Sprinkles Before Sweethearts Page 3

  Allie shook her head slowly. “Not great, Mom. We’ve only had one customer today so far.”

  “One customer!” Mrs. S. put her hands on either side of her face. “That’s terrible! Sunday is usually our busiest day.” She crossed the floor to look out the window.  “Pretty quiet out there today.” She folded her arms across her chest and watched the street. “Let’s see. We’ve done coupons, pet-adoption drives, social media promos, fancy themed sundaes and cones, publicity . . .” She tapped her foot as she thought.

  “Maybe we need some new flavors to showcase?” I suggested.

  “Maybe.” Allie pressed her lips together. “I think the current flavors are really good, though.”

  “I’ve actually been thinking of adding new flavors to the menu,” Mrs. S. said. “Something sophisticated, like crème brûlée.”

  “What’s that?” asked Sierra.

  “A fancy French dessert. It’s a vanilla custard with a crackling caramelized sugar coating on top.”

  “I think your new flavor should be kid-friendly,” Sierra offered. “Just because they’re, like, the majority of our customers.”

  Mrs. S. nodded. “True. Do you girls have any ideas for new flavors? My brain is frozen!” She laughed. “Get it? Frozen like ice cream?”

  “Moooom!” groaned Allie, and we all laughed. Then we stood thinking in silence for a minute.

  “What about Hot Chocolate Marshmallow, since it’s starting to get cold out?” suggested Sierra.

  “That is a cute idea, but we already sell Rocky Road. It’s kind of the same thing,” said Allie.

  “Not really, though, because Rocky Road has nuts,” I offered.

  “Oh, Rocky Road has nuts?” said Sierra. “I’ve never tried it.”

  “Girls! You need to sample all of our products! How will you ever be able to sell them if you don’t?” said Mrs. S. with a smile.

  “Maybe we should each take a tiny spoonful of each one and then rate them,” I suggested.

  “Totally!” agreed Sierra.

  We looked at Allie expectantly. She usually had some reason why our ideas would cost the store money. When I was having a good day, I thought of her as a smart businesswoman. When I was having a bad day, she just seemed like a killjoy. Today I held my breath, awaiting her response.

  “Yes,” agreed Allie. “It’ll be like a taste test. Is that okay, Mom?”

  “Go for it,” said Mrs. S. “I’m eager to hear the results.”

  To create our ice cream rating system, I pulled out my idea notebook and made a table with the flavor names running down the side and each of our names running across the top. Then we agreed to taste each flavor with a mini-spoon and rate it on a scale of one to five for flavor and one to five for originality. This was the list of that day’s flavors:

  • Kitchen Sink (vanilla ice cream with crumbled pretzels and potato chips)

  • Hokey Pokey (with bits of honeycomb toffee)

  • Strawberry Shortcake

  • Banana Pudding

  • Lavender Blackberry

  • Chocolate Mint Chip

  • Peppermint

  • Candy Bar

  • Lime Sorbet

  • Balsamic Strawberry

  • Butterscotch Chocolate Chunk

  • Rocky Road

  • Saint Louis Cake

  • Vanilla

  • Chocolate

  • Lemon Blueberry

  • Cereal Milk

  • Cinnamon (with crumbled lace butter cookies in it)

  We worked our way through the case, taking our time and discussing each flavor. I was very partial to the chocolaty flavors, while Sierra really loved the fruity ones best. Allie loved them all, for different reasons.

  It was funny, but the best part of the test was that it pushed all of us out of our comfort zones. Like, I would never normally have ordered Balsamic Strawberry or Lavender Blackberry, and Sierra had never tried Rocky Road or Kitchen Sink. Allie had tried them all but was in a bit of a flavor rut, so it opened her mind back up to what we had to offer. We also saw which ice creams we needed to push the customers to try, because we were definitely underselling amazing flavors we hadn’t even known we liked.

  “I don’t know about that Rocky Road,” Sierra said when it was time to try that one. “It’s kind of gross-looking.”

  “Why? Because it’s all lumpy and gooey?” said Allie. “Sometimes you have to look carefully at something, because superficial first impressions can be wrong. Like, see this white goo that looks like bird droppings? It’s actually a thick streak of soft marshmallow. Your eyes are telling you one thing, but maybe your taste buds will tell you another.”

  Sierra shrieked at the “bird droppings” comment but tried the ice cream anyway. She chewed thoughtfully and then nodded her head. “Yes. I get it now. It’s actually really delicious. Kind of salty and sweet, creamy yet crunchy. Gooey all over. It tastes much better than it looks. Its appearance doesn’t do it justice.”

  We moved on down the case, flavor by flavor.

  “I can’t believe we’re getting paid to do this!” I said dreamily.

  “We’re the luckiest girls in the world,” agreed Sierra.

  “Group hug!” called Allie. We paused for a big hug. Sometimes we were kind of dorks that way, but when you don’t get to be all together with your best friends every day, you’ve got to take hugs when you can get them.

  In the end the flavor with the highest marks overall was . . . wait for it . . . Banana Pudding! “Do you think I could have a little more?” I asked Allie. “I mean, if I could make a sundae, I’d pay for it.”

  Allie seemed like she was going to just say no automatically, but at the last second she reversed course. “Let me go ask my mom,” she said instead.

  Sierra and I looked at each other as Allie left. Sierra shrugged, and I raised my eyebrows. We were pretty surprised that Allie was up for it.

  Allie returned seconds later. “She said yes. She doesn’t want the product sitting around getting old. She said turnover is half the battle here and that we should each go ahead and make ourselves a sundae.”

  “Wow! Thanks, Ali-li!” I said, hugging Allie again. “This is so fun! I’m going to see if I can create a new featured sundae to put on social media.”

  I set about getting a bowl and layering in some broken cones that we crushed and kept in a bin for just that purpose. Then I scooped out two big, round scoops of the creamy, thick, and custardy Banana Pudding. It had chunks of Nilla wafers throughout that had grown chewy and dense from the heavy cream soaking into them, and it was chock-full of nuggets of real banana. The Banana Pudding flavoring was intense and rich, and I added a sprinkling of dry, crushed Nilla wafers from our toppings bar over the top of the sundae for a texture contrast.

  “Hmmm,” I said. “I think I’m done. Should I add hot fudge, or is that overkill?”

  “Overkill,” said Sierra firmly.

  The door jingled just then, and a young couple walked into the store. The three of us jumped to attention as they surveyed the case.

  “What should we get? What do you girls like best here?” the young woman asked.

  “Funny you should mention it,” I said. “We just decided that we like Banana Pudding the best. Would you like to try our Banana Pudding sundae? I just made it.” I put it on top of the counter for the couple to inspect.

  “Wow. Sure, that looks delicious!” the man said with a happy grin.

  Hurray! I loved it when customers took me up on my flavor recommendations. I was always trying to get people to order more interesting things, outside of their comfort zones. “Will that be two Banana Pudding sundaes, then?” I confirmed.

  “Oh no, we’ll just share one,” the woman answered, and the couple smiled at each other.

  I tried not to roll my eyes, since they were our precious customers. But here was the bazillionth piece of evidence that everyone was crazy in love.

  The couple sat down at a table to eat their ice c
ream. I couldn’t help noticing that they weren’t just sharing the sundae—they were also sharing the spoon to eat it! Gross! I wasn’t a germophobe or anything, but it seemed so unnecessary. Why would you want to taste someone else’s spit when you’re trying to enjoy the delicious Banana Pudding goodness?

  I must have been staring too much, because Allie elbowed me in the side and told me to look busy. I casually strolled over to the utensil jar and refilled it with spoons. Hint, hint. Nudge, nudge.

  When the couple had finished the sundae, they thanked me for the flavor recommendation again. It was nice of them, and it almost made up for their sundae- and saliva-sharing . . . almost.

  “And we had the store to ourselves too!” The couple laughed. “Last time we came, it was so busy that there was nowhere to sit.”

  “Please come again!” Allie called as the couple left the store. But as soon as the door closed, her smile faded. “It felt like they were rubbing it in that we didn’t have any other customers.”

  “I don’t think they meant it that way,” Sierra said, soothing her.

  “Allie has a point,” I said. “It’s like the opposite of knowing that a restaurant has good food when it has a long line. If the store always looks empty, customers might wonder if there’s a reason why no one’s eating here. They might not come back.”

  There was a heavy silence among us.

  “We need to do some market research for our new flavor,” I said finally. “Like, finding out what flavors are popular with young kids . . .”

  “And young parents,” added Allie. “I wish there were somewhere we could go where we’d be surrounded by kids and their parents eating. Then we could see what they like to order.”

  “What about the food truck courtyard at the Commons?” asked Sierra. The Commons was a mall near us, and we loved to go there for lunch or an early dinner on Saturdays. The food trucks featured flavors from all around the world, so it could feel like you were on vacation when you ate there. But that place was mostly for teenagers and younger adults, not parents with young kids.

  “Hey! What about Felton Pier? There’s always a lot of kids there,” Allie said.

  Felton Pier was a carnival on a boardwalk in a town about forty-five minutes down the coast from us. It had rides and fancy carnival food and cool games for good prizes. We used to go for one another’s birthdays when we were little, but most of the rides were a little too kiddie for us now. I hadn’t been in a few years.

  “Perfect!” Sierra cried, putting both fists straight up in the air. “Every kid likes carnival food, and we can see what’s selling the most there. Let’s do it!”

  “We could go next Saturday,” I suggested. “I hope all our parents say yes! And I hope we can get one of them to drive us. It’s sort of a hike.”

  “I bet my dad will do it,” offered Allie. “He’s always looking for ways to spend more time with me, especially these days.”

  I hooked my arm around her neck and squeezed. I didn’t need to say anything. She knew I was hugging her to say I still loved her and I loved her parents even if they weren’t married, and it was all going to be okay.

  At the end of our shift, Mrs. S. came out to pay us, and Allie told her our Felton Pier idea.

  “Sounds like a great idea!” agreed Mrs. S. “I’ll even give you all some cash to cover your research fees. How will you girls get there?”

  “I’ll ask Dad if he can drive,” replied Allie. Mrs. S. smiled, but she also looked slightly disappointed. I wondered if Mrs. S. felt the same way as Mr. S., that she never had enough time to spend with Allie.

  “I’ll bring my notebook to write down all of our great ideas!” I said.

  “Assuming all our parents say yes and my dad can drive us, let’s all meet here around noon on Saturday. Okay?” suggested Allie.

  “O-yay!” I cried.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SKETCHY SECRET

  I was so psyched to have a fun weekend plan that I could look forward to all week. When I got home that night and asked my parents if I could go, they said yes! I immediately texted the news to my besties. Sierra said her parents had agreed too, and Allie said her dad had offered to drive us, as expected.

  I’d already finished my homework and I still had some time before dinner, so I headed to my craft room. I simply had to come up with an idea for the science project; it was driving me nuts. Don’t overthink it, Tamiko, I could hear Allie saying.

  But how could I not? Overthinking projects was what I did best!

  I needed to keep my hands busy while trying to come up with a supercool science idea in my notebook. Inspiration didn’t strike if you were just staring at a blank piece of paper! I pulled out my decoupage supplies and began thinking of how I could decorate the cover of my idea notebook. Decoupage was basically an extra-fancy collage: you cut pictures out of a magazine or greeting card or whatever, pasted the pictures to a surface, and then shellacked or laminated over them to protect the images.

  I kept envelopes filled with different images, sorted by type. I had an envelope of flowers I’d cut out, desserts that looked delish, kittens, race cars, and pugs. For this idea notebook, I chose carnival-themed images: a roller coaster sticker, a postcard from Coney Island, and a huge ice cream appliqué, of course! Within an hour my idea notebook looked amazing and Felton Pier–ready.

  But I still had no science project idea.

  Dissatisfied, I left the craft room and went to check on dinner.

  “Tamiko, honey, please come chop some veggies for dinner,” said my dad.

  “What are we having?” I asked, sniffing the air. It smelled homey and warm.

  “Udon,” he said.

  “Yay! Great idea, Toshi!”

  “Don’t call me Toshi, kid.”

  “Okay, Tosh.”

  My dad rolled his eyes, and I grinned.

  Udon was a type of Japanese noodle. The noodles were thick and chewy, and you could add all kinds of toppings—mushrooms, fish cakes, eggs, and more. The broth was rich and salty. It made you feel strong and loved when you ate it.

  My dad handed me some bok choy, scallions, and big mushrooms. “Wash well, then chop. I don’t want any grit in my udon. Get it, kid?” he said in a fake-gruff voice.

  “Got it, Tosh,” I joked.

  “Use the salad spinner to dry the bok choy after.”

  I ran the water in the kitchen sink, and the rushing sound relaxed me. I let my mind wander back over the day and the incredible flavors that had passed through my mouth. Then I thought about the couple who’d wanted to share everything, even their spoon.

  “Toshi?” I said.

  “Mmm-hmm-don’t-call-me-Toshi,” my dad said automatically.

  “How old were you when you had your first crush?” I rinsed the bok choy carefully, parting the leaves to let the water spray into every crevice and chase away the grit. Then I plopped it into the salad spinner and pumped.

  My dad stopped what he was doing and thought. “My first real crush?”

  I nodded. Then I set aside the bok choy and worked on the scallions, peeling away the outermost layer of each one and washing the goo and sand off the stems.

  “Mmm, probably fourteen or fifteen. I was kind of a late bloomer,” he said, and shrugged.

  “Oh!” I said. Phew, I thought. I shook the water off the scallions and began wiping the mushrooms with a wet paper towel.

  “Why?” he asked, turning to look at me. “Are you thinking of eloping?”

  “Gross! I don’t even know what that means!”

  My dad chuckled. “Good. Because it means running away to get married without your parents’ permission.”

  “Haha. I don’t even like anyone!” I kept my head down, laying out the cutting board and chop-chop-chopping the scallions.

  He turned back to the noodles he was preparing. “Oh yeah? I think that’s good.”

  “You do?” I stopped chopping and looked up at him.

  “Yeah,” he said, turning to look at me
too. “When you have a crush, it’s really fun and exhilarating. You hope all day to see the person. You plan witty things to say to them. You wonder if they feel the same way about you. It adds some excitement to your life, especially if they like you back.”

  “Oh,” I said. That sounded kind of nice.

  “But it can also be very distracting. Sometimes it can take your attention away from important things in your life, like school and family and friends.”

  “Oh. That doesn’t sound good.” It also makes you look silly, I thought, picturing Emilia’s bright red blush around Carlo. “Maybe I’ll just avoid crushes forever.”

  “Well, it’s not really something you can control. But it’s also not something you can force or fake. Don’t feel like you have to like someone just because it’s the trend, you know?”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “When I was your age, all my friends liked this famous pop singer, a young woman in her twenties. But I didn’t understand what the big deal was. She was all grown up, and she sang songs about heartbreak that I could not relate to at all. I ended up pretending I was crazy about her too, to go along with all my friends. But then one day I had to draw the line.”

  “Wow, Tosh—Dad. Why? What made you do that?”

  My dad laughed. “Her concert tickets cost a fortune, and I couldn’t summon up the desire to beg my parents for the money. I told my friends that my parents didn’t approve of my love for the woman, and they all understood. The concert was kind of a bust for my friends, too. The singer lip-synced the whole thing and didn’t even smile once. In the end I looked wise for saving my money and not going. All the other kids regretted it.”

  “Ha!” I laughed. “Smart!”

  “Well, I looked smart by accident, but I was lucky. The point is, I felt bad that I had to kind of lie and pretend to my friends that I liked someone, just to fit in. I should have had the courage to be honest about my feelings. I don’t think my friends would have cared a whit if I wasn’t as enchanted as they were by this celebrity. You shouldn’t ever fake affection or love. The feelings will come when it’s time.”