“I can do it.” The certainty coursed through my blood. Then I hesitated, glancing at Mom. “But, Mom, it’s my fault you lost your job. It’ll be my fault if we have to leave Marina Springs.”
Mom shook her head. “It’s no such thing. Mr. Sneeves has impossible standards. I don’t need that kind of stress in my life, which is why …” She smiled shyly. “I have an interview at the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop this afternoon.”
“What?” I stared at her.
Her voice was laced with pride. “They’re looking for a new ice cream manager and were impressed with my experience.” She smiled. “And they’ve heard about our Fairy-Tale Ambrosia. Apparently it’s trending on Snapchat?” She shrugged. “It has quite the reputation around town now.”
I smiled. I’d have to tell Lanz. He’d be thrilled. A second later, my smile waned, but then I brushed thoughts of Lanz aside. “That’s great, Mom. I’m so proud of you.”
“And I of you.” She hugged me as the lunch bell rang.
“I better go.”
She nodded. “Me too. I have to figure out what to wear to the interview.” She smiled, looking sheepish. “And do you know what else I decided today? I’m going to start checking out some online dating websites.”
“Mom!” I cried, feigning shock when really I was thrilled.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not having a midlife crisis. I just want to get more of a life.”
I hugged her. “Good for you, Mom. I’m more than okay with that.” I pulled on my sneakers and tucked my pointe shoes into my schoolbag. As worn as they were, I’d have to make them last one more day. “So I’ll see you at home after the rehearsal?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll see me at the rehearsal. I haven’t seen you on pointe yet.” She gave me one last hug. “I can’t wait.”
I unlocked the door to our apartment and rushed inside, adrenaline buzzing through me like a thousand happy bumblebees. If Signora Benucci said I could have the role back, would there be a Cinderella costume for me? What about my pointe shoes? And—biggest of all—what about Violet? Who was going to tell her about me dancing the part of Cinderella? Playing through every scenario of how she might react made my stomach liquefy. And through all my worry and excitement, Lanz was there, at the forefront of every thought.
Mom had given me my phone back, so I’d emailed him again today to tell him the latest news. But I hadn’t gotten any emails back. His absence and silence were the only dark spots in my brightening mood. I wished I could talk to him face-to-face. I wished I could tell him exactly how I felt about him. I wished I could see his adorable curls again. I wished … I wished …
A demanding knock on the front door pulled me from my thoughts. I opened the door onto a perspiring, mottled Mr. Sneeves. He didn’t bother with a hello, but instead blurted, “Is your mother here? I need her. Right away.”
I stared at him. The nerve! As if he had any business asking after Mom, when twenty-four hours ago he’d fired her. “Sorry,” I said curtly, “but she’s at an interview right now. At the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop.”
“What?” He huffed. “Well. But. That’s not—”
“You fired her. Remember?”
He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “But, but, I have an enormous ice cream order to fill at Once upon a Scoop!” His eyes turned pleading. “The Sanibel Resort wants fifty gallons of the Fairy-Tale Ambrosia for a wedding this weekend. The wedding is for the daughter of one of their best patrons. Everything has to be perfect. I haven’t hired a new parlor manager yet, and no one else knows how to make the ambrosia!”
“That’s a shame,” I said flippantly. “It’s the most popular item on the menu.”
His face was streaming with sweat now. “I don’t suppose … you don’t know how to make it. Do you?”
I hesitated. I could tell him no, and let Once upon a Scoop bomb. But what about what the parlor meant to Mom? She’d given it so much of her time and energy. She was proud of the parlor and the way she ran it. And Lanz? The Fairy-Tale Ambrosia had been his invention. Maybe this was something I could do for him—a small gift I could give him in thanks. My heart made the decision for me.
“I’ll make the ice cream,” I finally said. “But only on one condition.”
“Which is?” Mr. Sneeves asked impatiently.
“You tell my mom she can have her job back. She might not take it. She’s heard great things about the salary and benefits at the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop.” Mr. Sneeves grimaced. “But … you promise to let her have it back. If she wants it.”
Mr. Sneeves mumbled a string of indecipherables under his breath. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
“Good.” I grabbed my rehearsal bag and phone, knowing that I’d need every second I had between now and six p.m. to churn that much ice cream. I’d have to leave straight from the parlor for rehearsal. As I swung the door shut behind me, I said, “Mr. Sneeves, I hope you like pineapple.”
“Why is that?” he asked suspiciously.
I smiled. “Because you’re going to be chopping a lot of it today.”
Three and a half hours later, I snapped the lid onto the last container of Fairy-Tale Ambrosia and set it in the subzero.
“That should do it.” I turned to Mr. Sneeves, who was leaning against the counter, wiping his brow with his kerchief. As we’d been mixing the batches of ice cream, Once upon a Scoop had been swamped with an after-school rush of customers, and because I was the one who knew the Fairy-Tale Ambrosia
