The Best of the Brine

A short (and silly) story. For real this time.

The Ice Cream Girl

Every summer, since I was 14, from three o'clock in the afternoon to eight o'clock in the evening, five days a week, I am the Ice Cream Girl. Cupid’s Ice Cream has many employees; Toppings Boy, Shakes Girl, Floats Boy- I scoop the ice cream, each of the 36 flavors, and that makes me The Ice Cream Girl.

The Ice Cream Girl has the most difficult task, because ice cream is required for everything; toppings, shakes, and floats. Toppings Boy is second busiest, but his work is doesn't require him to be precise-just throw a spoonful of peanuts on some ice cream and you're set. This fits his personality well. He is frantic and chaotic, a tiny tornado that regularly destroys the toppings counter. By the end of the day, there is usually a gummy worm or two stuck in his chocolate hair.

Shake Girl, our valedictorian, has the most complicated job, but 1 in every 7 costumers wants a shake, so it evens, out time wise. Plus, she has the whole thing down to an exact science. Of course, if something goes even slightly awry she crumbles like a cookie, but what can you do?

Float Boy is just that: a floater. He got the job at Cupid’s because he wanted to flirt with pretty girls who stop in on the way home from the beach. Because, lets face it, like, one out of every 20 people wants a float. And what does it even entail, anyway? I scoop the ice cream, and then he... what? Pours coke all over it? Yeah, that sounds really taxing. And, as a result, he has lots of time to hang over the counter and smile at the girls with caramel skin and strawberry bikini’s, and do nothing that even remotely resembles work. This is especially common on days when we are slow.

Like today.

Not that I care.

I don’t care! We have nothing to do. Toppings Boy has wiped off the counter fourteen times already, Shake Girl is singing "The States Song" out of sheer boredom, and I’m standing here, useless, watching as Floater gazes at some smitten girl with hair like cherries. Our first costumer in an hour, and-of course- it’s another girl for Floater to hit on. We are always so cursedly slow on rainy days. People don’t venture towards the beach on rainy days.

There is a crack of thunder. I realize that I am compulsively scooping at vanilla bean. I stop, midscoop, and look at the massive crater I created. I glance up. Toppings Boy is staring. So is Shake Girl, and I notice that she has stopped her singing. I glare at them, and flick the vanilla ice cream off my vanilla skin.

“What?” I gesture at them with my ice cream scooper in what I think appears to be a nonchalant fashion.

Toppings Boy looks immediately fascinated with the non-existent dirt on the floor (he has mopped twice in the last hour), but Shake Girl shakes her head at me sadly and goes back to singing. I ignore her, and my attention falls back on Floater, who since my last glance has removed his apron and somehow vaulted over the counter. He is standing next to Cherries Girl, and they are both grinning like idiots. He is looking at me, blueberry eyes meeting my mint ones.

“Hey Almond, cover for me.” He whips his apron at me, and I snatch it out of the air reflexively. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had let it fall to the floor. My eyes are on him as he leaves with Cherries Girl, arm slung around her shoulder.

I look down at my ice cream scooper, and cannot fathom why suddenly, I feel as if I have been scooping out my insides, rather than the ice cream I so dutifully serve. I consider telling Mr. Boss about Floater’s truancy, but dismiss the idea almost immediately.

After all, today was the first day he had called me by name.