Stay Sweet(22)

Amelia tries to channel her best Cate and not look too eager, but she is very, very happy and relieved to hear Grady finally say this. “Thank you.”

“Tell me . . . how many other scoopers are there, besides yourself?”

Amelia feels her smile slip, and it takes a few blinks before she can force it back on her face. She doesn’t think Grady meant it condescendingly. And scoopers are essentially what the girls are. Still. There’s something flip about the term.

“We typically have ten employees each summer,” Amelia answers. She decides to say employees instead of girls, even though they’ve only ever been girls. The Meade Creamery girls.

Grady writes a number 10 down at the top of the page. “Great. And how much do scoopers get paid?”

There he goes again with scooper. Is he doing it on purpose, Amelia wonders? To make her feel insignificant?

She lifts her chin as high as Grady’s. “Fifteen dollars an hour.”

“You’re kidding me. That’s like twice minimum wage.” Grady’s mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “You’re telling me that you girls make fifteen dollars an hour. For a high school summer job making sundaes.”

Amelia feels herself begin to sweat. “I’m not sure if this falls under brand identity, but our customers expect a certain level of service when they come to Meade Creamery. The girls who work here are the nicest in Sand Lake. They are dependable, too. It’s rare for anyone to call out sick. We’ve had several honor students over the years. In fact, my friend Cate is going to Truman this fall on scholarship. Mansi, who’ll be a junior next year, was just named editor of the high school newspaper. Liz does student government and Britnee started varsity on the girls’ basketball team, even as a freshman. Bernadette—”

“These are the same girls who broke in here with you, right? Who stole ice cream?” Grady doesn’t sound put off so much as like he’s trying to find a position from which to negotiate with her.

Amelia stiffens. She knows she needs to counter somehow, take a little power back. “Also, you should know that your great-aunt promoted me to Head Girl at the end of last summer. That’s what we call the manager,” she clarifies, hating that it sounds childish. “Head Girl gets seventeen dollars an hour. And I will personally vouch for every single girl on our staff.”

Grady looks at her suspiciously. “What is Head Girl in charge of, exactly?”

Amelia takes a deep breath. “Well . . . Head Girl processes payroll, tallies shift receipts and prepares bank deposits, evaluates the newbie applications and does the interviewing, hiring, and training. Head Girl also is the stock manager, makes the weekly schedule—”

“Talk to me about the schedule. How many girls on a shift?” He fires off the question like this is an oral pop quiz.

“That depends. On weekdays, three girls can typically handle the first shift. Weeknights, things get busier, so normally we have four girls on. That way, there’s one girl for each of the two windows, one can focus on making waffle cones, and one can float, stocking supplies, emptying the trash cans, cleaning. On weekends, we put four girls on both shifts. Unless it rains. If it rains, we can get away with two.” She taps her chin with her finger. “There are other factors to consider, and those change every week, like when summer school is in session, the Little League schedule, holidays . . .” Amelia takes a breath, surprising even herself by how long she’s gone on, considering she’s never made a single schedule before. These are things she’s picked up over the years, watching and learning from the older girls.

She knows a lot. And she can hardly hide her smile.

“Let’s talk ice cream,” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“What do you want to know?” she replies, ready to spout off prices, rank flavors and toppings for him in terms of sales, the average number of scoops in a three-gallon drum.

Before Grady can ask a follow-up, there’s a knock at the office door. Grady looks up and Amelia turns in her chair.

Grady’s mom pokes her head inside. She’s in a pale blue tunic with little mirrors and beads stitched to the collar, black capri leggings, and gold leather flip-flops, with an armful of gold bangles, and a huge black leather purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but we’re leaving for the airport, sweetie. Come say goodbye.”

Grady takes a deep breath once his mother leaves. To Amelia, he says quickly, “Fine. I’ll pay the girls fifteen dollars an hour. It’s utterly ridiculous, but whatever.” He stands up, checks his reflection in the mirror on the stand door. “But I’m the manager of Meade Creamery moving forward, Amelia. I hope that’s not a deal breaker for you working here this summer, though I’ll understand if it is. I’ll give you a minute to think it over.” He grabs two Sand Lake Ledgers from the top of the stack and hustles out the door.

Amelia whittles down her pinkie nail with her teeth.

It would be a deal breaker for Cate, absolutely. She would walk away from this place with zero regrets.

But can Amelia?

One thing she knows for sure—it’s now or never. Springing into action, she leaps out of her chair and flies around the room. Her purse is small, but she manages to stuff all the condoms and tampons inside. The PMS tea will have to stay, though she takes the tea bags out and buries the box—along with the OXY—underneath some paper towels in the trash can.