Read Online Big Mouth by Deborah Halverson - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah Halverson
Tags: Fiction
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the zone, then gave myself over to the ice cream. All I could do was my best and make the most of my chance to show that I do have what it takes to eat at the big boys’ table.”
“Well, you certainly proved that today! One last question, Thuff Enuff: You just won the Super Bowl of ice cream eating, what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to Disneyland!”
Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff!
“There you have it, Rick. This is Chuck LaChance reporting for ESPN. Back to you in the studio.”
----
CHAPTER 6
Okay, so maybe-20 °F was a bit cold for a nap. It hadn’t seemed like a stupid idea when I was
out
side the Scoops walk-in freezer. But lying there on the frigid cement floor turning into a Shermie-sicle, I was definitely rethinking my ice cream headache remedy.
By the middle of my shift, the brain freeze from my ice cream victory had blossomed into a full-grown interskullular glacier, and every little thing made it worse. The
click-click
of Arthur’s metal scoop in the water trough. The
tippy-tap
of the customers’ shoes on the brittle linoleum. Even the air itself was a torment—the pore-clogging film of sugary ice cream, the choking dust of crumbled chocolate toppings, the heavy fumes of one hundred percent pure vanilla extract dumped into waffle cone batter. Normally that sweet combination drifted through the store like fine cologne, but tonight I could’ve scratched it off my skin.
Pound, pound, pound.
My head had throbbed in tune to my heartbeats.
Then I remembered that Lucy’s dad got rid of his migraines by lying in a dark room. The only thing close to a dark room at Scoops was the walk-in freezer. Voilà, Shermie in the-20 °F icebox, freezing his gonads off.
What a dink.
I sat up, which made my stomach lurch sickeningly. My eyes were inches away from a tub of Chocolate Fudge Brownie. I nearly reversed my ice cream-a-thon then and there.
Lining the shelf next to the Chocolate Fudge Brownie were more pale brown, rounded tubs, each with a colorful label identifying the equally colorful ice cream inside: emerald Mint Chocolate Chip, orange Pumpkin Pie, pink Bubble Gum, fuchsia Bing Cherry, purple Berry Bonanza, yellow Banana Colada, scarlet Red Raspberry Ripple…. All around me, floor to ceiling, were labels and more labels, tubs and more tubs, shelves and more shelves. Everything was dusted with snow-white ice crystals.
Lining the floor under the Chocolate Fudge Brownie shelf was a row of square brown boxes filled with toppings. The labels were just as colorful as those on the tubs of ice cream, and the contents even more scrumptious: chocolate jimmies, crumbled Butterfingers, rainbow jimmies, brownie chunks, nonpareils, M&M’s, Haribo Gold-Bears—
Hey! We weren’t out of gummy bears. Arthur was such a liar.
I picked up the box of Haribo Gold-Bears and wedged my fingers under one of the top flaps. Grampy was a certified cheapskate with the customers, but he ordered only the best for the store. He was always telling me how product quality was the key to his success. It certainly couldn’t be customer service. Arthur would have driven us out of business long ago.
With an explosive rip, I popped the flap up and hefted out a clear bag of one-inch colored bears. Red, yellow, orange, green, clear…Mardi Gras beads couldn’t have been more festive. I tugged and pulled at the frozen bag, but it didn’t give. I finally just ripped it open with my teeth and helped myself to candy heaven. I swear, on the list of the best candies ever invented, gummy bears had to be in the top ten, if not the top three.
Grampy stored everything in the freezer because he thought food lasted longer that way, but I seriously doubted gummy bears ever spoiled. Not that I would’ve pointed this out to him, though, because sucking frozen gummy bears was the best. They were like bite-sized pieces of super-sweet, extra-tough Jell-O, and they took a long time to thaw in your mouth, which gave me time to
“Well, you certainly proved that today! One last question, Thuff Enuff: You just won the Super Bowl of ice cream eating, what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to Disneyland!”
Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff! Thuff!
“There you have it, Rick. This is Chuck LaChance reporting for ESPN. Back to you in the studio.”
----
CHAPTER 6
Okay, so maybe-20 °F was a bit cold for a nap. It hadn’t seemed like a stupid idea when I was
out
side the Scoops walk-in freezer. But lying there on the frigid cement floor turning into a Shermie-sicle, I was definitely rethinking my ice cream headache remedy.
By the middle of my shift, the brain freeze from my ice cream victory had blossomed into a full-grown interskullular glacier, and every little thing made it worse. The
click-click
of Arthur’s metal scoop in the water trough. The
tippy-tap
of the customers’ shoes on the brittle linoleum. Even the air itself was a torment—the pore-clogging film of sugary ice cream, the choking dust of crumbled chocolate toppings, the heavy fumes of one hundred percent pure vanilla extract dumped into waffle cone batter. Normally that sweet combination drifted through the store like fine cologne, but tonight I could’ve scratched it off my skin.
Pound, pound, pound.
My head had throbbed in tune to my heartbeats.
Then I remembered that Lucy’s dad got rid of his migraines by lying in a dark room. The only thing close to a dark room at Scoops was the walk-in freezer. Voilà, Shermie in the-20 °F icebox, freezing his gonads off.
What a dink.
I sat up, which made my stomach lurch sickeningly. My eyes were inches away from a tub of Chocolate Fudge Brownie. I nearly reversed my ice cream-a-thon then and there.
Lining the shelf next to the Chocolate Fudge Brownie were more pale brown, rounded tubs, each with a colorful label identifying the equally colorful ice cream inside: emerald Mint Chocolate Chip, orange Pumpkin Pie, pink Bubble Gum, fuchsia Bing Cherry, purple Berry Bonanza, yellow Banana Colada, scarlet Red Raspberry Ripple…. All around me, floor to ceiling, were labels and more labels, tubs and more tubs, shelves and more shelves. Everything was dusted with snow-white ice crystals.
Lining the floor under the Chocolate Fudge Brownie shelf was a row of square brown boxes filled with toppings. The labels were just as colorful as those on the tubs of ice cream, and the contents even more scrumptious: chocolate jimmies, crumbled Butterfingers, rainbow jimmies, brownie chunks, nonpareils, M&M’s, Haribo Gold-Bears—
Hey! We weren’t out of gummy bears. Arthur was such a liar.
I picked up the box of Haribo Gold-Bears and wedged my fingers under one of the top flaps. Grampy was a certified cheapskate with the customers, but he ordered only the best for the store. He was always telling me how product quality was the key to his success. It certainly couldn’t be customer service. Arthur would have driven us out of business long ago.
With an explosive rip, I popped the flap up and hefted out a clear bag of one-inch colored bears. Red, yellow, orange, green, clear…Mardi Gras beads couldn’t have been more festive. I tugged and pulled at the frozen bag, but it didn’t give. I finally just ripped it open with my teeth and helped myself to candy heaven. I swear, on the list of the best candies ever invented, gummy bears had to be in the top ten, if not the top three.
Grampy stored everything in the freezer because he thought food lasted longer that way, but I seriously doubted gummy bears ever spoiled. Not that I would’ve pointed this out to him, though, because sucking frozen gummy bears was the best. They were like bite-sized pieces of super-sweet, extra-tough Jell-O, and they took a long time to thaw in your mouth, which gave me time to
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