Stealing The Show (Such Sweet Sorrow Trilogy, Book One)

19

I'M PRETENDING TO mop, facing the other side of the building, and I hear The Count burst through the open door. I sneak a peek over my shoulder because I feel so conspicuous. The mop isn't even wet. 

But The Count isn't looking at me. He looks so furious over his free ice cream that he can't see anything at all, until he stares behind the counter and sees Shoe standing there with a goofy grin. The Count turns and stomps toward the counter--it's hard to tell if he's just after his ice cream, or if he realizes he's being duped again, but just then I see Dave Underwood take his cue and turn away from the counter and toward The Count. 

So it begins. 

When we got to work, we poured strawberry syrup into one of our GigantiGulp cups. It's like eighty ounces of neon crimson glop, sticky and smelly, and Dave does a fake little trip as he turns and pretends to fall right at The Count. With all eighty ounces of the syrup flying. 

Right about then is when Jubilee makes it into the door. She has this look of amused horror, because Dave hits The Count right in the crotch with the syrup. It's running up his sweater and down both legs of his pleated khakis and dripping grossly on his loafers into a gooey pool at his feet. 

The Count says, more or less, "Graaaakkkk Aahhhsssshhhhh!" He tries to take a step but realizes he's standing in the center of the most slippery and sticky space-age fruit-flavoring ever. He looks up at Dave, furious. 

I think Dave's having a hard time keeping a straight face. But so am I. The way the syrup hit him, it looks like The Count's crotch has exploded. 

Shoe, though, is in character. He vaults over the counter and bounds toward them. 

"Mr. Marshfield! Oh! The humanity!" He turns to Dave. "How dare you do that to Mr. Marshfield!" It's a bad English accent, like he's a knight in King Arthur's court. And the fake fight begins. Shoe rears back and throws a right hook at Dave, Dave blocks it with his forearm and comes back with a right of his own, which Shoe tries to block but misses and instead takes the punch right to his gut. 

"Ouufff!" he says. So he slaps Dave on the ear and Dave kind of looks stunned. Dave yanks Shoe's sleeve and they spin around, and for a second I wonder if the fake fight isn't a little bit real all of a sudden. They go twirling away from The Count and into a little table, and the cheap chairs go flying away like birds scared out of a tree. As they descend to the floor to grunt and wrestle, like most all fights I've ever seen in high school actually do, Blevins walks in, right on cue. He looks perfect: a short-sleeved blue button-up shirt and a red tie with ice cream cones on it. It's like he bought the outfit just for the occasion. 

I can't help but watch, once Blevins starts his lines. For being the drama teacher, he's terrible at acting. 

"Sir! My sincerest apologies!" He romps over to The Count. "I'm Dan Mouser, the manager here. This is unacceptable for the high standards we follow here at Papa's Custard. Mr. Shoemaker will be terminated. From his employment here, I mean." Which is true, of course. Me, too.  

Down on the ground, Dave and Shoe are rolling around like they're in a mad makeout session.  

"Do you hear me, Mr. Shoemaker? You're fired." Blevins stares at the two of them like he's disappointed in their poor stuntman fighting skill. 

From the ground, there only come a few more indistinguishable grunts. I glance over at the door where Jubilee is still standing. She still has the exact same look on her face, like she doesn't know what's happening, doesn't know whether to laugh or be mad, doesn't know if this is actually happening or not.  

"Please, allow me to assist you--we can go to the executive restroom and clean up, Mr...?" Blevins says, holding out a hand to help The Count across the moat of strawberry glop.