Sprinkles Before Sweethearts Page 5

  “Dad!” Allie shrieked while he was telling the story, but he wouldn’t stop.

  “I tell it from a place of love, Al,” he said.

  “You tell it from a place of puke!” she cried. Then she covered her ears and sang “Lalala” until it was over. Sierra and I loved the story.

  “I’ll make sure to warn Colin if he ever takes you to Felton Pier,” said Sierra, elbowing Allie.

  “And who is this Colin you speak of ?” said Allie’s dad in a fake-newscaster voice.

  “Just a friend in my class,” said Allie, rolling her eyes at Sierra.

  Sierra grinned. “And maybe a cruuuuush!” she sing-songed.

  “You girls are too young for crushes!” said Mr. S.

  “That’s what I think, Mr. S.!” I said.

  “No, we’re not!” said Allie and Sierra in unison.

  Who did Sierra like? I’d never heard her mention anyone beyond movie stars. This stupid crush thing was like a virus. Everyone who caught it turned into some kind of zombie!

  “Well, put that all on hold today,” said Mr. S. “Saturdays are for the girls!”

  “And Sundays!” I added. “We’re the Sprinkle Sundays sisters, after all.”

  “Every day is BFF day,” Sierra said.

  I glanced over at Allie. For Allie every day was a “different parent” day. Some days she was with her dad, and some days she was with her mom. Even if I wasn’t part of the Shear family (or was it now two families?), it felt weird to me. I made a mental note to ask Sierra sometime if she was still getting used to the divorce too.

  When we got to Felton Pier, Mr. Shear parked the car and we strolled into the park. We bought strips of ride and game tickets from the little kiosk at the entrance, but we had other things in store first.

  “In the mood for food!” I said, and the others agreed.

  “Let’s go, moody foodies,” said Allie, linking arms with us.

  We made a circuit of all the options, paying special attention to what little kids and their parents were eating. Then we set about trying each and every item. Mr. S. took himself over to a bench in the sunshine and said he’d move when we were ready for rides.

  First stop was the Fry-o-Lator. That was the stand where they fried everything, and I mean everything. There were fried green tomatoes (bitter), fried pickles (sour and salty), fried alligator tail, fried chicken strips and nuggets, french fries, and homemade potato chips. Then came the fried desserts: fried Twinkies, fried Oreos, fried cookie dough, and my favorite—fried Snickers bars. We got the sampler platter, which had a little of everything, including a funnel cake, half a fried Twinkie, and half a fried Snickers. It was a good start.

  I whipped out my notebook and kept track of everything we tried, how much we liked it, and—most important—whether it would make a good ice cream flavor. My hand could hardly move fast enough as I jotted down all our thoughts and tips. Yes to fried Twinkie with a vanilla custard–based ice cream, and yes to funnel cake in cinnamon ice cream. Allie and Sierra gave a definite no to the fried alligator! Texture was as big a factor as taste for all of us. We had to think in terms of ice cream. If something was too gloppy before it went into ice cream, it would totally fall apart once it got “wet.”

  Our next stop was the Juicery. Here we tried small sips of watermelon juice (kind of watery), homemade grape juice (sour), peach juice (really, really good, but not that original for an ice cream flavor), and sour cherry juice (starred—tart and a great color). Fruit flavors were a breeze for Mrs. S., and they weren’t too expensive since a little fruit extract and puree went a long way. The sour cherry and peach were must-trys, maybe even mixed together.

  We waved at Mr. Shear on his reading bench after the Juicery and moved on to Skinny Dippers. This was a stand that hand-dipped fruit into various toppings, made to order. We got a frozen banana dipped in chocolate and then rolled in crushed peanuts, like an inside-out banana split (hold the ice cream).

  “Yum!” I said.

  “Banana Split would be a great flavor, even if it is obvious!” said Sierra, and we all agreed.

  “You can’t beat a classic,” I said.

  “I want to try a candy apple!” said Allie. “I love those, and I haven’t had one in years!”

  “They are so good, but they really wouldn’t make a good ice cream flavor, you know? The red shellac would be too hard when it froze. You’d chip your tooth!” (I sounded like my mom, which made me shudder.) “I mean, I don’t want to be a downer, but . . .”

  “No, you’re right. We’re here for work. We have a mission!” Allie replied.

  “Our mission is to improve the ice cream condition!” I said, all dramatic, like a superhero. This made us laugh like crazy. When Allie decided to order a toffee apple instead, dipped in warm, soft caramel, Sierra and I chanted, “On a mission! On a mission!” as she placed her order. The college kid working behind the counter gave us all a weird look, but we found it hilarious.

  “Mmm, mmm, mmm! This is so good, you guys! You have to try it!” Allie held the gooey treat toward us for bites. It was a little hard to eat and kind of unsanitary. You’d go for a bite, and once you had the caramel in your mouth, it was hard to get a bite of the apple, too. Then the caramel would all start to pull away from the apple and you’d have to hold it in place while you completed your bite.

  But it was insanely good.

  “Wow!” I said when I had unclogged my throat from the caramel. “That is something we could definitely work with, amiright?”

  “Yes, totally. Maybe tart green apple ice cream with a dulce de leche caramel ribbon?” said Allie thoughtfully.

  “Ribbon? I’m thinking more like a caramel rope, sister!” I said.

  “Yeah, a thick caramel cable!” agreed Sierra.

  I made some more flavor notes in the idea book and drew stars all around the caramel apple concept, with our specs about tart green apple, thick caramel, and maybe even chunks of fresh apple on top.

  “Okay, that was sugar. Now we need something savory again,” said Sierra.

  “Meat Treats?” Sierra suggested, squinting at a stand that had smoke billowing from its grill.

  “Th-that is the worst name!” Allie sputtered.

  “The Dog House?” suggested Sierra.

  “I’ll go anywhere,” I said. “Remember—follow the crowds.”

  The Dog House had a huge line with kids, so we checked out their offerings next.

  “Corn Dog Ripple?” said Allie with a sly grin.

  “I’m thinking Bratwurst Brickle!” I said.

  “Tube Steak Twirl?” offered Sierra.

  “Pass!” I said. “Okay, so not all the popular foods will make good ice cream flavors. Meat Treats?” We strolled over.

  “Steak on a Stick Chip?” Allie said, and then giggled.

  “Keep walking!” I intoned.

  “ ‘Spaghetti Donuts’?” Sierra read the sign aloud.

  “On a mission, on a mission,” I chanted.

  “On a mission, on a mission,” agreed the others.

  “Nuts about Nuts?” said Allie, coming to an abrupt halt. Sierra and I plowed into her and stopped too.

  “Yes. And your mom does have that whole ice cream case segregated for nut ice creams, so we have the space to do a couple more,” said Sierra.

  I pulled out the notebook and began scribbling as the ideas flew out of us: Pistachio Cream. Peanut Butter Fudge. Cashew Butter. PB&J. Nuts about Nuts, with every nut. Nutter Butter, with cookies and peanut butter. Turtle, with caramel and pecans and dark chocolate . . . and so on. We came up with ten nut flavors alone!

  “I am nuts about nut ice cream flavors. I wouldn’t have thought it, but it’s true,” I said.

  “Ooh! Look! Frozen lemonade!” said Sierra. “Love!”

  I wrote that down too. “And frozen pineapple,” I agreed, looking at the other slushy flavors at the Ice Shack.

  Walking farther, we found Mellow Mallow, where everything was marshmallow and there was
a crowd of little kids gathered—the biggest crowd we’d seen so far. There were Rice Krispies Treats galore—some dipped in chocolate and studded with different kinds of candy and sprinkles, M&M’s Minis and chocolate chips, and more. Some treats were dipped in caramel and decorated with candy flowers or micro-mini marshmallows. Then there were plain marshmallows dipped in chocolate or caramel; marshmallow kebabs, alternating on a stick with jelly candies; big sheets of marshmallow, like blankets of pillowy fudge; hot chocolate with marshmallows . . .

  “Hey! See!” said Sierra. “Hot chocolate. And it’s popular with the kids.”

  “I like how they use those tiny mini-marshies in the hot chocolate,” I agreed. “They’re almost like marshmallow sprinkles. Cute.”

  “Just sayin’,” said Sierra with a shrug.

  “I’m writing it down. Maybe we rotate out the Rocky Road for a while and rotate in the Hot Chocolate,” I suggested.

  Carrying some marshmallow treats, a frozen lemonade, a tub of kettle corn (I put it on the list too!), and three slices of pizza (not a potential ice cream flavor but a necessity for lunch), we struggled over to where Mr. S. was sitting, to take a chow break and rest. The Keds were kind of pinching my feet. I’d gone for style over comfort in my footwear, and I was regretting it already. I made a mental note to self: Fancy Keds are for show, not play.

  “How’s it going so far?” asked Allie’s dad, helping himself to a big handful of kettle corn.

  “Great!” I enthused. Balancing my pizza slice on my knee, I flipped through the three pages of ideas and comments I’d jotted down already.

  “We even kept a list of rejects,” I added.

  “Let’s hear those,” said Mr. S., laughing.

  I read the list. “Fried green tomato, corn dog, steak chip—”

  “Stop! Gross!” cried Sierra. “Read the good ones.”

  “Frozen Lemonade, Hot Chocolate Marshmallow, Pistachio Cream, PB&J . . .” On and on I went, reading the list. We had about twenty-five flavors so far, most of them really good and doable.

  “Wow,” said Mr. S. “I’m impressed.”

  “We don’t fool around!” said Allie.

  “We’re on a mission!” I added, and we all laughed like crazy, leaving Mr. S. looking perplexed.

  We had bought so much food that we could barely eat it all. Most of the kettle corn ended up going to Mr. S.  After our lunch, we all sank down into the bench.

  “I feel like I ate a year’s worth of junk food,” Allie moaned.

  “I just want to crawl into my bed and take a nap,” Sierra groaned.

  I patted my stomach in agreement. A nap sounded like a good idea. Then I clapped my hand over my mouth and jumped up. “We forgot something really, really important!”

  “What?” asked Allie, her eyes wide.

  “Rides!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THRILLS & CHILLS

  My favorite ride was the Tilt-A-Whirl, and we did it first. Sure, we were the biggest kids on it by far, and some of the little kids gave us puzzled looks while we waited in line, but Sierra, Allie, and I loved it! It was a good start to ease us into the rides, and Mr. S. snapped a great photo of us in the candy-apple-red car when we spun past him, our mouths open wide as we screamed in delight.

  I didn’t think the Tilt-A-Whirl would be easy to re-create in wire, though. I started a fresh page in my notebook and drew a line down the middle, then wrote at the top of the columns: “Good Wire Rides” and “Bad Wire Rides.” After each ride I wrote it in the proper column.

  “Let’s do the carousel!” cheered Allie when we stumbled off the Tilt-A-Whirl. In total agreement, the three of us jogged over to the ride and stood in the short line, again towering over the other kids.

  “People are going to think we’re weirdos,” said Sierra, but she was laughing.

  “Who cares? We’re reliving our childhoods!” I replied.

  “And it feels good!” said Allie.

  We did a three-way hug and shuffled forward to get on the ride.

  The most fun part about this carousel was that it went fast. You really felt like you were whipping past the spectators in a real horse race. Mr. S.’s face was a blur as we sailed by, waving each time in the vague direction of where he stood.

  Sierra managed to grab the brass ring and got an extra ride for it. Allie and I stood alongside the ride and waved and cheered like crazy whenever she passed us. We were so into it, with each of us trying to outdo the other in wildness every time she passed, that Mr. S. stepped a few paces away from us, saying he didn’t want people to know we were with him. This just made us act crazier and tease him, saying, “Don’t pretend you’re not with us!” until he turned red with embarrassment.

  When Sierra came off, she was super-dizzy, so we had to take a little break while she steadied her brain. Then we hit the bumper cars.

  The bumper cars were a true delight for me. I was a maniac driver, and I lived to smash into strangers. Allie and Sierra wanted to just cruise around the track and avoid everyone, but I aimed right for them and barreled full steam ahead.

  “Oh no! Here she comes!” Sierra would scream.

  I’d cackle like a wicked villain and say, “I’ll get you, my pretties!” Then I’d slam into them as they yelled, “Stop! Truce! You win!”

  I even slammed into some dad, who looked at me like I was nuts and accidentally smashed into two younger kids.

  “Sorry!” I called as I reversed away from the scene of the crime.

  When the power to the cars suddenly cut off, I felt weak and exposed—I had to get out of there before someone came after me for revenge!

  “Let’s run, girls!” I screamed, and Allie and Sierra chased after me, all of us laughing and wild.

  Unfortunately, bumper cars had to go on the list of Bad Wire Rides. I would have had to make way too many identical cars for it to work.

  The swings were awesome because they lifted us kind of high and we could catch glimpses of the ocean as we spun.

  The swings went on the Good Wire Rides list with a star next to it. That would be a great one. I took a minute to sketch the ride when we got off, estimating the size and ratio of all the main parts. It would be pretty easy to do. I’d just need something solid to form the central base and the roof. Then I could make the individual swings out of wire and hang them off the roof. It would have to spin, obviously. But it was definitely doable. If I painted the roof with red and white stripes, it would look like something out of Calder’s Circus.

  Next we went on the roller coaster. The term “roller coaster” might make people think of a huge ride with giant hills. This was more of a kiddie coaster (we could barely fold our knees into the small cars), and it was fast, though not scary. It would have made a Good Wire Ride, but even I had to admit, it was maybe too complicated for me to build.

  The Salt ’n’ Pepper Shakers were a highlight. Sierra and I screamed the whole time, “Look out below!” and laughed like crazy. Allie did look a little green when we got off, but she held it together and recovered after drinking a Coke. (Cola-flavored ice cream went on the list then, as did root beer and lemon-lime fizz.)

  We worked our way through all the rides we could fit on. (Some of them, we had to admit, were just too babyish for us, like the little helicopters that went in a slow circle and lifted four feet off the ground, then came gently back down, only to lift again.) The Round Up went on the Good Wire Rides list with ten stars next to it. It was a ride where you stood on the inside of a huge circular platform with a wall along the outside edge. When the platform started spinning, the centrifugal force pushed you against the wall. The force was so strong that you couldn’t peel yourself off the wall even if you tried!

  But no other rides made the cut until the Ferris wheel.

  “Do we want a stationary car, or one that swings?” asked Allie, looking at the two different lines you could stand in. The swinging-car line was longer, but there was really no contest.

  “Duh!” I said, bar
reling toward the swinging-car line.

  The line took us right under the wheel, which was tall, tall, tall. I craned my neck to look up at all the iron bars crisscrossing one another to hold up the Ferris wheel. It was definitely a Good Wire Ride, but now that I looked at it up close, I wasn’t sure I’d have the time to build it.

  We inched along until finally we were up next. Our car swung down into position, and as the people exited it on the other side, we hopped in and swung right up and out.

  We sat on the bench all together and held hands, screaming as we lifted into the air. We were kind of hamming it up—we weren’t moving that fast—but it was faster than I remembered and kind of shaky.

  As we lifted high, high above Felton Pier, the view opened up and we could see way out to sea. The air was cold and damp and salty, and the sunshine bright and sharp.

  “Wow!” I breathed. “I can see the whole world from here!”

  Sierra shook her head. “I can’t look! I’m afraid of heights!”

  “What?” I laughed. “How do I not know this about you?”

  Sierra squeezed her eyes closed. “We never go anywhere up high together! Now you know!”

  “Colin’s scared of heights too. When I told him we were coming here—he asked me to do an article about it, by the way—he said we were taking our lives in our hands, riding these rickety old rides.” Allie grimaced.

  I raised my eyebrows, annoyed. “Colin’s clueless. These rides aren’t ricket—Oh!” I screamed as our car swung out on its track as we rounded the top of the wheel. It felt like we were going to go shooting right off the side of the ride and go flinging out into the ocean. We screamed for real, at the tops of our lungs, closing our eyes and clutching one another. When the car stabilized, we all laughed hysterically, but it had been scary.

  “See?” said Sierra. “And you guys thought I was crazy!”

  “I forgot how scary the swinging cars are! That was awesome! I want to do it again!” I said.

  “You’re nuts!” cried Allie.

  I tuned out and enjoyed the view for a minute. It was really breathtaking, and from the top you could see all up and down the coast for miles and miles. It made my irritation with all these recent crushes seem sort of petty.