But last night’s party was not just stand girls. There were other people here from the high school, too. Pictures of Dane Zapotowsky and Christopher Win feeding each other ice cream straight from the scoop. A Boomerang of Zoe Metcalf throwing fistfuls of sprinkles in the air on repeat. Three of Cate’s Academic Decathlon teammates lying stacked like a sandwich across the office couch. John Stislow sticking his hand straight into the vat of chocolate dip.
Amelia hears Cate’s truck pull up outside. All three newbies are in her truck. They look totally worse for wear, green and unsteady.
Cate comes in. Amelia knows she’s surprised to see her, because Cate avoids her eyes as she passes her.
“Looks like you had some party here last night,” Amelia says, trying to keep her emotions in check.
“We had a great time.” Cate stretches. “Sorry I didn’t think to invite you. I figured you’d be busy with your boyfriend.”
The newbies all snap to attention.
“Grady isn’t my boyfriend,” Amelia says, trying to project a little bit of confidence, because this is true, Grady isn’t. “But yes. Grady and I have kissed. A few times.” Turning to the newbies, she says, “I’m sorry.”
Cate sneers. “I thought Grady was cute too, you know. I could have gone after him, but I didn’t, because we had a pact.” She rolls her eyes. “Meade Creamery has been open for how many years now? Drama-free? One summer, one boy, and it all comes crashing down, thanks to you, Amelia.”
“That’s not fair. You know the stand, and you girls, are the most important things to me.”
“You chose Grady over us. It’s as simple as that. And he’s had you wrapped around his little finger all summer.” At this point, Cate turns to walk into the office. “It’s honestly pathetic but not surprising.”
“So is that why you had a party here? To get back at me? Because you know there’s not supposed to be anyone but employees in the stand. And newbies aren’t ever allowed to drink.” Amelia expects Cate to look at least a little bit guilty, but she doesn’t. If anything, she’s indignant, folding her arms across her chest.
“Isn’t that convenient,” Cate says. “I’m the one who has to follow the rules, but you don’t.”
Amelia tries to explain. “It just . . . happened.” That’s about all she can get out before she feels the tears come.
Amelia sees something soften in Cate when Cate sees her cry. “Look, I don’t blame you. I blame Grady. He’s been taking advantage of you from the second you met.”
“That’s not true.”
“Why are you defending him? He’s using you, Amelia!”
Amelia shakes her head. “No, he’s not.” If there’s one thing Amelia is certain of, it’s that.
“You’re such a pushover.”
She’s reminded of how many times Cate has called her a pushover this summer. And it suddenly hits her: it’s true—but it’s Cate, and not Grady, who’s always doing the pushing.
“What about you?” Amelia asks. “Are you sorry?”
“For what?”
“You’re the Head Girl, Cate. That job comes with a certain level of responsibility.”
Cate seems to wave this away. “Look. Last night started off as just us girls hanging out, but then some other friends dropped by. Dane had beer left over from his family’s Fourth of July party, and they were drinking it. I’m not going to police the girls. They can make decisions for themselves.”
“The place is trashed. And there are like at least twenty drums of ice cream that have been ruined in there by exploding beer cans.”
“So take it out of my pay.”
“Do you even care about this place?”
“Oh, here we go.”
“Because you’re always late, the stand looks like hell, everything’s slipping. And now this? Throwing a party here and leaving the place trashed? I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to be Head Girl.”
“Of course I did. And we both know I deserved it.”
“So why are you acting like you don’t care about it? And when I try and talk to you about work stuff, you completely shut me down.”
“Because it’s not exactly easy doing things my way when I have you watching over me all the time! Judging me for everything I do because it’s not the way you would do it!”
“You’re right. I would have never, ever thrown a party like this. And I definitely wouldn’t let newbies drink. They’re barely out of eighth grade, Cate.” The Head Girls didn’t let Amelia and Cate drink until they were juniors, and even then, they kept a close watch on them.
Cate shrugs. “So what do you want? An apology? If anything, you should apologize to me, to all of us girls, for ruining our summer.”
Amelia feels an apology bubble up. She does have a lot she’s sorry for. But instead, she takes a deep breath and says, “Yes. I do want you to apologize. And I want you to promise that you’ll try harder. That you’ll do a better job. That you’ll work hard and respect the traditions and take it seriously. Because this place is going to fall apart unless you do.”
“Are you kidding me? Meade Creamery is falling apart, Amelia. Do you not remember that we almost got washed away during that rainstorm yesterday?”
“Is that a no? Because if it is, I don’t think there’s a place for you here anymore.”
It’s so suddenly silent that all Amelia can hear is the quiet wheezing of the tired, failing walk-in freezer.
Cate starts laughing. “Give me a break.”
“Is that a yes or a no, Cate?”
“That’s a screw you.”
Her words do sting. But Amelia simply says, “Then you’re fired.”
“You don’t have the authority to fire me. I’m Head Girl.”
This may or may not be true. But Amelia doesn’t blink. “Take your stuff and go.”
Cate’s laugh turns into a sneer. “I don’t need this. I’ll see you girls around.”
Her adrenaline surging, Amelia says, “Wait. Give me the pin back.”
When Cate turns around, her face is contorted into a pucker that Amelia has never seen before. A line in their friendship has been crossed that Amelia isn’t sure she’ll be able to get back over.
Cate takes off the pin and sets it on the desk. Then she peels off her polo shirt so she’s in just a tank top, and drops it into the trash can on her way out, the door whacking against the stand so hard that one of the milk bottles tumbles off its roof beam and shatters.
The girls stare in stunned silence.
Amelia goes into the office. Pushing her muffins aside, she lays her head down on the desk and cries.
* * *
Amelia’s not sure exactly how long she spends crying, but when she reemerges from the office, she has a splitting headache. But the three newbies are still there, having cleaned up the mess from the party. And not just them. All of the girls are there now.
Minus Cate.
Jen notices Amelia first, elbows Mansi. Then all the girls turn to face her.
“I’m so sorry,” Amelia announces, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to fight with Cate in front of you, never mind fire her.”
Liz says, “It’s okay, Amelia.”
Sophie says, “You were right. Cate wasn’t a very good manager.”
“She was super fun,” Mansi adds.
“But not, like, good at the job part of the job,” Sophie says.
“It was worse than you know, actually. Cate was always late with the schedule.”
“She basically never did any chores.”
“We seriously don’t care if you’re dating Grady. That’s your business.”
Amelia shakes her head. “No. I made a promise. And Grady is my boss. It’s not right.”
Bern shakes her head. “You’re the boss of this place, Amelia.”
Amelia manages a weak smile. It would be the ultimate compliment, if not for the fact of everything.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
AMELIA IS STILL WAITING FOR word from Grady
when she climbs into bed for the night. And she’s trying everything she can to relax until he reaches out. A scented candle flickers on her nightstand, and she’s wearing a calming face mask that she’d forgotten to use before prom. But as she lies back on her pillow, eyes closed, the wet mask sheet clinging to her face, a lump bobs tight in her throat, making it almost impossible to swallow even the smallest sips of her chamomile tea.
The cruel reality is that, no matter how things go with Grady and his dad, Amelia has already forever lost the summer she’d hoped to have. One that would reinforce her friendship with Cate, make it strong enough to withstand the distance and change that college would bring. In fact, Amelia’s not sure if she’ll ever hear from her best friend again.
Yes, Cate was a terrible Head Girl, but had Amelia really been any better? Using Grady’s promotion of Cate as a Band-Aid, hoping it would smooth over their problems so she wouldn’t have to tackle them head-on. Amelia’s letting things slide only made the problems worse. In that way, hadn’t she set Cate up to fail?
After the mask is done, she dabs her face dry with a tissue and tosses it into her wastebasket. On her night table, next to the candle, is Molly’s diary.
As Molly’s entries have closed in on the end of the war, Amelia has hesitated to keep reading, knowing the terrible things coming. Both in the war itself—Amelia still feels sick thinking of her country dropping a bomb that instantly killed over 80,000 innocent people in Hiroshima—as well as the most painful parts of Molly Meade’s life, the death of Wayne Lumsden. But tonight, she decides to read straight through until the very end, wanting to poke the bruise.
There is another gap in Wayne’s letters, one that Molly attributes to their fight about her ice cream. Initially, Molly is indignant, filling the pages of her diary with news of how business is booming. As summer comes to a close, it’s as if clarity returns to Molly.
August 14, 1945
When the news came in from the president on the radio—Japan unconditionally surrenders—every girl in the stand froze.
Tiggy and I had been scooping two cones. She dropped hers right on the floor, rushed forward, and hugged me. The others pushed out the door, screaming, crying, grabbing the folks in line who hadn’t heard. People in the cars turned up their radios. Horns were beeping, people sprinting.
Mother and Daddy came running down not five minutes later. Mother lifted her skirt and danced the jitterbug—which I didn’t even know she knew how to do—with Daddy right there in the stand, and they kissed like newlyweds.
Everyone rushed out to Main Street. All of Sand Lake.
I’ve never seen the streets so full. The entire town hugging and weeping and cheering in the street. I had so many conflicting feelings, all those innocent people killed, but the war was over now. No one else would die. Our boys will come home. My brothers and Wayne back as if they never left.
I wonder when I will hear from Wayne.
Will he still want to marry me when he gets back?
Or have I ruined things between us?
When the stand closes, at the end of August, Molly has nothing to occupy her mind. Every entry is full of worry about Wayne, regrets, and fears.
In her last entry, dated September 2, 1945, Molly described how she invited the girls for ice cream at the lake to celebrate the official end of the war. But the night was unseasonably cold and the girls were all worrying about their figures again.
On the back of that page, there is a newspaper announcement, neatly clipped and taped inside, dated almost exactly one year later. It is for a memorial service at Holy Redeemer in honor of Wayne Lumsden, war hero, declared missing in action. The rest of the diary’s pages, nearly half of the book, are left blank.
* * *
The buzz of Amelia’s phone wakes her up. Her room is dark. The candle has burned down to nothing.
It’s Grady.
I’m turning onto your street. Can you come outside?
She texts back, It’s two in the morning. If my parents catch me sneaking out, they’ll kill me. Though Amelia recognizes that, in a few weeks, she’ll have the freedom to do whatever she wants.
Please.
The waning hope in Amelia’s heart twists into something tighter.
Okay.
She quickly pulls on a pair of shorts, then tiptoes downstairs in the dark. Her mom is in bed, but her dad has fallen asleep in the den, an infomercial flashing colors on the walls.
From the front window, Amelia watches the pink Cadillac creep slowly past her house and park on the other side of the street. Grady kills the lights. Opening her front door as quietly as she can, Amelia slips outside in her bare feet.
The asphalt still feels warm from the day.
Grady reaches over and unlocks the passenger door for Amelia. She climbs in, and before the interior lights click off, she sees the redness on the bridge of his nose, the back of his neck. “You’re sunburned,” she says, touches his arm gently with her fingertips.
“I was so nervous, I forgot to put on sunscreen.”
But what is Grady feeling now? Amelia searches his face for any happiness, any relief, any glimmer of success. He manages a tired smile, which Amelia clings to as a good sign, and she asks him, “How did it go?”
“Everything was great for the first nine holes,” he tells her. “I was basically doing exactly what my dad said, trying not to get emotional. I laughed at all his jokes, listened to college stories I’ve heard a million times over, and purposely screwed up almost every one of my putts. And he kept saying to me, Isn’t this nice? and Isn’t this great? and We have to get out here more often! ” Grady wrings the steering wheel. Guiltily, he says, “I hate to say it, but it was nice, pushing everything aside and getting along with him.”
“Believe me,” Amelia says quietly, “I get it.”
“Once we hit the back nine, I started making my pitch. Casually, you know? I explained the situation to him, told him that if he loaned me the money to cover the repairs and a new walk-in freezer, I’d be willing to implement all his business ideas—scoop size, price increase, salary cuts. And I promised I’d pay him back, with interest, basically double the sum and give him fifty percent of all the profits until then.” Grady swallows.
“And the ice cream?”
“I said that was the one change that I couldn’t entertain.”
At this, Amelia impulsively leans forward, takes Grady’s cheeks in her hands, and kisses him.
He kisses her back, his hands slipping up her neck and into her hair. When she tries pulling away, he leans forward, holding his lips to hers, extending the kiss for a second, two, three. Like he doesn’t want it to end.
When they finally pull apart, Amelia learns why.
“He’s not going to loan me the money, Amelia.”
She’s taken over by a helpless, shivery panic, not unlike the moment when the safety bar clicks down on a roller coaster and there’s no getting off. “Because of the ice cream? I mean, what if you found another dairy? There has to be someone who’ll sell you the ingredients for cheaper. Maybe—”
“No.”
“Well, did you talk about your mom? Tell him how important this was to her? Did you tell him how you almost cried tasting Home Sweet Home?” She shakes her head. “You should have gotten him to eat some that day he came here. Maybe then he’d understand.”
Grady is starting to look frustrated with her. “It’s just not a good business decision. The profit margins are small, and there’s so much work to be done on the building. There are other things I didn’t factor in either, which my dad brought up. Like that no one is going to be living in the farmhouse all winter.”
“So hire someone to take care of it! Or! Or you could rent it out!”
“And then what? I’m supposed to come back here every summer for the rest of my life?” He avoids looking at her when he says, “If Molly hadn’t died, I’m not sure she could have kept this place going another year. In some ways, maybe it lasted as long as it
needed to. As long as she did.”
“Let me guess. Because you’re listening to your dad, he’s going to send you back to Truman and reinstate all your credit cards. Is that what you really want?”
“No.”
“So the stand can be your freedom!”
“I know. I’ve . . . decided to sell the property.”
All Amelia can do is blink. Grady left to try and save Meade Creamery. And he came back ready to sell the entire place.
“Look, I spent the whole drive back to Sand Lake trying to think of a way to make this work. I think I got so wrapped up in this place and with you, and proving myself to my dad, that I wasn’t thinking clearly about the practicalities. I don’t want to be a businessman.”
“What?”
He seems to understand that she’s whiplashed. “I’m going to sell the stand, and use that money to pay my own way to Truman. I’ll go back on my terms. I’ll be out of my dad’s pocket forever. I’ll be able to find something I love.”
Desperately, she says, “But your mom . . .”
“My mom was not a Meade. And I know she would want this for me.”
“So that’s it. It’s over. How much do you think you can get?” It sounds crass asking, as crass as it would be to curse.
“I’ll get enough to cover me until I graduate and hopefully a little extra.”
“When?”
“If I make a deal, it’ll be for the end of the summer. The stand will keep running. I figure if the big freezer quits, we can use the one in Molly’s basement and just run stuff down as needed.” He looks up at her. “I wouldn’t cut this summer short. I know how important it is to you.”
Amelia puts her hand to her heart, needing to make sure it’s still beating.
“Amelia, you have to know how sorry I am that everything worked out this way. I really wanted to save this for you.”
“I know you did.” She gets out of the car and slams the door, because he didn’t, because if he really believed in Meade Creamery, he would never think of selling it off. And that’s all there is to it.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
AMELIA STANDS AT THE OFFICE window, watching as Grady speaks with a local Realtor and another man drives a stake into the rain ditch running alongside Route 68, a FOR SALE sign. Grady turns and walks into the office.
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