Chương 15: Treat Yourself

Olivia let out an exhausted sigh as she relaxed into the passenger seat of her dad's car. Tension that she hadn't even registered slowly seeped out of her shoulders in its stiff embrace. It had been another long day. But now, it was over.

"Hey, sweetie." He greeted her.

"Hey, dad." She smiled tiredly.

"I survived my first week." Her dad grinned.

"That you did. And without losing any limbs, either."

"Right? I had a close call in Algebra, I thought I might lose an arm for a minute there. But I think I managed ok." The broad-shouldered man chuckled as he pulled away from the curb.

"I knew you would. Now, how about we celebrate?" They joined the winding queue of cars and began their slow crawl away from the school, chatting as the radio blared some new hit that Olivia remembered being overplayed beyond belief. After finally escaping, they turned off the main road and into a small shopping center nearby. Its gray storefronts bore different names than the ones she remembered, which wasn't surprising given how often the building's tenants seemed to change. All except for one.

Rows of stylized ice cream cone and popsicle decals sprouted up from the windows like stalks of corn, complete with leaves and illustrated kernels. Overhead hung a waffle cone cornucopia filled with a rainbow of different colored scoops in place of fruit. Below it, written in bright yellow cursive, was the shop's name— Cream of the Crop. Her dad pulled in and parked.

"Here we are! I know it's a little cool today, but that's never stopped anyone." Olivia winced despite herself. She'd been doing so well with avoiding sugary foods. But ice cream? That was a surefire way to knock her emotional and mental state out of whack. And yet… it was their tradition. A ritual almost as old as her current body. If there was a reason to celebrate, from a good grade on a test to her dad's favorite football team winning a championship, you could bet they'd find themselves at Cream of the Crop.

Refusing wouldn't just be strange—it would be utterly unthinkable. She quickly hid her reaction with a bright smile.

"I think you're just looking for an excuse to get ice cream."

"Me? Never." Her dad chuckled.

"I can come here whenever I want, remember?"

"True. But if it's for a 'special occasion', then it becomes a lot more guilt free."

"Can't argue that." They headed for the entrance, walking past the garish red window paint depicting a cartoon racoon with messages like "Go Raccoons!" and "Welcome back, Ridgeview High!" celebrating the start of the new school year. Opening the door resulted in them getting a concentrated dose of artificial sugar cookie smell straight to the face. The interior was just as colorful as the outside, its decor a mishmash of farming and dessert themes in pastel colors.

The centerpiece of it all was the ice cream counter itself, of course. The long display boasted dozens of different flavors available to try, from old standbys like vanilla and mint chip to more experimental rotating ones like guava passionfruit or browned butter cookie. They even had a legitimate sweet corn flavor.

"Welcome in!" The young lady behind the counter greeted them before returning to help her current customer. A small line had already formed within the shop, with half of the nearby tables filled with families who'd had a similar idea as them. Olivia turned her attention to the options on display. There were just so many to choose from, and all of them looked good. Well, aside from the mint options. She'd always hated mint.

It was a prejudice that was passed on to their kids, and one that Jason used to great effect whenever he wanted to selfishly avoid sharing. After a bit of debate, she made her decision. Olivia pointed to a tub of yellow ice cream flecked with green as they reached the front.

"I'll have a scoop of pineapple basil, please." Her dad raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Not rainbow sherbet?"

"I'm feeling something different today," she deflected. Something less cloyingly sweet, although she didn't admit that part aloud. As gelato, hopefully it hid less sugar inside as well. It was also one of those flavors that she had never once seen anywhere else, which definitely piqued her curiosity. Especially since she's expanded her tastes compared to her youth.

"Well, that's different, all right…" He muttered.

"You sure you don't want to get both, just in case you don't like it?" She shook her head. One scoop would already give her enough problems. A second? Well… she wasn't particularly eager to see what that would do to her. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The employee obligingly scooped out a generous serving of the flavor into a cup before grabbing Olivia's dad a simple cone of chocolate. They moved to sit at one of the tables inside.

Nearby, she spotted a family of six gathered around one of the larger tables with one of the shop's signature waffle cone cornucopias in the center. It was smaller than the one on the sign, but not by much. Kids no older than elementary school age eagerly dug into the assorted ice creams as two amused parents worked to keep them from fighting too much. She took a bite of her own ice cream and briefly closed her eyes. Tangy and refreshing, yet complex with an almost savory note from the basil. It was excellent.

"I still can't believe we've never ordered one of those." The comment caught Olivia a little off guard for a second. She almost responded that they had, when she'd graduated high school. But instead she just shook her head.

"No way. It's what, ten scoops? There's absolutely zero chance we'd ever come close to finishing it." Her dad spread his hands.

"It's not about finishing it. It's about the principle of the thing. Don't tell me you haven't always wanted one?" She shook her head.

"Honestly? No. It sounds fun in theory, but in practice? There's no way all of the flavors would melt together well."

"You don't have to get all different flavors."

"But then what's the point? You might as well get a couple of pints instead then. Half the appeal is the variety and the crazy appearance, right?" Her dad shrugged, conceding the point.

"You're a smart cookie. I'm sure you could figure out a good combo." Olivia chuckled and continued to enjoy her treat. It really was delicious. There was a reason this place stayed in business for as long as it had. Cream of the Crop was agreed upon as the best ice cream place in town, bar none. It managed to stick around and persevere, outliving its less fortunate neighbors year after year. It was still here the last time she'd visited the town during college, almost a decade in the future.

They also had other options like popsicles and even a few cookies, but their ice cream was where they really shined.

"Moooom! Michael's hogging the strawberry!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Just eat faster, Remy!" Olivia couldn't help but chuckle as the exasperated father tried to wrangle his kids. The mother looked on with a smile, bouncing the smallest child in her lap as he chomped contentedly on a jagged piece of chocolate-dipped cornucopia. His face and shirt suggested that the majority of his ice cream had been repurposed as decoration rather than diverted to his stomach. I hope they have a trip to the park planned after this.

Otherwise, I don't know how they plan to get all their excess energy out.

"... Can we get one more scoop to go?" She asked suddenly. Her dad raised an eyebrow.

"Sure. Decided to grab that rainbow sherbet after all?" Olivia shook her head.

"It's not for me. I figured that mom might like some, too. We can stick it in the freezer for when she gets home." Silence fell over the table. She pulled her attention away from the family to see her dad wearing a soft smile.

"I think she'd like that, sweetie."

Her mom did, in fact, appreciate the ice cream. Olivia's own body did not. At least, that's what a night filled with nightmares and very little actual rest seemed to convey. Unfortunately, sleeping in was off the table. Because Olivia had to be up bright and early Saturday morning for band practice. Though she did allow herself to skip that day's exercises in an effort to catch just a bit more rest. She was still rubbing sleep out of her eyes as she absentmindedly assembled her flute.

Tucking it against her shoulder like a rifle, Olivia lugged it and a music stand over to join the rest of her section in a wide arc. At its center stood Mrs. Villanueva's willowy figure and both drum majors, the trio waiting patiently for everyone to assemble. The flutes themselves took up positions along one extreme end of the arc. There were a dozen of them in total, not including herself. From experience, she knew that the ordering of individuals within a section actually revealed a lot about their abilities.

More skilled players tended to occupy spots closer to the end of the arc, while less experienced ones hung closer to the middle. In their case, Alyssa claimed the furthest spot, capping the formation off as section leader. Next to her waited a dark, swanlike senior whose short curls bounced gently in the breeze, a small piccolo clutched in one delicate hand. After them were the rest of the junior and sophomore flutes, each group roughly clustering according to class.

Upperclassmen tended to be more skilled than their younger counterparts, after all. Which was why the freshmen brought up the rear and stood closest to their neighboring clarinets. Olivia chose a spot in the middle of the freshmen for herself. An average place for an average girl. At least, that was the intent. She wasn't trying to draw attention. Though she did find her attention drifting toward the saxophones on occasion.

She didn't expect the curly-haired boy near the middle of their line to notice her, nor did she particularly want him to. But she couldn't help but keep a wary eye on him.

"Can I share with you?" Her attention was drawn back to her own section as one of the other freshman flutes sidled up to her, nodding shyly at her music stand.

"Hmmm? Yeah, of course."

"Thanks." The quiet girl stepped into place, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The effort wasn't particularly effective, given that her eyes were completely hidden beneath her bangs. Perhaps it was force of habit. Olivia played a few idle notes to herself before Mrs. Villanueva clapped three times. The cacophony of scales, song snippets, and conversation quickly fell silent.

"Wonderful. Well, then. Let us begin, shall we?" As one, the band came together and projected a singular wall of sound for warmups. It quickly became clear that they were on a different level compared to playing in the freshman class. Sure, the warbling undertones of out-of-tune notes remained. But they were far lessened, practically drowned out by the more confident and high quality playing of older students. It was wonderfully refreshing.

As they finished their warm ups, the music teacher stepped forward with a thick manilla folder in hand. She raised it high for them to see.

"Today," she announced proudly, "We will begin work on the first movement of this year's show—and introduce its theme."