Sugar, Spice, and Sprinkles

by Coco Simon

  “I like it,” I said. “There’s no denying that ice cream is good for the soul!”

  “I love the sign,” said Tamiko. “Want me to post a picture of it on social media?”

  Allie’s face broke into a huge smile. “Would you? That would be great!”

  Tamiko took a few pictures, played with the filters, and then posted one online. “There! That’ll show all the ice cream haters out there. Or, the one hater we know.”

  I was starting to get nervous. All this talk about Claire meant we were only seconds away from one of them bringing up the council and the thing that I didn’t do this week.

  Luckily, I was saved by the beautiful warm weather. Not two seconds later a group of five high school girls came in, then a woman carrying a tiny Yorkie puppy, and then a steady stream of other customers followed. The three of us were busy filling orders and keeping up with whatever elaborate specials Tamiko felt like inventing, like her Good for the Soul Shake, which was a blend of the customer’s four favorite flavors. It was an interesting idea—which worked out well sometimes, but sometimes the end result was really odd and just didn’t taste good at all.

  Time was flying, and I couldn’t have been more relieved. But all good things must come to an end, I guess.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tamiko began. But before she could get the words out, I turned my back to her and began viciously wiping the countertops with a rag. The expression on my face was so guilty, I had to hide it.

  “How did Claire take it when you quit the other day?” she asked.

  This was it. I had to admit the truth—I hadn’t done it.

  But still, the words wouldn’t come. A second went by. Then another.

  “Sierra?” said Allie.

  I turned around to face Tamiko and Allie. “I didn’t get the chance,” I finally admitted. “Our meeting was so busy, and I got there last. So I couldn’t quit.”

  There was a slight pause. “You don’t mean you couldn’t quit,” said Tamiko. “You mean you didn’t quit.”

  Ouch. That stung. Tamiko was right, though. There had been opportunities for me to say something to Claire all week. I was the one who’d decided to wait until the meeting on Friday and then had gotten there last. I had procrastinated and then had just given up. I hadn’t been brave enough to speak up… again.

  Sierra the scaredy-cat.

  I didn’t even try to defend myself. I just fidgeted with a container of paper straws for the milkshakes.

  Tamiko came to stand beside me. “It’s okay, Sierra. You can do this! You really can. Just get your phone out and send Claire a text. Do it now. You’ll feel better!”

  “A text? I can’t tell her over text. That’s not very mature or responsible,” I said. What would quitting over text do to my reputation? “I have to do it in person.”

  Allie looked sympathetically at me. “I agree, Sierra. In person is best. Or call her. But you need to do it.”

  I nodded. “I know. I will.”

  Tamiko asked, “Did you get to help vote on the themes at least? Are they any good?”

  My cheeks flamed red. This was getting worse and worse. I felt like such a disappointment to my friends, and yet it was Claire that I kept worrying I would disappoint.

  “Um, yeah. We voted. The themes are Crazy Hair Day, Pajama Day, Twin Day, Anti–Vista Green Day, and Red and Gold Day.” I tried to keep my tone neutral as I said the words aloud. It was still hard to believe that these themes had been my decisions too. I had participated in the voting, and I hadn’t fought against Anti–Vista Green Day, which was basically the same as voting yes.

  Instead of the reaction I’d expected, however, which was that Allie would respond in horror to Anti–Vista Green Day, she quickly said, “Are you and Tamiko going to dress up together for Twin Day?”

  There was a strange tone to her voice that I didn’t recognize.

  “Is that even a question?” Tamiko replied, grinning. “Of course we are.”

  Were we? But what if Isa had been serious the other day about dressing up with me? She had clearly been hurt by me “triplet-ing” with Tamiko and Allie the year before. What if Twin Day really did mean something to her? I couldn’t let Isa down again.

  Tamiko could always dress up with MacKenzie if necessary. But Isa didn’t have another twin.

  I didn’t respond, and Tamiko noticed. Her smile quickly turned to a frown.

  Just then a young man came into the shop. He worked at the grocery store across the street and was one of our regular customers. He immediately noticed Allie’s new blackboard and started laughing. “Good for the soul,” he read aloud. “I love it!”

  “Thank you,” Allie responded, but I couldn’t help noticing that her smile seemed forced. And when her head was bent over the tubs of ice cream, her mouth was pinched down in a frown.

  Oh no. I suddenly realized why Allie was upset too. If Tamiko and I dressed up as twins, she’d be left out because she was at a different school. It had been our “thing” together the year before—the three of us—and now she couldn’t be a part of that.

  I nervously glanced over at Tamiko, who was happily pitching the Chocolate Chili ice cream to an intrigued customer. She hadn’t seemed to notice that Allie was upset. If I dressed up with Isa so that Allie wouldn’t feel left out, Tamiko would be sad.

  I wanted to start scooping ice cream with my hands and throw it at the walls. Spirit Week, which was supposed to be one of the highlights of the school year, was turning into a complete and utter disaster.

  And I was to blame, because I hadn’t been brave enough to stop it from spinning out of control.

  I had been trying so hard to be sweet. But why was that making everything around me sour?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN SUGAR AND SPICE

  On Sunday night, despite Tamiko’s and Allie’s disappointment in me, and my disappointment in myself, I went ahead and made all the Spirit Week posters I’d signed up to do. After all, I’d promised to do them, and not making the posters wasn’t going to change how the vote had gone. It would just make me look lazy.

  I got to school early Monday morning and hung the posters in the halls. I tried to avoid running into anyone and kept my head down as I worked. Not so long ago, I was proud to be on the student council. How had it all changed so fast?

  Even before the first bell rang, everyone was talking about Anti–Vista Green Day. I overheard some kids saying they liked it, and some who said they were confused by it. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had no idea that MLK students were “supposed” to dislike Vista Green, although that fact didn’t make me feel much better.

  I avoided Claire all day, knowing I still didn’t have the guts to quit the council. Tamiko thankfully said nothing at lunch, just raised her eyebrows when MacKenzie mentioned I’d done a nice job on the posters. I changed the subject and got Tamiko talking about how she planned to repaint her nightstand that weekend.

  Luckily, I had my Wildflowers practice to go to after school, which would hopefully distract me from my big fat mess. But as soon as I got there, Tessa said, “Sierra! I’ve been dying to talk to you all day. What’s the deal with Anti–Vista Green Day? Everyone’s talking about it. I can’t believe you’d vote for that—especially since Colin and Allie go there.”

  Tessa knew Allie through me, but she’d met Colin at the pool the previous summer, and had a pretty serious crush on him. In fact, a couple of her songs were even about him. So I could see why Anti–Vista Green Day would particularly bother her.

  “Yeah, Sierra,” said Kasey. “It’s not like you at all.”

  They were right, but I felt so guilty that I immediately became defensive. “It wasn’t me. It was the whole council! Everyone votes. I kept suggesting other ideas, but…” My voice trailed off. I was hoping they wouldn’t ask if I’d actually stood up and said, “No, that’s a bad idea.” Because I hadn’t.

  Reagan must have noticed how uncomfortable I felt, because she picked up her drumsticks and said, “Sh
ould we get started, girls? I’ve got a big algebra test to study for tonight.”

  I caught her eye and smiled gratefully, then took my place at the mic. We always started with a few familiar warm-up songs before moving on to practice new ones. But even though I’d sung the warm-ups many, many times before, my brain refused to cooperate. I missed my cues, I forgot the words, and at one point I just botched an entire refrain.

  “You’re not on beat, Sierra,” Kasey called out. She was trying to be helpful, but I knew I wasn’t on beat. I wasn’t on key, either.

  “Ughhh, sorry,” I said. “Let’s try it again.”

  Finally, after the fourth painful slog through a song I should have known as well as “Happy Birthday to You,” Reagan put down her drumsticks and stood up.

  “You know what I think we need?” she said. “A break. I’ll be right back.”

  And she left the garage and headed toward her house.

  “I’m sorry I’m so off today, guys,” I mumbled to Tessa and Kasey. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “It’s okay,” said Tessa. “I have days like that too.”

  Reagan reappeared, carrying bowls, spoons, and a tub of Molly’s ice cream. “You guys have to try this new flavor—Chocolate Chili! It’s the best. I asked my mom to buy three cartons.”

  Kasey and Tessa crowded around her. “Chocolate Chili? Sounds awesome!” said Kasey. “Did you help invent this one, Sierra?”

  “No. It was all Mrs. Shear,” I said limply, feeling silly that I hadn’t spoken up to Mrs. Shear about not liking this flavor either. Mrs. Shear had given it to me to taste-test and had specifically requested my honest feedback. But instead I’d just said what I thought she wanted to hear, to be nice. What was the point of having opinions if I didn’t say them?

  Tessa tried the ice cream and pretended to faint. “Oh my goodness—this is incredible! I love how it’s not just sweet. It tastes… exciting, and interesting, and fun!”

  “Kind of like Colin?” teased Reagan.

  Tessa blushed. “Haha,” she said, looking down at her ice cream.

  Kasey jumped in to save Tessa. “It’s neat how the chili spice doesn’t take anything away from the chocolate. It just makes it better.”

  I was skeptical about trying this flavor again. I hadn’t liked it at all before. But watching my bandmates enjoy it, and remembering how much Allie and Tamiko had liked it, I figured, why not? After all, ice cream was good for the soul, according to Allie’s blackboard.

  I took a tentative bite, and it was just as I remembered it—confusing! Sweet, then spicy, then sweet again. But as I took a few more bites, trying to avoid making conversation, I started to get used to it.

  It even started to taste okay to me.

  Maybe it would be boring if ice cream was always just sweet. Maybe a bit of spice didn’t hurt the sweetness in an ice cream flavor. Or a person. Maybe it just made it more interesting, and in a good way.

  Maybe I’d been trying a little too hard lately to protect my sweet, perfect reputation. Why not add some chili to Sierra?

  When everyone had finished their bowl, we got up and headed over to our instruments to get back to practicing.

  “Guess what, guys?” said Tessa, waving a few sheets of paper in her hands. “I finished my new song! I’ve been waiting to show it to you until it was ready.”

  “Already?” I asked. “How?”

  “I had a lot of inspiration,” she said, smiling at me. “Here. Take a look.”

  “What’s the title?” I asked as she was handing the sheets around.

  “I’m not sure—but after trying that awesome ice cream flavor, I’m thinking ‘Sugar and Spice.’ ”

  “I like that,” said Kasey. “

  “Okay. Here goes. I’ll just play the melody and sing it for you one time, and then Sierra can really sing it.”

  Tessa picked up her guitar and positioned the music in front of her. In her lovely, soft voice, she started singing:

  “Some people say that girls should be good,

  But I say, what good does that do a girl?

  Stand up, speak up, say what’s on your mind.

  It’s time for girls to stop being just kind!

  Some people say that girls should be good,

  But I say, what good does that do a girl?

  Stand up, speak up, to whomever you meet.

  It’s time for girls to stop being just sweet!”

  When Tessa finished, I found myself applauding. There were tears in my eyes. Her song was so exactly right. It was everything I’d been wanting to say over the past few weeks, yet had been unable to be brave enough to.

  I went to Tessa and threw my arms around her in a hug, almost squashing her guitar between us. “Thank you, Tessa. That song is perfect. You don’t know how much I need it right now! I can’t wait to learn it and really perform it.”

  Tears immediately sprang to Tessa’s eyes as well. “This is why I wrote it! Sierra, you are so sweet and kind. And I know how hard it is to speak up. I’m so shy at school! It’s really hard sometimes. But writing this song helped me.”

  “I think a song like this can help all of us,” said Reagan. “It’s a great reminder for everyone to not feel afraid and to speak up.”

  I grabbed the sheet music and stood by the microphone. “Can we start practicing it now? I’m dying to learn it! And I have a feeling I’m going to need to be singing this to myself all week….”

  * * *

  After I left my Wildflowers practice, I felt invigorated, better than I had in days. My band knew me and saw me for who I was—and they appreciated me! Maybe if I spoke up to Claire and others, it would go just as well.

  I was feeling so great that I decided to knock on Isa’s door and clear up the whole Twin Day fiasco before it got worse. But when I knocked, I was met with her usual churlish response.

  “What is it?” she called, as if people had been pounding on her door all afternoon.

  I opened the door and walked in hesitantly. Isa was at her desk studying and chewing on a pencil.

  “Sorry to bother you,” I said. “I just want to talk to you about Spirit Week.”

  “Ah,” she said, leaning back in her chair, looking as smug as the Cheshire cat. “Here it is. You’re going to try to talk me out of dressing up with you for Twin Day because you really want to dress up with your best-best-bestie, Tamiko, just like last year, even though you would never admit it.”

  Flustered, I took a step back. Isa knew me so well. Why had I thought she wouldn’t guess? We still had our old twin-tuition sometimes.

  I wanted to just give up and leave. But then I ran through the lines from Tessa’s song in my head, and they gave me courage.

  It was time to stand up, speak up.

  “No,” I said. “Well, not exactly. I wanted to ask you how you truly feel about dressing up for Twin Day. Because you are my twin, and you’re my only sibling, and you’re my priority. And before you ask—honestly, yes, I would prefer to dress up with Tamiko because it was so fun last year, but not if it would hurt your feelings in any way.”

  Instead of looking hurt, Isa looked surprised. Her eyebrows shot way up, and then she grinned. “Wow! You actually just told me the truth about how you feel. Way to go, Sisi.”

  I took a mock bow, but inside I really was feeling pretty proud. I had said exactly what I meant, politely and kindly, and Isa had listened.

  “So really, how do you feel about it?” I asked. “Do you want to dress up with me? Because I’ll do it. Team P forever.”

  Isa grunted. “Please. I’m a twin every day of my life. Why would I want to dress up as one for a school spirit day? I’m not planning to dress up at all during Spirit Week.”

  Now it was my turn to grin. Isa was Isa, and I loved her for that. Mostly she was spice—grumpy, moody spice—but I knew there was sweetness inside her too, even if she didn’t always want to show it.

  Maybe we were all Chocolate Chili ice cream.

 
“Okay,” I said, hugely relieved to be able to tell Tamiko we were on for dressing up together. It still didn’t solve the problem of Allie feeling left out or me not quitting student council, but hey, I was making progress.

  One thing at a time.

  I turned to leave Isa’s room. But before I did, I leaned back through her doorway and said, “Hey, do you want to dress alike for dinner tonight just to mess with Mami and Papi?”

  Isa laughed her big loud laugh, the one I didn’t hear too often. She raised her hand to give me an air fist bump. “Great idea, but not tonight. Thanks for asking, though, Sunshine.”

  It was good to know Isa still thought of me as Sunshine. Maybe I really could tackle this problem. Maybe I could even manage to have fun during Spirit Week.

  Stand up, speak up—that was my new motto. All thanks to Tessa.

  CHAPTER TWELVE STAND UP, SPEAK UP

  I was sitting at lunch with Tamiko the next day. MacKenzie was in the library studying for a quiz, so Tamiko had spent the previous ten minutes pumping me up to finally, finally quit. She’d used a lot of baseball references that I didn’t fully understand. But now it was the moment of truth. I knew that if I didn’t get up the courage to do it right that very second, it might never happen.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I’m doing it now,” I told Tamiko. “For real. So think good thoughts.”

  “Should I take a picture of this moment to post on social media? Caption: ‘Seventh-Grade Girl Finds Strength She Never Knew She Had’?”

  I shook my head. “Tamiko! No. Just—sit tight. I’ll be back.”

  And with that, I marched over to the table where Claire and Vikram were sitting. I hadn’t known they were friends outside of student council, but they looked sort of… dreamy. I didn’t want to intrude on anything, but it was now or never!

  “Hi, guys,” I said fake-breezily.

  “Sierra! Sit down and join us.” Claire motioned toward the empty seat beside Vikram.

  I wanted to yell to Tamiko, “See? She really is nice sometimes!” But then I reminded myself that we all have sweetness and spice in us. We all do. None of us are just one or the other.