“Like work,” quipped Genevieve good-naturedly. “Do you want the usual?”
Carly lifted her gaze to study the mounted chalkboard, and Genevieve waited patiently, knowing already that Carly wouldn’t deviate from her peanut-butter fudge shake (no cherry, extra whipped cream).
“Oh, come on, slowpoke, you’re holding up the line.” Samanta Glenn tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and gave her best friend a little shove.
“Fine, okay.” Carly rolled her eyes at Genevieve. “I guess I’ll just have the usual, then.”
“Coming right up.” Genevieve dipped her scoop into the vat of peanut-butter fudge, which was one of the hardest ice creams to work with. Fortunately, after years of practice, her biceps were more than up to the challenge. She plopped two generous scoops into a stainless-steel mixing tin, added milk, and stuck the tin onto the blender.
“Five even.”
Carly dug in her purse and handed Genevieve a debit card. Genevieve swiped the card and swiveled the mounted tablet toward her before moving on to Samanta.
“Two scoops of cinnamon vanilla crunch,” Samanta said, without looking up from her phone.
“Cup or cone?” With Samanta, it was a different order every time.
“Cup.”
“Got it.” Genevieve poured off Carly’s shake, topped it with whipped cream, and slid it down the counter.
“Hey, Genevieve,” said Carly, slipping onto a stool and poking her pink straw through the mound of whipped cream, “did you hear the rumor about Mr. Garcia?” Her eyes sparkled with a secret.
Genevieve frowned. “You mean... how he broke his arm?”
Mr. Garcia, who’d taught Government, Economics, and various other business classes at Pinewood High since the beginning of time, had been mysteriously absent when school started a few weeks ago. No one was exactly distraught at this turn of events, seeing as how his replacement was Miss Love, who they all knew and remembered fondly from her intermittent substituting two years prior. Mr. Garcia, on the other hand, had grown increasingly short-fused and temperamental in his old age.
They’d inquired, more out of politeness than any real concern, and only been told that Mr. Garcia had suffered an injury over the summer and would not be returning anytime soon. Someone had spread the rumor that he’d fallen off a ladder painting the trim on his house and broken his arm. Genevieve couldn’t remember where she’d even heard that. She felt bad for the guy, but couldn’t honestly say she was sad he was gone.
Carly leaned forward, her small hands wrapped around her frosted fountain glass. “That’s just it! There was no injury.”
Samanta smirked as she handed Genevieve a crisp ten-dollar bill. “Probably it was Principal Mattison who spread that lie. Trying to protect his precious school’s image.” She used air quotes on the last word.
Genevieve stuck a spoon in Samanta’s dish and handed it over with the girl’s change. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Of course, you wouldn’t know,” Carly said thoughtfully. “We only found out today at lunch.”
Genevieve shoved her metal scoop in a dish of water and stamped her foot. “If you two don’t tell me what you’re talking about, I’m dumping this jug of strawberry syrup over both your heads.”
“Okay, okay.” Samanta giggled and held up her perfectly manicured hands in a gesture of surrender. “The real reason Garcia is MIA, is because…”—she paused for dramatic effect, and Genevieve lifted the syrup threateningly—“…he was fired for assaulting a student in summer school.”
“What?” Genevieve set the jug down on the counter, shocked. Carly, who was still sucking whipped cream through her straw, nodded.
“It was a huge scandal,” she declared. “The boy’s parents threatened to sue, but eventually they accepted a written apology and Mr. Garcia’s resignation.”
Genevieve considered this. “So he wasn’t actually fired.”
Samanta waved her hand dismissively. “Semantics. You know teachers work on a year-by-year contractual basis. His resignation was forced; the district didn’t renew his contract. Fired.”
“Anyway,” Carly continued with a hint of impatience, “this was in July, in the second semester, and they needed a replacement right away.”
“And Miss Love had been having a hard time getting full-time sub work in Mountain Ridge, so she relocated to Pinewood over the summer for cheaper rent. It all worked out perfectly,” Samanta said happily.
Genevieve, over her initial shock, had to smile too. She picked up a washrag and stepped out from behind the counter to wipe the tables. And then something occurred to her, and she stopped cold. “Wait. If Mr. Garcia isn’t out temporarily after all...”
Both girls were nodding eagerly.
“… then Miss Love is here to stay!”
All of them adored their new teacher, with her vivacious personality, spunky pink hair, and smashing sense of style. Miss Love treated them like equals, peers, unlike Mr. Garcia, who had always been patronizing even on his better days. Genevieve had often wondered why he’d become a teacher in the first place, since he seemed to derive no joy from teaching. It almost seemed as if he didn’t like kids at all. Yet her father, who’d grown up in Pinewood, said he hadn’t always been that way. Despite everything, she felt a tug in her heart for how his long career had ended. I do hope he’s okay, she thought. Maybe I should take him some ice cream.
While the girls continued to talk about school, Genevieve crossed the shop, armed with glass cleaner and a handful of paper towels, and began cleaning the front door. As she sprayed and vigorously polished the glass, she peered across the street at the quaint dark-red brick bookstore that wrapped around 5th Street and Main.
From where she stood, Genevieve could see straight through the book display in the window to the proprietor’s desk, where a soft-framed boy wearing thick glasses sat, his bulky legs leisurely propped up on the wooden desk.
As usual, he was reading.
Genevieve rolled her eyes. How could he stand being so idle all the time? She rapped on the glass door, knowing full well he couldn’t hear her, but at that exact moment he happened to look up anyway, and both of their faces split into wide grins.
Brandon Summers had been Genevieve’s best friend since third grade, when they’d been paired up on a book report project. Genevieve, who loved to talk, had given the oral presentation, and Brandon had drawn the poster.
They were polar opposites. Brandon preferred to burrow in the cave of his basement room, building ships from Minecraft tutorials, coding his own games, or simply burying his nose in a book. He was quiet around most people, but he wasn’t shy.
Genevieve never read books unless forced to for school, and she much preferred being outdoors when she wasn’t in her brightly lit, cheerful ice cream shop. She woke every morning at dawn to run two miles, surrounded by mountains and the rising sun; Genevieve needed fresh air and sunshine the way Brandon needed books and dark, quiet places.
Still, despite their many differences, she and Brandon always found something to do together and they were firmly bonded to each other’s families. Brandon’s parents, who owned the bookstore, were like Genevieve’s own, and she would move mountains for his seven-year-old sister, Charlotte.
Therefore, despite its dark and solemn atmosphere, Hidden Treasures Bookstore was like Genevieve’s second home. Well, she thought as she waved goodbye to Brandon and looked affectionately around at Sweet Dreams—more like her third.
