” said Sierra.

  “I think I still have my copy,” said Maria.

  “Oh, you totally do,” said Palmer. She turned to us. “Maria has all of her books organized in her room just so. She never gets rid of any of them.”

  I tilted my head and looked at Maria, seeing her a little differently.

  “Well, they’re like old friends,” she said, grinning. “And we don’t get rid of old friends, do we?”

  “We sure don’t,” said Sierra, giving me a squeeze.

  “Well, thanks for the ice cream,” said Palmer.

  “See you at school, Allie,” said Maria. And they left.

  Sierra burst out, “Oh, Allie, you’re just like Anne Shirley!”

  I laughed a little. “Not really, but thanks for the compliment.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  BOOK FEST

  I avoided the Mean Team all the next day, even when Palmer and Maria shot me friendly and apologetic looks as I walked quickly past them on the bus. I sat with Colin at lunch, then raced to the library to help Mrs. K. start pulling books that hadn’t been checked out in at least five years.

  After school Sierra’s mom picked me up, with Sierra and Tamiko in the car. It was just like old times! I had offered to help Sierra get organized for Book Fest, and she had gratefully accepted.

  “Allie, Sierra told me how you had a showdown with the mean girls at the ice cream parlor. I’m so proud of you!” said Dr. Perez in the car.

  “Thanks,” I told her. “One of the hard things about owning a store is that you have to let in anyone. It’s not like you’re inviting friends over to your house or something. It’s open to the general public all the time.”

  “Yeah, even when the general public are jerks!” said Tamiko.

  “You’re right,” Dr. Perez agreed. “But it’s all about how you treat them and react to them. And you reacted beautifully.”

  Sierra’s twin sister, Isabel, was home already, playing a video game.

  “Hey, Isa!” I said, crossing the living room to give her a hug.

  Isa was nice, but she’d gone in a totally different direction from Sierra. She was very focused and athletic; she was so good at soccer that she played on an all-boys high school travel team, the only girl. We used to be closer when we were little but had kind of drifted apart in recent years. We
caught up for a few minutes, and I asked if she could volunteer to help with Book Fest. She said, “Sure!” It was a little odd that Sierra hadn’t even asked her, but things were sometimes weird between them.

  Up in Sierra’s room I got out some graph paper and began making a few checklists. One was a timeline of what had to happen over the next few days, since Book Fest started Friday and ran through early next week. Another was a timeline for setup day, and another for breakdown day.

  I had Sierra make a list of people she had asked to volunteer, and it was woefully short, so I had Ms. Social Media, Tamiko Sato, begin a campaign to recruit people on SuperSnap and anywhere else she could think of. Within half an hour we had ten kids; within an hour we had twenty.

  “Wow! You make this look so easy, Allie!” said Sierra admiringly.

  “It doesn’t take a lot of time to get organized,” I said. “You just need to know what you need. And I’ve done it before many times, so I have an idea.”

  I made a checklist of supplies (box cutters, large contractor garbage bags, a couple of cases of water for the volunteers, pens, and more).

  After an hour and a half, Sierra was visibly more confident. The systems were all in place, Tamiko had assigned all the volunteers their time slots, and my work was done. But it was bittersweet leaving them when my dad pulled up at six. I didn’t want to go.

  Sierra could tell that I was a little down as I left. “We miss you, Allie. At least we still have Sprinkle Sundays, right?”

  “As long as you’re on time this Sunday, we will!” I joked.

  Tamiko gave me a squeeze before I got into the car. It was unlike her to hug me, so I laughed and said, “What’s the occasion?”

  “You’re a good friend,” she whispered. “My hugs are like unicorns: they appear rarely and under very special circumstances. I know it’s hard for you to work on this and not be able to go, and I’m sorry.”