Eventually, Cate arches her back in a deep stretch. “Grady better be grateful. The only time I wake up this early is for Black Friday sales.”
“I still can’t believe you got your laptop for a hundred bucks.”
“Just call me Door Buster,” Cate says with a yawn.
Amelia sits on the edge of her bed, already dressed, Cate’s Meade Creamery polo and shorts on her lap. She tosses them to Cate as Cate strips out of her jammies.
“Don’t forget your Head Girl pin,” Cate says. “I can’t believe I have to keep reminding you.”
They share the sink, brushing their teeth, washing their faces. Amelia pees upstairs while Cate uses their downstairs bathroom. And then Amelia’s pushing Cate out the front door. Once outside, Cate hides her eyes from the sun and digs in her bag for those gas station sunglasses.
“You’d better not sign up for any classes before noon,” Amelia warns. “You’ll lose your scholarship.”
“Maybe we should register for classes around the same times. Then you can be my wake-up call! I mean, we’re already going to be talking to each other every day.”
It’s honestly not a bad idea, except they won’t be in the same time zone.
Cate pats herself down for the key to her truck. “How about we grab breakfast somewhere? Starbucks drive-thru?”
“Nope,” Amelia says, climbing into Cate’s truck and pulling the door shut.
“We have fifteen minutes!” Cate whines.
“We have twelve minutes.” Amelia doesn’t mind if they aren’t the first to show up, but she doesn’t want to be the last.
“I’ll never make it through the day. You know I need sustenance.”
“I saw you grab a granola bar out of our pantry!”
Cate pouts. “That was a breakfast appetizer.”
Amelia snaps her fingers. “Ugh! I forgot to bake a new batch of opening day blueberry muffins.” Maybe if she hadn’t been so focused on stalking Grady, she would have remembered.
“After you get everyone started on chores, send someone out for bagels and cream cheese.”
Though Amelia hasn’t eaten anything, she doesn’t feel the emptiness in her stomach. It’s her nerves, she’s sure. Once things calm down, she’ll be starving too. “Good idea.”
* * *
Despite its being so early, there’s a lot of hugging and bouncing and happiness as the girls arrive at the stand. Though after a few minutes and a head count of seven, Amelia wonders when Grady might make an appearance. He will surely want to make a speech to the girls before they get started. He seems like that kind of guy. Also, Amelia thinks, it will be nice to have his help carrying out the picnic tables, which are solid wood and unbelievably heavy. Not that the girls can’t handle it themselves, they do every year, but it’ll be faster with Grady, and today, every minute counts.
Amelia turns around and realizes she’s standing off by herself. Or, rather, the rest of the girls have drifted a few feet away from her, continuing to chat and talk and laugh. She recognizes this as the deference always shown to the Head Girl, but it feels weird, it being paid to her. Uncomfortable.
She walks over and finds Cate midconversation with the youngest girls.
“He’s completely and totally off-limits, okay? Don’t go out of your way to be nice to him, because he might interpret it as flirting. And if Grady flirts with any of you, or makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, I want you to come and tell Amelia or me ASAP.” Amelia wants to assure them that it will be fine, that Grady seems like a good guy, but the girls look grateful for the protection of the oldest girls looking out for them.
And, really, the only thing that matters right now is that they get the stand ready by eleven o’clock.
But 6:15 comes, then 6:20, and there’s still no Grady. What little time they have is slipping away. Amelia wanders past the stand and a bit up the driveway, as if staring at the farmhouse might make Grady appear.
“Can’t you text him?” Cate asks, following her.
“I don’t have his number.”
“Well . . . I wouldn’t wait much longer.”
They walk back over to where the girls are standing around waiting for direction. Borrowing a hair thing, scratching a bug bite, touching up some lip gloss, yawning.
Amelia opens her notebook and tries to find the least-annoying chores to divvy up first. Except they’re all annoying, in their own ways. Amelia has never gotten mad, or even remotely upset, at being asked to do something. Even the more stupid, hazing-ish stuff that newbies are sometimes made to do, like separating the sprinkles by color. But she suddenly feels weird about dictating who should be doing what, especially remembering what Cate told her about Britnee. And the fact that there are no newbies, at least not yet, means no one is here to pick up the slack on the least-liked chores, like cleaning the stand bathroom.
“Is it possible to be the boss without being bossy?” she asks Cate in a low voice.
“What’s wrong with being bossy? You’re the boss!” Cate laughs. “Here. Watch and learn.” Cate claps her hands for their attention. “Girls! Listen up! Amelia’s going to start delegating chores. Meanwhile I’m off to get us bagels, and anyone who isn’t busting serious ass when I get back is going to be forced to eat the Pumpernickel Bagel of Shame.” Cate winks at Amelia, as if to say See? Easy.
Amelia sticks out her tongue. Joking aside, though, she wishes she had Cate’s confidence, and she’s in awe at the ease with which Cate can straddle the line between being fun and calling the shots. Basically all the stuff that Amelia agonizes over just comes naturally to Cate.
The girls turn to Amelia. And the best she can do? Apologize after she calls out each task listed in her notebook.
The girls shrug, unbothered. They stand shoulder to shoulder, ready to work. Because they love this place as much as she does. Thank goodness.
* * *
Soon the stand is busy with activity. Mansi pushes the lawn mower across the grass. Liz wields the weed-whacker around the perimeter of the stand with her earbuds in. Sophie and Bernadette work together to carry out the picnic tables, moving each one just a few inches at a time, because they’re so heavy. Jen lines each of the trash cans with a black bag before topping it with a bright pink plastic shutter lid to help minimize the inevitable bee situation. And no one, thankfully, comes close to being awarded the Pumpernickel Bagel of Shame.
Every task that isn’t essential to being ready to sell ice cream by eleven a.m. will be left for another day. There’s no time for a fresh coat of paint on the stand. The bee traps won’t get set until Amelia can track down a recipe for the syrup they find so irresistible. Taking down and dusting the empty milk bottles, too. Even omitting those chores, there’s still an enormous amount of work to do, and only a couple more hours to get it done.
Just after nine o’clock, Amelia hears someone calling her name. She’s on her hands and knees, pulling weeds from the cracks in the pavement with Cate. They both sit up and watch Grady sprint down from the farmhouse as fast as he can run in his flip-flops. His hair is sticking up in the back, dented from his pillow. He has on a fraternity T-shirt with a hole in the shoulder and a pair of Truman University sweatpants.
“Sleeping Beauty has awakened,” Cate whispers.
Grady crouches on the ground near Amelia and says in a low, urgent voice, “I can’t believe it’s after nine. Why didn’t you knock on the door?”
“She did,” Cate answers. “Twice, actually.”
This is not true. Amelia shoots Cate a look. Grady doesn’t notice. He’s too agitated.
Amelia calls out, “Everyone, this is Grady Meade!”
Grady gives them a quick wave and then shields his eyes from the sun as he surveys the scene.
Cate stands up and extends her hand. “Hey, Grady. I’m Cate.”
“She’s the one going to Truman on scholarship,” Amelia says quickly. “Cate’s been here as long as I have and—”
“Hey, is that where the picnic tables
usually go? Wouldn’t they’d be better off to the side where there’s some shade?”
Amelia squints to see where he’s pointing. “That puts them under the trees and into a potentially volatile bird poop situation.”
He spins 180 degrees. “What about the plywood? When does that come down? People driving by will think we’re closed for good.”
“That’s typically the last thing we do, right before we open,” Amelia says. “Otherwise people will start to line up now.” She notices Cate’s deepening frown.
Grady scratches his chin, contemplating the garbage cans. “We only have two of those? Is that enough?”
“We don’t get a ton of trash,” Amelia explains. “And we’re good about emptying the cans several times during a shift.” She gestures to Cate. “Anyway, we’re all so proud of Cate. Truman is lucky to have her.”
Finally, Grady seems to get it, and focuses his attention on Cate, who is standing off to the side, arms folded. “Hey, sorry, Cate. It’s good to meet you. I’m a bit distracted this morning.”
“No problem.”
“So . . . what are you studying?” he asks earnestly.
“Chemistry,” Cate says, still a little icy, but warming. “I’m considering a minor in math, though I’m not sure. I don’t want to be a complete academic hermit.”
“Well, you must be smart if you scored a scholarship. They don’t hand those out to just anyone.”
Cate shrugs, like this is no big deal. “It’s not a full ride.”
“It’s basically a full ride,” Amelia chimes in.
“Cool, cool,” Grady says, distracted by the picnic tables again. He makes a hmmm noise. “I really think we should try shifting them a little away from the stand, so people can see it from the road.”
Cate clears her throat, and when she has Amelia’s attention, she discreetly flicks her hand as if shooing a fly away. Except she’s shooing Grady.
Amelia nods and tries leading Grady toward the stand with a hand gently on his back. “You know what, Grady? I totally hear your point about the picnic tables, but I need Bernadette and Sophie to get working inside the stand. We’ve got a lot to set up in there still.”
Grady checks his watch and groans. “I can’t believe this happened. I set two alarms last night, but I get like zero signal out here and it sucked my battery dry. The girls probably think I’m some kind of slack-ass. What can I do to help?”
Amelia might be more annoyed if it weren’t clear that Grady is annoyed with himself. And, honestly, it’s not that big a deal. The way he’s acting right now, so panicky and brimming with questions, it’s better that he’s been out of their hair. “We’ve got this under control.”
He shakes his head. “Come on. Please. I need to help.” Right then, the lawn mower sputters to a stop in a patch of high grass. Mansi tries pulling the cord a few times to restart it, but it’s dead.
Grady cups his hands around his mouth and says, “I’ll take a look!” Before he darts off, he spots the bag of bagels. “Thank God. I’m starving.” He reaches inside. “Anyone got dibs on this last one?”
“Have at it,” Cate says, grinning mischievously.
He puts the pumpernickel bagel between his teeth, and the girls have to do everything they can to hold in their laughter as he jogs over toward the lawn mower.
Amelia whispers to Cate, “He’s really stressed.”
Cate rolls her eyes. “I love how he comes down here and questions everything we’re doing. As if he knows better than us.” Thankfully, she doesn’t seem that annoyed. If anything, she’s charged up. “He really is cute,” she concedes begrudgingly. “I bet he normally gets away with this crap all the time. But he’s about to have a rude awakening because that’s not going to happen here.”
* * *
An hour later, Cate’s inside the stand with several open cardboard boxes at her feet. She’s filling up the sideboard with toppings—sprinkles, crushed-up Oreo cookies, and chopped candy bars. She’s got the radio on, singing and shimmying as Amelia makes trips in the purple ski jacket between the storage freezer and the scooping cabinet, stocking it with two drums of every flavor. Amelia’s so tired, they feel twice as heavy as they normally do. Then, after the last trip, she sheds the jacket, closes her eyes, and stands for a second in the cold, hoping it will jolt her awake.
Next, Amelia fills a bucket with warm water at the slop sink and carries it outside and around to the bathroom. On her way, she sees Grady sitting underneath a tree, the lawn mower in pieces on the ground, his brow furrowed in concentration, a smear of grease across his cheek.
Through the bathroom walls, Amelia can hear Cate singing along to the oldies station—“My Boyfriend’s Back,” “Chapel of Love,” “Mr. Sandman.” Amelia has her hands inside a pair of yellow rubber gloves, her bare knees on a folded piece of paper towel. Whoever cleaned the bathroom last August (probably Britnee, now knowing what Cate said about her) didn’t do a very thorough job. There’s a ring of grime inside the porcelain toilet bowl, and Amelia scrubs it with a piece of steel wool with all the elbow grease she can muster.
The bathroom is the least-favorite chore of Meade Creamery girls. It would be one thing if it were just for the girls, but it’s used by customers as well, and it boggles Amelia’s mind how careless they can be about making sure paper towels find their way into the trash can. At the very least, to be a human on earth, people should wipe up their own pee from the toilet seat.
Amelia sits back on her heels and wipes her brow. The bathroom really should be cleaned, at least superficially, once a day. That rarely happens. It’s a chore specifically for the newbies, so a newbie has to be on shift, and even then, they have to be explicitly told to do it. And that, Amelia knows, is why it was the last job left up for grabs. Today, she’s fine to clean it herself. It’s her way to thank everyone for busting their butts.
After the toilet shines, she snaps off her gloves and checks her phone. Less than one hour until they open. She steps outside, dumps out the water in the dirt, and heads back toward the stand.
Grady notices her and bounds over. “Lawn mower is fixed and I cut the rest of the grass. I’m going to run up and grab a quick shower, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure.”
“You look tired, Amelia,” he says.
“Thanks?”
“Wait, no. What I meant is that I know you’ve been working hard. I’m sorry if I was freaking out before,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to get in anyone’s way. I just want today to go well.”
“That makes two of us,” she says.
At the very least, there’s that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A FEW MINUTES BEFORE ELEVEN, Amelia feels a rush of anticipation, the same way she has on every opening day. Peeking around the door, she sees that the line for ice cream is out to the road. There are couples, packs of kids straddling their bikes with their allowance tucked into their socks, teens looking down at their phones, families on vacation with fresh sunburns, a group of women in hospital scrubs, even four old men listening to a baseball game on a small handheld radio.
Grady is in the office, filling the two register tills with cash. He’s showered and dressed up in a pale-gray cotton blazer over a white oxford shirt and tan chinos that are snug to his legs.
Cate hooks her chin on Amelia’s shoulder and whispers, “It looks like he’s dressed for a yacht christening.”
Amelia covers her mouth to keep the laugh in.
Though he doesn’t look up, Amelia senses that Grady knows they’ve been talking about him. His cheeks flush pink.
Sheepishly, Amelia retrieves a cordless drill from the supply closet and presents it to Grady. “Would you like to do the honors and take the plywood down?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
It’s tradition that the most senior girls work the windows on the first shift of opening day, with two girls standing by behind them to assist in making the orders. Amelia and Cate take their positions. And a
s the clock ticks over to eleven, they high-five, hip-check, slide their windows open, and take their first orders of the season.
No matter how fast Amelia and Cate scoop, the line doesn’t seem to get any shorter. It’s partly because everyone who comes to the windows wants to talk, saying things like “I was so worried the stand would close forever!” or “It wouldn’t be summer without Meade Creamery!”
And for the first time, Amelia doesn’t feel sad when she thinks of Molly’s death. In fact, she hopes Molly is up in heaven, somewhere in that perfect blue summer sky, sitting with Wayne Lumsden on a fluffy white cloud, looking down on her stand, able to see all the happy faces and hear the compliments.
Meanwhile Grady walks the line, snapping pictures and shaking hands. Even the mayor shows up, with her husband and new baby, and introduces herself to Grady. He brings them straight to the window and benevolently instructs Amelia and Cate to, for the rest of the summer, put whatever the mayor orders on his personal tab. Mayor Heller looks embarrassed, and politely declines Grady’s offer for freebies and the chance to cut the line.
“That was awkward,” Amelia says quietly to Cate.
“His personal tab?” Cate snarks back. “What a cheeseball.” And then she pokes Amelia in the side, making Amelia bend and squeal; however, she manages to keep the top scoop of strawberry on her sugar cone from rolling off.
She and Cate do this a lot, see if they can get each other to mess up an order. They’ll banter with each other’s customers, joking with them that they picked the wrong window, teasing that they’d have put way more sprinkles on a cone than the other would have, two cherries instead of one on the top of a sundae. Both of their tip jars fill up fast, more dollars than change by a long shot. The younger girls see it and are in awe. Happy awe, because tips get split equally at the end of every shift.
Amelia feels her most confident here next to Cate—the best, shiniest version of herself. Today the summer feels long. She won’t let herself think of the opposite of this day, in August, when they’ll be close to saying goodbye.