Banana Splits

by Coco Simon

  Allie nodded approvingly. “We’ll always be your number one readers!” she said.

  “Thanks,” I said, and smiled. “So, what are you both doing for the rest of today?”

  “I’m volunteering at the library today,” Allie said. “I signed up for a few hours a week, until camp starts.”

  “I’m going to the beach with my family,” Sierra said. “Want to come?”

  “Sure, maybe,” I said. It was a beautiful day, but I had some big plans for my next blog post that I wanted to start on.

  The bell on the door tinkled, and Ewan walked in. Allie and Sierra raised their eyebrows at me and then walked away from me as Ewan approached.

  “I guess I’m too late for the banana split thing?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, you had to sign up in advance,” I said.

  “I just saw it on your blog,” he said. “And a banana split sounded so good that I thought I’d come down.”

  “You can still get one,” I told him, nodding to the counter.

  He looked around at the banana splits that everyone was eating. “Wow, they’re pretty big. If I get one, will you share it with me?”

  “Uh . . . ,” I said. My hands began to sweat. Wasn’t sharing a sundae with someone sort of . . . romantic? Behind me I swore I heard Allie and Sierra giggle.

  “Sure,” I declared to Ewan. Then I turned around to face my friends. “Allie and Sierra can help us eat it too!”

  “Okay,” Ewan replied. I might have detected a hint of disappointment in his voice, but I pretended not to hear it.

  We walked up to the counter, and Ewan ordered a banana split from Daphne. I nervously narrated as Daphne was making it.

  “Well, since you missed the demonstration, I can tell you how it’s done,” I interjected. “See how Daphne is making that S shape? . . . Okay, now she’s evenly drizzling the chocolate sauce. . . .”

  Ewan paid for the sundae and we got four spoons and headed to one of the round tables. I could feel Allie and Sierra staring at me, confused. I called out to them. “Seriously? You’re going to pass up on an opportunity to eat a banana split?”

  That made both of them grin, and they joined Ewan and me at the table.

  Ewan looked down at the banana split. “Wow, those are perfectly round scoops,” he said. “I’m going to have to try that S-shaped trick at home.”

  “Practice makes perfect!” Sierra said.

  I smiled at him gratefully, plucked the cherry off the top of the sundae, and popped it into my mouth.

  “Hey, aren’t you supposed to eat that last?” he asked.

  “I was born to break the rules,” I answered. It sounded corny as soon as I said it, but everyone laughed. I picked up my spoon and dug into the ice cream.

  That banana split was sweet and delicious. Hanging out with my Sprinkle Sundays sisters and Ewan was pretty sweet too. So was being able to run the Molly’s website again.

  I suddenly knew the perfect word to make with my alphabet tiles.

  “SWEET”!

  Keep reading for a preview of

  Sugar, Spice, and Sprinkles

  by

  Coco Simon

  I hurried down the school hallway, balancing a large Tupperware container, my reusable lunch bag, my backpack, and a separate small duffel bag that held notes, sheet music, and a granola bar for my band practice later. When you participated in as many activities as I did, you needed to be prepared. It didn’t hurt to bring a few snacks, either.

  That day’s student council meeting had been pushed back twice because of me and my other commitments, like rehearsals with my amazing band, the Wildflowers; my soccer and softball team practices; and my weekly shifts at Molly’s, the best ice cream parlor in town, where I worked with my two best friends every Sunday.

  Student council was important to me too, though. I loved being the secretary and taking notes and getting to weigh in and vote on upcoming school events and fund-raisers. I was helping to make my school a more fun and friendlier place. What could be better?

  So, to make sure everyone on the council knew how much it meant to me that they’d moved the meeting around (twice), I’d spent some time the day before baking cookies to bring to the meeting. People appreciated cookies, especially after school when you were starving.

  I broke into a jog as room 215B came into sight. Then I whooshed through the door, and all of my bags and packages banged and slapped against the doorframe and desks as I made my way to the big table by the windows. Let’s just say my entrance was loud, even for me.

  Everyone turned to see if a herd of elephants was coming, and then made faces like, Oh, it’s not elephants, it’s just Sierra. The four student council members (besides me) were already there, even though it was only 3:13 and the school bell had just rung at 3:10. How had they all gotten there so fast? I had practically run from my locker, and it was only one floor down.

  Maybe I needed roller skates.

  “Hello, everyone!” I said cheerfully. I plopped the large Tupperware container onto the table and began depositing my other bags into a chair. “Help yourselves!”

  “Ooooh, what’s in here?” asked Claire Bright, sliding her thumb under the corner of the Tupperware lid. Claire was in eighth grade and was president of the student council. She worked very hard on all council business, and always wanted everything to be just right. “Wow, Sierra. Really, wow! You made emoji cookies?”

  She pulled one out and held it up to show everyone. I beamed. What had started out as making plain old sugar cookies (round ones—I didn’t even use a cookie cutter because I didn’t have time for the dough to chill and set) had become much more interesting when I’d discovered we had a lot of yellow food dye. So I’d whipped up some icing and given all the cookies yellow faces, then had had a blast adding eyes and mouths and different common emoji expressions. Even my identical twin sister, Isa, who basically did the opposite of everything I did and would say she didn’t like something just because I liked it, had stopped by the kitchen to admire them. She had even gotten into the spirit of things and decorated a few Yuck! faces with tongues sticking out.

  “These are awesome,” said Lee Murphy, our treasurer and resident council grump, biting into a well-chosen frowny face.

  Hanna Okoye (sixth-grade rep who recently joined the student council) and Vikram Kapoor (vice president) both nodded in agreement and reached into the Tupperware to grab a few for themselves. I waited until everyone had a cookie before choosing a toothy smiley face for myself.

  Everyone was munching and smiling, and I could tell it was going to be a good meeting.

  Claire, finishing her third cookie, called the meeting to order. “First order of business—let’s all thank Sierra for being so nice and bringing us these awesome cookies! I guess it made this meeting worth the wait.”

  Everyone clapped, and I gave a silly half bow.

  “Really, Sierra—you are just soooo nice,” Claire said. “Someone asked me the other day about you, and I said Sierra is a sweetheart.”

  Hanna, who tended to be a bit shy in meetings because she was the only sixth grader, said, “Yeah, you are so sweet, Sierra.”

  “And a good baker, too,” said Lee, polishing off his fourth or fifth cookie. “Sweet Sierra.”

  I was starting to feel a little self-conscious now, like they were describing a cookie, not me. So I jumped right into reading the minutes from the previous meeting, to change the subject.

  “We need to plan Spirit Week,” I read from my notes, “which includes making a plan for promo materials and an assembly, and also deciding on the themes for the week.”

  “I love Spirit Week,” said Claire. “It’s the best! And since it’s my last year here at MLK, I want to make sure we do an awesome job, okay?”

  “Of course!” I said. “I love Spirit Week too!”

  Hanna and the others quickly agreed, and we started brainstorming ideas. We made a list of how many posters we’d need, who was going to make them, and the
basics of what they would look like and say. Then we started discussing our assembly, which had mostly been arranged for us, and would include a speaker who was an alum of the school giving a speech entitled Achieving Success under Stress.

  I almost felt like I could give that speech, since most of the time I was running from one thing to the next, trying to make it all work and be successful. I giggled to myself, thinking how hard my two best friends, Allie Shear and Tamiko Sato, would laugh if I told them I was going to give that speech. They always teased me about my overly busy schedule, and both of them preferred to live life on the slower, calmer side.

  “Why are you laughing, Sierra?” asked Lee. “You don’t like the red-and-gold idea?”

  “Huh?” I said, not realizing I’d tuned out for a moment. I checked my notes, which I’d been taking very diligently, and saw that Lee had suggested having a Red and Gold Day for one of our spirit dress-up days, in honor of our school colors.

  “I wasn’t laughing at that!” I replied hastily. “I was just thinking of how great Spirit Week is going to be, and it made me happy, so I guess I . . . just happy-laughed.” I smiled and shrugged sheepishly, realizing I sounded a little kooky, but better that than admitting I’d been daydreaming and thinking of something else.

  Vikram shook his head. “So happy and sweet! You’re like a baby bird, Sierra.”

  I didn’t really see how I was similar to a baby bird, but since he seemed to mean it as a compliment, I said nothing and went back to taking notes.

  “Do we have some ideas for the other four days of the week?” I asked. “Other than Red and Gold Day, I mean?”

  Everyone started shouting out ideas, and I wrote them down as fast as I could.

  Crazy Hair Day

  Inside Out Day

  Pajama Day

  Sports Jersey Day

  Hawaiian Day

  Favorite Decade Day

  Heroes vs. Villains Day

  Favorite Movie Day

  Eighties Day

  We were coming up with so many ideas that I didn’t know how we’d choose just five total. There were endless possibilities for Spirit Week, which was why it was fun every year, and why I was glad to be on the student council and able to help make these decisions!

  I grabbed a second cookie for myself and kept jotting down notes, until the clock read four fifteen.

  “Hey, guys, I’m sorry to do this but I have to leave a little early—I’ve got a band practice now and I couldn’t push it until later. . . .” I hated feeling guilty when I had to leave one thing to go to another, but with my schedule, it happened fairly often.

  “It’s okay, Sierra,” Claire said. “We understand, and I think we’ve had a really productive meeting today. But leave these delicious cookies behind, will you?”

  I had planned to take the extras for my band, but I couldn’t say no when Claire was being so nice about me leaving early. So I just smiled and said, “Of course! Enjoy. And I can’t wait for Spirit Week! We’re going to have so much fun!”

  “Bye, Sierra,” said Hanna in her soft voice.

  I waved to everyone and set off for my bandmate Reagan’s house, feeling lighter without the heavy Tupperware container. I couldn’t wait to tell the band some of the ideas we’d come up with for Spirit Week.

  Then another idea occurred to me. What about a Rock ’n’ Roll Day? That would be fun and easy to do—just dress like your favorite rock star! Spirit Week was always the best week of the year. And I’d gotten to help plan it and go spend time with my band.

  “Who says Mondays are terrible?” I asked myself as I hiked down the school driveway and headed in the direction of Reagan’s house. “If you ask me, I think they’re pretty sweet.”

  “It’s slow in here today,” said Tamiko, looking at the clock on the wall of Molly’s Ice Cream parlor. “We’ve only had, like, six customers. Maybe I should post a special on social media. Allie, quick! Come up with something photogenic.” She gestured frantically at Allie, as if urging her to put out a fire.

  Allie and I exchanged a look. Tamiko was terrific with social media and getting customers in the door. But she could also be a little too blunt and bossy sometimes without meaning to. I winked at Allie, and she gave me a knowing smile back.

  “Ooo-kay,” Allie said slowly. “Well, it’s Sunday, so how about something like a Sweet End to the Weekend cone? It could be three or four different scoops, with a piece of candy hidden at the bottom of the cone to find at the end—”

  Tamiko clapped her hands together excitedly, and said, “Yes! Make it now! I’ll post it and we’ll get some people in here.”

  Allie got to work while I grabbed her phone to turn up the music that was playing on the speakers. I looked forward to Sundays every week, because every Sunday I got to scoop ice cream and hang out with my two best friends.

  Well, technically, I didn’t do very much of the scooping. When the three of us worked together, Allie was the super-scooper, creating beautiful, edible works of art; Tamiko was the marketing maven, often dreaming up delicious, original, personal concoctions for customers on the spot; and I was the register runner, because I could do math really fast in my head. I never got flustered if the register jammed or when four different people were shoving money into my hands and waiting for their change.

  We were a great team, thanks to years of being such good friends.

  Allie made the new cone, and Tamiko posted it online. Not one second later, a customer walked into the shop. It was as if we’d asked a genie for a wish. Tamiko winked at me, and we all scooted into our positions.

  The customer was a mom with a young toddler. The woman’s hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head, with stray pieces flying every which way. Her scarf was askew, and her purse gaped open, stuffed with a sippy cup, a plastic baggie of snacks, and what looked like a small blanket. She seemed exhausted. I felt tired just looking at her.

  Her toddler was red-faced and kept yanking on her arm. “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO,” he was yelling, and he even stamped his foot a few times. “I don’t WANNA.”

  “Hello!” Allie said cheerfully. “Welcome to Molly’s, where all of our ice creams are homemade right here in the store. What can we get you? We’ve got a special today—a Sweet End to the Weekend cone, which has a hidden surprise at the bottom.”

  The woman scanned the containers of ice cream, and said, “Um, thanks, but I’ll just have a double scoop of Coffee and Doughnuts ice cream for me, and a cup of the Cake Batter for my son. Oh, and do you have a cup of coffee to go with the coffee ice cream?”

  “We sure do,” I said, and Tamiko scrambled to get it ready for her.

  “Black. Hot. Extra strong, please,” the woman said. I had a feeling that what this woman really needed was a nap.

  Allie got to work on the order and Tamiko snapped a lid onto the coffee while I rang it all up. Allie handed over the finished cone and cup of ice cream, which were both works of art, as always. She made sure her scoops were perfectly round and full. After all, Molly’s was her mother’s store, and their family needed it to be as successful as possible.

  But as soon as the little boy took his cup of ice cream, he started stamping his feet again and yelling, “I said I wanted BLUE ICE CREAM!” He quickly flipped over the cup so that the scoops fell onto the floor at his feet.

  The mother looked like she was going to lose it. She put her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and sighing deeply.

  Allie, Tamiko, and I exchanged a look. We’d never had a kid dump ice cream onto the floor before. Most kids ate it so fast, there wasn’t even time for drips.

  “Oh, that’s no problem at all,” I said brightly. “Really! Allie will get him a fresh cup of something uh . . . blue, on the house, and I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “Really?” asked the woman.

  “Really,” said Allie. And I knew she didn’t mind me offering it on the house just this once. She and her mother always wanted every customer to leave happy, and I felt
it was my job to make sure that happened.

  I hurried to get the mop and clean up the mess as Allie made him a cup of  Blueberry Wonder, which was more purple than blue, but it was the closest thing we had. As she was placing the cup on the counter, I reached into the sprinkles bin and pulled out a handful of pale blue sprinkles. I arranged them on the top of the scoop in a smiley face, and said, “Here’s a blue sprinkle of happy to go with your blue ice cream.”

  The toddler’s face lit up, and so did his mother’s. “Thank you,” she said. “You are so sweet! We’ll definitely come back again.”

  “Yay!” said Tamiko as they left. “Another happy customer. You really are the nicest, Sierra. I mean, Allie and I are both nice too—don’t get me wrong—but you are just extra nice.”

  “So true,” said Allie, putting her arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “You’re the nicest person I know. I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

  “Me too,” I said, feeling pleased, but also slightly uncomfortable at all the praise. I’d just done what anyone would have done, right?

  To change the subject I said, “I forgot to tell you about my student council meeting the other day. We started coming up with ideas for Spirit Week!”

  “YES!”  Tamiko jumped up and down a few times. “Spirit Week is my jam! I get to make so many great outfits!”

  Tamiko loved any excuse to make, create, glue—you name it. Her room and her wardrobe were all completely unique and custom.

  “Remember Spirit Week in sixth grade?” asked Allie, sounding wistful. “I was still at MLK, and we had Twin Day, and the three of us decided to go as triplets?” Allie, Tamiko, and I used to all go to the same school—Martin Luther King Middle School—but Allie switched to Vista Green School after her parents got divorced.

  “And the best part was that Sierra actually has a twin but dressed up with us anyway!” added Tamiko.

  I smiled. That had been a great day. “It’s not like Isa would have agreed to dress identically with me anyway,” I reminded them. “She’d already started her all-black phase by then.”