Stay Sweet(23)

“Did either of you see this at the hotel?” comes Grady’s muffled voice through the stand walls. “I bought extra copies in case.”

Amelia goes to the window and moves the curtain just enough to see outside.

Grady, his father, and his mother stand around a black Mercedes with tinted windows, the same one that was parked outside the church. The engine is running.

Grady’s dad is handsome too. He’s tall like his son, fit and clean-shaven. His hair is cut short, the white bits at his temples sparkle in the sun like the gold buttons on his navy blazer. His posture is stiff, his blue-and-white-check button-up crisp, and his black driving moccasins buttery soft.

Grady’s mom reads the newspaper article out loud, pausing at the end of every paragraph to smile proudly. Meanwhile, Grady’s dad pops the trunk, pulls out one of those huge European travel backpacks, and drops it on the grass. Then he takes out his phone and scrolls until Grady’s mom finishes reading.

It makes Amelia’s stomach hurt.

Grady kisses his mom on the cheek, walks over and stiffly shakes his dad’s hand, then steps back as they each open their doors. His father takes one last long look up at the farmhouse before he climbs into the driver’s seat. Grady waves until they pull onto the road and the car disappears.

Amelia hustles back to her seat and opens one of the newspapers, just beating Grady, who returns with his backpack on his shoulder. He sets it down near the door with a thud.

“Your parents aren’t staying here with you?”

“No. They’re going back to Chicago, and then on to New Zealand for some golfing trip for my dad. This is the one vacation he’ll take all year.”

Pointing at his backpack, she says, “And you gave up a Europe trip with your friends to stay here and run the stand.” There’s something admirable about this decision that Amelia glossed over when she first read the article this morning. This place must be important to him, to pass on something like that.

“Yeah. Basically.”

But is it important enough to Amelia for her to give up Head Girl?

Grady crashes into the seat behind the desk and glances down at his legal pad, spinning the pen between his fingers like a mini-baton. He lets out a tired sigh. “I’ll make you a deal, Amelia. If you can promise we’ll be ready to open by tomorrow, you can continue as Head Girl.”

“Really?”

“I’m counting on you to convince the other girls to come back. We’ll need all hands on deck. My newspaper interview is going to make for a huge opening day.”

Amelia doesn’t tell Grady that the lines on opening day always reach the road—even if it rains. And she doesn’t say that it’s going to be almost impossible to get everything done in one morning, when it usually takes the girls two full days to set up. Instead, she promises him from the bottom of her heart, “I will do my very best.”





CHAPTER TWELVE


JUMPZONE IS IN THE SAME shopping plaza as the Walmart, along with a McDonald’s, a Five Below, and the ten-screen movie theater. JumpZone used to be something else, but Amelia can’t remember what. Maybe a Staples? She knows for sure, though, that it’s much hotter out here than where Meade Creamery is. The blacktop amplifies the heat tenfold.

She locks her bike to the rack outside Walmart, then dances her way through customers perusing items set out on the sidewalk—huge backyard grills, boxes of foam pool noodles, bags of potting soil, and plastic lawn chairs stacked higher than her head. Other people’s definition of summer essentials.

JumpZone’s storefront has floor-to-ceiling windows that are painted with images of balloons, a pyramid of presents, and an enormous cartoony birthday cake. The cake has been drawn with arms and legs but no face, and Amelia finds this slightly unsettling. Huge colorful letters spell out JUMPZONE BIRTHDAY PARTIES! BOOK YOURS TODAY! in a font best described as Friendly Graffiti.

The lobby is practically a video arcade, with ten or so coin-operated games blinking and flashing. Farther back, Amelia sees basketball free-throw machines, a Whack-a-Mole station, an air hockey table, and a few of those scammy claw cranes filled with off-brand stuffed animals.

Kids run from machine to machine, banging on the buttons of games they haven’t paid to play. Their parents sit on couches in the corner, tapping on their phones. There’s a whiteboard next to them on an easel, and a boy in a JumpZone T-shirt and soccer shorts erases Milly and 11:00 AM from Happy Birthday Milly—11:00 AM and replaces it with Daniel and 12:00 PM before returning to the front desk, where Amelia now stands.

“Welcome to JumpZone. Which party are you with?”

Amelia shakes her head. “I’m looking for Cate.”

“Faith?” The boy glances at his clipboard and checks the clock on the wall behind him. “Faith’s party started at ten, so her group should be just about ready to head into the Pizza Room.”

“Not Faith. Cate.” Amelia speaks more loudly this time.

The boy pulls something out of his ear, an orange foam plug. “Sorry. Did you say Cate?”

“Yes. Long blond hair. She just started working here.”

“Cate,” he says, drawing out the a sound, and Amelia knows it has clicked because of the bashful look suddenly on his face. “Cool, cool. Here you go.” He pushes a paper and pen toward her. “Sign this, put your shoes in an open cubby, enter there, and hang a left.” The boy then points toward two large doors underneath a sign that says GET YOUR JUMP ON! “She’s working the Moat.”