Sweeter Than Summer

4 | black attack

The flier was waiting for me on the kitchen counter.

I didn't get out of bed until ten ten, when Carter called me, practically begging me to cover his shift. He said he was sick, but I knew as soon as I saw his name on my caller ID that he was hungover. He sounded so pitiful, I had to say yes.

After taking a quick shower, I went down to the kitchen, hair still wet, to toast a bagel. Sitting there, right in front of the coffee maker, was a piece of paper so orange it almost hurt to look at.

But I did look at it, mostly just wondering why it had made its home right next to the sugar bowl. At the top, in that fake-handwriting font, all caps, and bolded letters, it read: '1ST ANNUAL NEW ENGLAND ICE CREAM FESTIVAL AND CONTEST.' Underneath it, in smaller print, it continued: 'Prospective ice cream makers from across the New England area are invited to come and submit their original flavors for taste testing. The prize for the winner? Ice cream brand Fantataste will manufacture it and sell it in stores nationwide.'

There was only one person who could have left it there. So I called him.

"Hey there hon, what did you need?" Before I could answer, he continued, "you could have texted me, you know. I know how to text now. I told you that."

"I know."

"The next thing I'm trying to learn is emojis. And hashtags. Have you heard of snapchat? Nevermind. I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Where'd you get this flier?" I asked him.

"Huh?"

"The one you left by the coffee maker." I cradled my cell phone in the nook between my ear and my shoulder, so I could pull my bagel out of the toaster and the cream cheese out of the fridge.

"I left a flier by the coffee – oh yeah. I did, didn't I?"

"Yup," I said simply, "I'm looking right at it."

"Did you read it?"

"Uh huh," I mumbled around my first bite.

"That seems like it's right up your alley, right? A guy came into the bank yesterday and pinned a bunch of them to the bulletin board."

I swallowed. "This contest actually sounds like it was made for me."

"That's what I thought!"

"I'm definitely going to do it," I decided, "it's on August 28th. That's plenty of time to figure everything out."

"Two whole months."

"Exactly! You can do it."

"Yeah!" His enthusiasm was contagious. "Thanks Dad. For showing this to me."

"No problem, pumpkin," my dad said, "is it okay if we continue this conversation later? I'm drowning in paperwork as we speak."

"Alrighty. I have to get to work anyway."

"See you for dinner?"

"Sure thing."

Once he hung up, I put my phone in my bag, threw my hair into a sloppy ponytail, and grabbed the bagel. If I wanted to get there on time, I had to start walking.

But Puddle had other ideas. When I walked by her bed, she lazily rolled over onto her side, paws in the air. Even though I knew it would make me late, I reached down to scratch her stomach affectionately, and top off her water dish. The dog took priority, as always.

When I got to Franny's at 11:04, someone had already flipped the sign to 'open' and unlocked the door. When I walked in, I could see Rosa behind the counter, lazily counting the ones from the register.