Sundae My Prince Will Come Read online

  “I’m being a grouch today,” Mom said. “I’m sorry. It’s Mr. Sneeves. He isn’t happy with us.”

  I snorted. “Is he ever happy?” Mr. Sneeves was the parlor’s owner, a stuffy micromanager who constantly criticized the way Mom ran the parlor. I couldn’t stand him.

  “Respect, keiki!” Mom scolded. “He stopped by earlier to remind me about the spring break crowd. He wants the parlor open for extended hours. We’ll have to triple our ice cream stock.”

  I squeezed her hand. “We can handle it. You’re the ice cream queen!”

  When we’d moved here, the idea of my mom managing an ice cream parlor seemed like a dream come true. I had visions of sundaes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But working at the parlor was not easy. And once I fell in love with ballet, things like schoolwork, chores, and especially Once upon a Scoop—they all conspired to keep me from dancing as much as I wanted. So even though it was still kind of fun to come to an ice cream parlor every day, a lot of the appeal was lost.

  A knock sounded on the parlor’s front door, and I turned around. My best friend, Tilisha, stood outside with her boyfriend, Andres. Behind them, scribbling in a notebook, stood my boyfriend (it still felt funny to think that word), Ethan.

  “Help! Let us in!” Tilly was hollering.

  “Before it’s too late!” Andres cried. “Before he infects us!”

  I laughed. Mom rolled her eyes and waved at me to let my wacky friends inside.

  My friends were regulars at Once upon a Scoop. On weekdays they stopped by after school, between extracurriculars. Saturdays, though, were special. They showed up at 11:30 a.m. like clockwork, for what Tilly had dubbed their “VIP access.” This meant they got first dibs on the fresh ice cream before the parlor opened at noon. Then they’d hang out for a while, playing Heads Up! on their phones while I helped my mom. I might not love the parlor like I did when I was little, but I loved that my friends had adopted it as a regular meeting spot.

  I unlocked the door, and Tilly and Andres burst through it. Tilly hugged me, her dark brown braids tickling my cheek.

  “Please rein in your boy, Mal,” she told me, nodding toward Ethan. “He’s been zombified. Next he’ll harvest our brains in the name of science.”

  “Only if you keep trying to toss my invention log into the ocean.” Ethan walked into the parlor, shaking sand from the pages of his notebook. His sea-green eyes caught mine, and his serious expression morphed into a smile. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey yourself,” I said, reaching for his hand.

  It had been six months since Tilly had officially deemed Ethan and me a “couple.” Ethan and I had been friends since kindergarten, forming a tight foursome with Tilly and Andres. When Tilly and Andres started dating over the summer, it seemed expected that Ethan and I would accompany them on their movie dates. One day, while Tilly and Andres were holding hands, Ethan took my hand, too. It just felt like the natural next step. And then, in front of my locker at school, Ethan gave me my first-ever kiss—a quick peck on the lips. And that was that. Tilly pronounced us boyfriend and girlfriend, and the four of us settled into an easy routine.

  Mom had always insisted that boyfriends should be reserved for high school, or even college. But since Mom had known Ethan and his family forever, and since Ethan and I always hung out in a group, she’d warmed up to the idea.

  Now, holding hands with Ethan felt as familiar to me as a plié. I barely thought about it anymore, except to appreciate the cozy comfort of his palm resting against mine.

  “Yes!” Andres shouted, making a beeline to the display freezer. “Goldichocs and the Butterfinger Bears. My fave!” Andres loved to eat, but you wouldn’t know it from how beanpole-skinny he was. He opened the tub and tried to dip a finger straight inside, but Mom caught his hand.

  “Andres! Where are your manners?” she demanded.

  “Please, Makuahine,” Andres said. “One bite? I have baseball practice this afternoon. I need stamina!” Makuahine was my friends’ pet name for Mom. It meant mother in Hawaiian, and calling her that, Andres knew, was the way to her heart.

  Mom shook her head, but she grabbed a cup and scooped him up a hefty helping. She didn’t mind dishing ice cream for my friends, but she always made a show of being strict about it first.

  Tilly gazed out the window. One of the town’s landscapers was pruning a palm tree on the other side of Ocean Lane. “Why are they tossing those fronds in the Dumpster?” she asked, horrified. “They can repurpose those as mulch!”

  I shrugged, but Tilly was already out the door. No wonder my best friend was the president of the Environmental Conservation Club at school. I watched as she chatted with the surprised landscaper and I wondered if “101 Uses for Palm Fronds” would be the next feature in her popular It’s Easy Being Green blog.

  While Tilly worked her recycling magic and Mom finished scooping Andres’s ice cream, Ethan and I sat down at our table by the window. I recognized the look of intense concentration on his face. He got it whenever he worked on a tough problem, which, considering that he took advanced science courses at school, was pretty much all the time.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I’m stuck on the wiring for the surfboard propeller,” he said. “It has to be waterproof but also equipped with sensors to detect signs of distress.” Ethan had an idea for a lifesaving surfboard that could pull a surfer to shore safely. “But if I use rubber instead of plastic …” He was gone, whispering to himself and scribbling notes in his log.

  I looked at Andres and Tilly (who’d just returned, grinning victoriously). They shook their heads in unison.

  “He gets like this every spring,” Andres said forlornly. “And we become obsolete.”

  “Poor baby,” Tilly told him. “Suffering from a bromance broken heart.”

  I giggled. “Don’t worry. The school’s Invention Convention will be over next month, and then you’ll have him back.”

  Andres and Ethan had been best buds since kindergarten, and Andres took it personally when Ethan’s inventing sprees disrupted their hang time. I, on the other hand, never minded. I was driven in dance; Ethan was driven in science. Whenever Ethan backed out from movie dates or school dances at the last minute, I told him it was fine. He did the same for me when I canceled on him to squeeze in extra dance practice.

  Tilly put her arm around Andres. “No pouting today. You’re way cuter without the frown.”

  Andres’s expression softened. He never could stay grumpy around Tilly.

  “So, who’s in for Heads Up?” Tilly asked, pulling out her phone. “I’m guessing Science Guy is out. What about you, Mal?”

  “You have to play,” Andres said to me. “How else am I going to crush your winning streak?”

  “That’s not happening.” I stuck out my tongue at him, then shot a glance at Mom, who was logging today’s ice cream stock on the parlor’s iPad. “I don’t know …” I leaned toward them. “Mom’s been riding me for showing up late today.”

  “I heard that!” Mom piped up. “Okay, okay, you can have some fun, Malie. But only until the shop opens.”

  I nodded, grateful. While Ethan scribbled in his notebook, the rest of us played two rounds, laughing hysterically when Andres tried to act out the word modeling by strutting through the parlor wearing Tilly’s wedge sandals. That one even got a chuckle from Ethan, but he refocused on his work seconds later.

  Before I knew it, Mom was tapping me on the shoulder and gesturing toward the front door, where a line of customers was already forming. It was noon. Time to open.

  I stood reluctantly. “I’m out. Scoop detail.”

  “Okay,” Tilly said. “We’ll hang here for a bit …”

  “… and try not to distract you,” Andres put in.

  Ethan raised his head long enough to smile at me and say, “Good luck with the crowds.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the door, letting a swarm of guests in.

  By the time I took the twelfth order, I sa
w Ethan stand up, disgruntled by the noise. He grabbed his notebook and gave me a call-you-later hand signal.

  I nodded and blew him a quick kiss. Tilly and Andres stayed for a while longer, but even they got tired of the crowd and headed for the beach. In the meantime, I kept scooping. And scooping … and scooping. At some point, my mind drifted away from ice cream. I pictured an empty stage with a single, gleaming spotlight. Then I was in that spotlight, spinning pirouette after pirouette. The crowd in the parlor transformed into an audience, holding its collective breath, waiting to see how many turns I could make. My entire body was poised, exhilarated. And then …

  “Malie! The scoop!” Mom nudged my shoulder. I blinked, looked down, and saw my scoop poised in midair, dripping ice cream all over the floor.

  So much for applause. I adjusted my crooked fairy wings, then leaned over another tub of ice cream. Where was my fairy godmother when I needed her?

  “Malie?”

  I could make out my mom’s voice over the classical music sweeping through my earbuds.

  I blinked. Oh … right. It was Monday morning. I was supposed to be getting ready for school, but instead I was standing in my bedroom, using my dresser as a barre, and …

  “Choreographing in your head again?” Mom looked even more tired than usual. When I’d gone to bed last night, she’d still been at the kitchen table of our small apartment, paying bills and sighing over every one. Never a good sign.

  “I can’t help it,” I said, taking out my earbuds and putting my phone down. It was impossible for me to hear the music and not envision the moves that might accompany each trill of a violin or cello. When I glanced down at my feet, they were in third position. I was ready to dance even in pajamas.

  Mom sat down on my bed, taking in the posters of Misty Copeland hanging on my walls. Misty was my idol—a ballet goddess who’d defied every rule by advancing faster in her dance career than anyone ever thought possible.

  “It’s quite a collection you have here,” Mom said. “I never noticed …” She mumbled these words to herself, as if she was realizing something for the first time. She pinched the bridge of her nose—something she did right before sharing bad news. She’d done it when she and Dad announced their divorce, and again when they’d told me he was moving back to Hawaii. I felt suddenly nervous.

  “Malie,” she began, “I got an email last night from the conservatory, telling parents about the new dance instructor.”

  “Great!” I sat down beside her. This wasn’t bad news at all. “Who is it?”

  “They’ve hired someone from overseas. French, or maybe Italian, I can’t remember.” She fidgeted with the bedspread, avoiding my eyes. “Apparently, she’s famous and was in high demand. And now …” She took a deep breath. “… the conservatory’s raising tuition costs to help pay her salary.”

  My throat constricted. “By how much?”

  “They’re doubling it.” The resignation in Mom’s voice was like a death knell. “And—I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you this—but the rent’s going up on our apartment, too. I found out last week. With the higher rent and now the tuition … we can’t afford the conservatory, keiki.”

  My dread rushed headlong into panic. “What? Well, maybe I can cut back on my classes. Go only twice a week. Or …” My mind scrambled for possibilities. “What about scholarships? I can apply for one—”

  “I already asked about that. Ms. Faraday and I have been emailing back and forth since last night. She’d love to help, but the conservatory doesn’t offer scholarships, or abbreviated schedules.” Her mouth was a grim line. “I’m afraid you’ll have to quit.”

  The world buckled. I pressed my fists into my roiling stomach. “But …” No dance? I couldn’t even say it out loud. It was too unfathomable. “No!” I shut my eyes. “This can’t happen now! I’m going to audition for Cinderella. I’m ready for pointe, and—”

  “I’m so sorry, Malie, but not anymore.”

  I felt a wave of nausea. I could just imagine Violet gloating when she found out I was dropping dance. Without me auditioning for the part, she’d be a sure bet for the lead in Cinderella. I believed—really believed—that I’d had a shot, too. How could I give up this chance? My lip trembled.

  Mom watched me worriedly. “Malie, this is my fault. After everything that happened with the divorce, I wanted you to keep some stability. Dance was what you loved, so I allowed it to continue.” She grew quieter. “I knew the day would come when you’d have to start thinking about more realistic goals, when you’d have to realize that dance is a hobby, not something you devote your life to.”

  I stared at her, not believing what I was hearing. “Dance is not my hobby. It’s so much more than that.”

  Mom frowned. “It’s a distraction for you, and it takes up too much of your time.” She clasped her hands in her lap tightly. “It’s better for this to happen now, before you advance any further. We can’t pay for you to keep studying. There’s a limit to how far you would’ve been able to go—”

  “You don’t know what I might be able to do!” My voice rose an octave.

  “It doesn’t matter. I need more of your help at the parlor anyway. There’s nothing to be done about it.”

  Tears brimmed in my eyes, but I stood up quickly and walked over to my closet. I didn’t want to argue with Mom. So much of this wasn’t even her fault. If I stayed in this room a second more, I’d unleash every ounce of my anger and sadness at her. I threw on clothes, pulled my hair into a messy side braid, and grabbed my schoolbag.

  “I have to go.” I hated the telltale quiver of my voice.

  Mom looked stricken. “You need breakfast—”

  “Not hungry.” I hurried from the room, Mom’s voice calling after me, then fading into the distance as I burst out of our second-floor apartment and down the flight of outdoor stairs that led to the street.

  I ran the two blocks to school, rushing past the tourists with their boogie boards and beach totes, who were scanning the ominous clouds overhead. A rumble of thunder sounded, and blue lightning streaked the sky. Storms often blew into our town from the Gulf, barreling over us in a fury and leaving everything clean, fresh, and new. This morning, the dark clouds mirrored the storm inside me.

  Go ahead, I challenged the sky when thunder cracked again, louder this time. Bring it on.

  The first raindrops fell like hard pellets, stinging my cheeks, and camouflaging the tears that fell with them.

  I dragged myself into Marina Springs Middle School, drenched and miserable. I didn’t bother wringing out my waterlogged hair and streaming clothes. It felt fitting that puddles should form wherever I stepped in the school’s hallways. It was like my own personal river of mourning.

  I caught sight of Ethan up ahead, his back turned to me. His blond hair was cutely disheveled and the Invention Convention notebook under his arm was overflowing with wrinkled pieces of paper.

  I blurted his name when I was still a few feet away, my frustration pouring out. “You’re not going to believe what happened. The conservatory doubled its tuition, and Mom says—”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down.” He turned to face me, his eyes widening. “You’re drenched! What’s wrong?”

  Every thought I’d had on the tip of my tongue faltered. Because, I realized, Ethan wasn’t alone. He’d been standing facing a boy with tan skin and curly dark hair. It was the boy I’d run into at the studio on Saturday. The Italian boy.

  The boy was looking at me now with the same mischievous grin, his eyes glinting like he’d just finished laughing at some hilarious joke. The memory of our collision hit me, and my heart gave an unsteady thump.

  “Lanz, right?” I asked, knowing that my tone sounded rude but too upset to care. Why did he have to be here right now, in a moment when I so desperately needed to talk to Ethan?

  “That’s right. And you’re Malie like ‘shopping mall.’ ” He cocked his head, and a lock of his black hair slid forward. His grin widened as my face reddened
. Ethan looked back and forth between the two of us in confusion.

  “You’ve met already?” Ethan asked.

  “For a second,” I said quickly.

  “A painful second,” Lanz said. “She pirouetted across my foot.”

  I frowned, bristling. “Hey, I didn’t—”

  He broke into laughter. “I made a joke. That’s all.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I fumbled with my braid, something I did when I was nervous. Only … why was I nervous? I wasn’t. I was annoyed. Or maybe nervous and annoyed.

  “Lanz was at the conservatory this weekend,” I explained.

  Ethan nodded, as if that made perfect sense, which baffled me even more. “Lanz just moved here from Verona, Italy,” Ethan told me. “He was in the office getting registered when I dropped off my Invention Convention permission slip. Principal Thorton asked if I would give him a quick tour of the school before the bell rang.”

  “I do not need a tour.” Lanz pushed a hand through his curls. “In new places, I like to find my way with … how do you say, ‘happy accidents’?”

  “It wouldn’t be a happy accident if we were tardy,” I said, checking the hall clock. The bell was about to ring and I hadn’t even talked to Ethan about the dance disaster yet. Now there wasn’t a chance of it happening until later. “Our hallway monitor, Ms. Cad, gives out detentions like candy.” At Lanz’s blank look, I explained, “A detention is when you have to stay after school as punishment for being late to class.”

  “Ah, yes, I have gotten those before.” He smiled, like detention was a pleasant thing. “Sometimes on purpose.”

  “Why would you do that?” Ethan looked shocked.

  “I nap best in detention,” Lanz explained. “And if I stay after school, I have less time for chores at home. Brilliant, yes?”

  Ethan laughed. “I never thought of that. Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

  Not a chance, I thought. Ethan didn’t have a rebellious bone in his body, especially when he had to maintain an A average to participate in the Invention Convention.

  “Come on, Lanz,” Ethan added. “I can show you where the caf is on the way to class.”