Book 3: What Happened to My Favorite Flavor?

One—I Just Can’t Believe It

Okay, so here’s what happened with my favorite ice cream flavor. You won’t believe this…

Lissa—that’s my best friend—said they didn’t have it anymore. When I say “they,” I mean the Hip Hop Ice Cream Shop. It’s right in the center of our town. Lissa and I have been going there forever. We’re probably their best customers!

My favorite flavor is called Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl. It is the best ice cream flavor EVER. (You might think your favorite is the best ever, but you’d be wrong—this is.) So when I heard it was gone, I freaked. I mean, I freaked.

I admit that’s kind of a habit of mine. I get a little emotional once in awhile. Okay…maybe more than just once in awhile. Or maybe, y’know, a lot. Some of the other kids in school even have a nickname for me. It’s “Izzy Jeen the Big-Mouth Queen.” (I can’t wait to find out who started that.) I’m trying to be better, I really am. But then something like this happens. Something like my favorite flavor of ice cream disappearing. And I just get so…so…SO…

AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!

Anyway, here’s what happened next…

****

I turned and started marching straight toward the Hip Hop. I could just about feel the little wisps of smoke coming out of my ears. And there was Lissa, trailing behind me, nervous as ever. Her mom was back there, too, waving to everyone she knew in town.

“Izzy, you really shouldn’t do this,” Lissa said.

“Do what?”

“Whatever you’re going to do.”

“Even I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Liss.”

“No, I definitely think I should.”

She’s always saying things like this. That’s because she always wants to protect me. From what? From myself, I guess. And I also guess that’s a good idea. Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know…

“Fine,” I replied. “Whatever you want to do.”

The walk took about ten minutes. I grumbled the entire way. Lissa kept blabbering, too. But I really wasn’t listening. I didn’t have to. I knew what she was saying. She was trying to talk me out of this. But that wasn’t gonna happen. No way, no how.

I reached Main Street and went past all the other stores—the One-Hour-Fresh-As-A-Flower Laundromat, Farmer Jon’s Vegetable Market, the Get Reel Movie Theater. And my favorite restaurant in the whole world, Mr. Sushi. (If I don’t get sushi at least once a week, bad things happen.) And right after that was the Hip Hop Ice Cream Shop. 

“Izzy, please—please don’t do th—”

“Not now, Liss.”

I pushed the door open so hard that the little bell jingled like crazy. All the customers turned, their eyes wide with surprise. I don’t think they expected to see some eight-year-old standing there.

Then I spotted Mr. Landis, the owner. He was standing behind the counter like always. He was an older man, with white hair and glasses. He was also wearing an apron with the Hip Hop logo on it. He had always been so friendly to me and Lissa. So nice. I couldn’t believe he’d betray me like this!

I stomped my way across the checkerboard floor. My hands were squeezing in and out of little fists.

As soon as Mr. Landis saw me, he put his hands up.

“Now, Izzy, take it easy…I knew I’d be getting a visit from you!”

“How could you?!”

“I’m sorry, Izzy, but I had no choice.”

“No choice?! But you own this place!”

“Yes, I know. But you have to understand—oh, hi, Lissa.”

“Hi, Mr. Landis.”

They waved to each other. Gosh, how nice.

“You have to understand something, Izzy,” he went on.

“And what’s that?”

He started walking toward the back of the shop, and he waved for us to follow. I knew why, too—he didn’t want anyone else to hear us.

There were these two doors in the back. They were swinging doors, just like you’d see in some cowboy movie. They led into the Hip Hop’s kitchen or the stock room or whatever.

Mr. Landis stopped at the swinging doors. Then he said quietly, “No one’s buying the Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl, Izzy.”

“What do you mean?! I’m buying it!”

“And that’s great,” Mr. Landis said. “But no one else is. So I need that space for something else.”

“Space?”

He pointed toward the counter. There were two parts to it, actually. One had the cash register and stuff. That’s where you paid. The other part had those huge windows that were tilted back. They let you see the ice cream in the tubs down below.

“I only have room for twenty-four flavors,” Mr. Landis said. “Plus, there’s only space for twenty-four flavor names on the menu board.”

I looked on the wall behind the counter. Sure enough, there were exactly twenty-four flavors listed. I counted each one.

Mr. Landis held his hands out and made a face. It was one of those What can I tell you? kind of looks.

“If people aren’t buying enough of one flavor,” he said, “then I have to change it.”

“So this is about money,” I said harshly.

“Izzy,” Lissa cut in. “Of course it’s about money. Mr. Landis is trying to run a business.”

“That’s exactly it,” Mr. Landis said. “If I don’t make enough money, I won’t have an ice cream shop. I’m sorry, Izzy…”

I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted to hear him say he was going to change his mind. I wanted to hear him say, You know, Izzy, you’re right. I’m going to put Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl back on that menu right now! And I’m going to give you a big bowl of it for free. Just for putting up with my nonsense. How’s that sound?

But he didn’t say any of those things. All he said, again, was that he was sorry.

I could see he was waiting for a reply. But I didn’t give him one. I just stomped back outside and down the sidewalk.

“If he wants to be sorry, fine,” I told myself. “I’ll make him really sorry.”

Two—I Have So Many Great Ideas

That night, my parents made me go food shopping with them. I love food, but I hate food shopping. And they know that! So I couldn’t understand why they wanted me there. I could have stayed home with my G-ma. G-ma is what I call my grandma, by the way. That’s because she’s the coolest grandma ever.

But I figured it out quickly enough. My parents wanted to “discuss” what happened. (Beware of anytime your parents want to “discuss” stuff with you. That’s always trouble…)

“Getting mad at Mr. Landis wasn’t going to change anything,” my dad told me. We were walking down the aisle with all the breakfast cereals. He was slowly pushing the cart while my mom dropped stuff into it.

“That’s right,” mom said. She never took her eyes off her shopping list. “You really do need to control that temper of yours.”

“But what he did wasn’t fair!” I told them. And I felt I really needed to remind them of this. Parents always seem to forget our side of the story, don’t they? “I loved that flavor! More than any other ice-cream flavor I’ve ever had in my life! More than anything in my life!”

My parents laughed. Then my dad did this thing he thinks is so funny. He pretended like an arrow had been shot into his chest. He grabbed onto the arrow with one hand while the other flew all around. Then he acted like he was about to fall over. (Okay, maybe it’s a little funny.)

“Ouch,” he said. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

“Me neither,” my mom added.

“You guys know what I mean.”

“I hope I do,” Dad said.

“You do. I just…I can’t believe he did that!”

Mom took down a box of oatmeal (so gross) and dropped it into the cart. “Izzy, I’m sure he didn’t want to do it.”

“Yes, he did.”

She shook her head. “No. Let me tell you how it works in business.”

I knew this line was coming sooner or later. My mom works in a business office, so I just knew it.

“It’s all about making money,” I said with a GIANT eye roll. “Yeah, I heard.”

“But it’s true. If Mr. Landis doesn’t make enough money, the shop can’t stay open. Then nobody will have their favorite ice cream.”

“Oh, I see,” I said sourly. “It’s okay if everyone else has their favorite. But if I lose mine, no big deal.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me. (I’ve gotten really good at spotting the signs.)

We got to the end of the aisle and went to the next one. It had all sorts of stuff in cans, like soups and sauces. My parents didn’t say a word the whole time. I think they needed a break.

The aisle after that had all the frozen foods. That meant those big glass doors. We walked by bags of French fries and TV dinners and pizzas. Then there were waffles and raviolis and vegetables. And after that was a big section of—

Oh wow.

O-M-G…

“ICE CREAM!” I said, pointing.

My dad chuckled. “Yes, Izzy, they sell ice cream at the supermarket. Amazing what you’d learn if you came with us once in awhile.”

He was talking to me like I was three years old. He does that sometimes. Usually it drives me crazy. But I was too busy thinking about other things at the moment. 

“So I can just get it here!” I said. “I don’t need to go to Mr. Landis’s dumb shop! I CAN JUST GET IT HERE!!!”

“Izzy…” my dad started. But I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy opening the doors and looking at all the containers. It was amazing how many ice-cream flavors there were. It seemed like hundreds! Maybe thousands!

“Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl,” I mumbled as I went along. Take away MY favorite flavor, huh? We’ll just see about that. “This is so awesome!!! Okay, where are you, Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl…where are you…?”

I didn’t see it behind the first door, so I went to the next. It wasn’t there, either.

Or the next.

Or the next.

I came to the very last one. I opened it.

It…it…

“It isn’t here,” I said, looking back at my parents. “I checked every one. They don’t have it…”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” my dad replied. “It’s probably a custom flavor.”

“A what?”

“Custom,” he repeated.

“That means Mr. Landis makes it himself,” my mom added.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

My dad smiled. “He doesn’t buy his ice cream, Izzy. He makes it himself.”

“You…you can do that?”

“Of course you can.”

At first I had trouble getting my mind around the idea. I thought ice cream was just made, y’know, in a factory in some town or whatever. Ice-Cream-Ville, maybe.

That’s when a great idea came to me—one of the best I’ve ever had!

I looked at my parents.

“Make your own ice cream, huh?”

They looked back at me.

“Oh no,” my dad said. “You’re not thinking—”

“Yes, I am,” I told him. “Get your phones out, guys. We have some research to do!”

And just like that, I was smiling again.

Three—I Can Do This

So I got all the ingredients I needed at the store. We found everything—vanilla ice cream, strawberries, a jar of nice gooey fudge…All excellent, all yummy, and all mine. I wouldn’t have to go to Mr. Landis’s dumb shop ever again. I would, though, just one more time—to show him my Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl. Then I would laugh and laugh and laugh.

“Are you sure you can do this?” my dad asked. We were all standing in the kitchen. The ingredients were laid out on the table.

“Yes, yes!” I said.

“We’re happy to help, Izzy,” my mom added. She had her arms crossed and was looking at me in that way of hers. Like she thinks I’m going to blow the house up or something.

“No, no,” I replied. Then I waved my hand at them. “Shoo, go away! I can do this!”

They looked at each other. (I know that look really well, too.)

“Okay, if you’re sure,” my dad said.

“I’m sure, I’m sure.”

We have these sliding doors on either side of the kitchen. They sort of fold like an accordion when you open them. I pulled them both shut after my parents were gone. I didn’t want them bothering me while I was creating my masterpiece. Artists need privacy, after all.

“And don’t peek!” I yelled. My dad didn’t say anything to that. But I thought I heard my mom grunt something like, Uh-huh.

I went back to the table and rubbed my hands together like a mad scientist.

“Okay, time to get to work!”

I had my parents’ tablet open and propped up in its case. There weren’t any recipes online for exactly what I wanted. But there was one that was close. It was for Homemade Fudge Ripple Ice Cream. I figured all I’d have to do was add some strawberries!

This is gonna be EASY, I thought. Oh yeah…

The first thing I did was take a big shiny bowl out of the cabinet. This thing was huge, like I-could-take-a-bath-in-it huge. Then I loaded some of the ingredients into it. I put in some vanilla ice cream. Then some of the fudge. Then some of the strawberries. (My mom cut those up for me first. She absolutely will not let me handle a knife by myself.) I didn’t know exactly how much of each ingredient I needed to use. Yeah, I know I could’ve just looked at the recipe. But I didn’t need to. I knew how much of everything I wanted.

Lots.

Once it was all in there, I needed to mix it together. My mom has this hand-mixer thing that she said I could use. (Can you believe it?!) It’s got a handle on top, and these two mixer things that down at the front. My mom says they’re called beaters. I guess that’s because they beat up the food so much. When you press the button, the beaters spin around superfast. I can’t understand how they don’t get stuck together, but they don’t. It’s actually pretty neat.

Anyway, I set the beaters right into the middle of all the ingredients. Then I felt this surge of excitement. I was really doing it! I was really going to make my own Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl ice cream! All these other great ideas started popping around in my head. After I made the Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl, I could make all these other flavors! Like all the flavors Mr. Landis had! Then people would be coming to me instead of him! How cool would THAT be?

Okay, Izzy—calm down, a little voice in my head told me. I hate that voice. One thing at a time.

“Fine,” I replied, then took a deep breath. “Here we go…”

I set my thumb on the button of the mixer. My hand was shaking a little. (So exciting…) Then I pressed down. Nothing happened at first. I realized I needed to press  harder. So I did.

Wow, was that a mistake!

Everything flew out of that bowl like a bomb went off. Vanilla ice cream went to the walls. Strawberries stuck to my shirt, my arms, and my face. And great globs of fudge spattered onto my parents’ tablet.

Oh no—my parents’ tablet.

They told me to be careful with it. I promised them I would!

Oh no, oh no, oh no…

I ran to the sink and got the sponge. Then I tried to clean off the tablet’s screen. All that did was smear the fudge around. So I got a paper towel and wiped as much of it off that I could. It looked a little better. Not perfect, but still bett—

“Izzy? You okay in there?”

It was my dad.

Oh no, oh no, oh no…

And I’m sure my mom was standing behind him, listening close. They worked as a team like that.

“I thought I heard a noise,” he said.

“Everything’s fine!” I yelled back. I was hoping I sounded normal, but of course I didn’t.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure!” I replied with a little laugh. “Everything’s great!”

I grabbed the bowl with what was left of the ingredients. My plan was to bring it over to the sink and clean it out. Then I’d start over. No problem—I got this.

“How’s it coming?” my dad went on. He was just behind the accordion door, I could tell. My heart was going a mile a minute.

“Terrific!” I told him as I started toward the sink. “I’m mixing everything together right n—”

Two things happened then, at exactly the same time. First, I slipped on some of the ice cream that flew out of the bowl. I mean I really slipped—like I was completely in the air for a second or two. And I screamed. I mean really screamed—like astronauts probably heard it.

 Well, that was enough for my parents. The accordion door flew open at light speed, and in they came. Then they stopped. The surprised look on their faces would have been funny on any other day. But not this one.

They just stood there, looking around at everything. The ice cream sliding down the microwave. The strawberries running down the refrigerator. The fudge dripping from the ceiling. And then—oh no, oh no, oh no—they looked at me.

“Wanna try some?” I asked. “It’s really good!” Then I smiled, hoping they’d get the joke.

They didn’t.

Four—Taking It to the Streets

So that was the end of my career in the ice cream-making business. My parents shooed me out of the kitchen the same way I did to them ten minutes earlier. They wouldn’t even let me help them clean up!

I was pretty mad at that point, that’s for sure. But I wasn’t giving up—that was also for sure. Izzy Jean Marino never gives up!

I went outside and sat on the front step with my chin in my hands. And all these thoughts started zooming around in my mind—

I can’t buy the ice cream in the store. No one makes it.

I can’t make it myself. All I make is a mess.

So what can I do?

What can I do?

What CAN I do?

This is where I was getting stuck. What choices did I have left? I couldn’t buy my favorite flavor. I couldn’t make my favorite flavor. Only one person in the world had it. That was Mr. Landis. And he said he wouldn’t make it anymore. Was there some way I could get him to change his mind? Yes…well, maybe. There had to be some way to do that.

“But what?” I asked out loud.  

The answer came to me through one of the upstairs windows. I could hear music playing. It was the Beatles, my G-ma’s favorite group. She’s told me all these stories about her life and her friends back in the 1960s. If they got mad about something, there were all these things they’d do. They didn’t have the internet or cellphones. (I can’t even imagine…) So they’d so things like march in the streets. Or they’d all sit down somewhere. Then they wouldn’t move until someone listened to them! She always called this activism. It meant “to take action.” She always said, “We had to do something. Maybe they weren’t the best ideas ever. But doing something was better than doing nothing.”

And that’s when I remembered one other thing she used to do…

****

“Izzy, this might not be the best thing—”

“Hush, Liss,” I told Lissa as we went along the sidewalk. She stopped by to see what I was doing. When I told her, I just knew she’d want to come along. As always, she tried to talk me out of something I’d already decided to do. Once again her mom decided to tag along. She had no idea what I was planning to do, though. She went into the hair salon to talk to somebody.

“You could get in trouble,” Lissa said.

“Maybe Mr. Landis will be the one who gets in trouble,” I told her. Lissa just sighed at that.

I was carrying my new sign over my shoulder. I made it with a long stick I found in the backyard. Then I got two pieces of paper. I stapled them together over one end of the stick. That gave me a little sign with a long handle.

On one sheet of paper, I printed this—

DON’T EAT HERE

DO ME A FAVOR!

And on the other—

‘TIL HE BRINGS BACK

MY FAVORITE FLAVOR!

“This is the kind of thing crazy people do,” Lissa said.

“Then I guess I’m crazy,” I replied. “Crazy for justice.” She sighed again.

We got to the front of the Hip Hop Ice Cream Shop, and I went right to work. I marched back and forth on the sidewalk. I held the sign high in the air so everyone could see it. Then I began chanting—

“DON’T EAT HERE, DO ME A FAVOR! ‘TIL HE BRINGS BACK MY FAVORITE FLAVOR! DON’T EAT HERE, DO ME A FAVOR! ‘TIL HE BRINGS BACK MY FAVORITE FLAVOR!”

People walking by gave me all sorts of looks. Some clearly thought I was nuts. (I’ll bet they were just like Lissa when they were my age, by the way.) Other smiled, thinking it was funny or cute or whatever. One woman said, “You go girl!” I liked that a lot!

Finally, I heard the door to the shop open. Then Mr. Landis stepped out. I was surprised to see that he also had a smile on his face. At least it wasn’t a big smile. That was something, I suppose. He had his white apron tied around his waist like always. And he was holding a small towel, wiping his hands clean.

He tilted his head to one side. “Izzy, come on. What are you doing here?”

I kept marching. “I’m protesting!”

“Seriously? Protesting?”

“You betcha! Just like we used to do in the Sixties!”

He actually laughed at that. “Izzy, you weren’t around in the Sixties!”

“Maybe not,” I told him. “But I’m keeping the spirit of the Sixties alive! I’m gonna stay right here and protest until I get my flavor back!”

“Umm, Izzy, that might not work.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” Lissa said. She was sitting on a bench nearby, looking bored.

“Oh no?” I was starting to lose my breath at that point. Marching back and forth without stopping is hard work! “Have you had any customers since I got here? I sure haven’t seen any!”

“That’s because it’s Monday, Izzy,” Mr. Landis said. “And we’re not open on Mondays in the summer.”

I came to a complete stop.

“You’re not op—wait a minute! Then why are you here?”

“Cleaning up, getting things organized, stuff like that.”

I looked over at Lissa, who was rolling her eyes. I shot her a look that said, Shut up, Liss!

Then I turned back to Mr. Landis. “Okay then, I’ll be here tomorrow, bright and early. The moment you open up, in fact! And I’ll stay here all day!”

“I don’t think so, young lady,” said a new voice. It belonged to someone I hadn’t noticed before. And that was because she’d just gotten there.

I turned and saw a woman who’d been at my school a few times. She had red hair, green eyes, and kind of a pudgy face. She was also wearing a uniform.

A police uniform.

“Oh boy…” I said weakly.

Five—My Mom Controls Herself…and So Do I!

Two hours later, I was sitting on my bed with the door shut. And my eyes were all puffy and red. Why? Because I’d been crying, that’s why.

My dad had to come and get me. The policewoman was real nice about everything. She didn’t, like, arrest me or anything. But she still had to call my parents. So my dad drove over. And he wasn’t too happy about it, let me tell you. He didn’t yell, exactly. He really doesn’t yell. That’s more my mom’s thing. But he was pretty disappointed. And I felt terrible about, y’know, disappointing him.

Same with G-ma when I got home. She’s usually the one who protects me when my parents are mad. But even she was unhappy. I thought she’d be thrilled about the whole marching thing. And the thing with the sign. All the Sixties stuff, right? But she wasn’t. She said protests were for important things. Things that affected everybody, not just one kid who wanted ice cream. I suppose she was right, but it still hurt to hear it.

So I went up to my room and cried. I had no idea what to do now. It looked like I was going to lose my favorite flavor, and that was that. The whole thing was over.

Then the door to my room opened, and my mom stuck her head in.

“Izzy? Do you have a moment?”

I could barely look at her. “Oh great, now it’s your turn to be mad at me. And you’re always…well…”

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “The worst?” she asked. “The meanest? The one who yells?”

“Well…yeah.”

She laughed a little bit, which kind of surprised me.

“I know, I know. I’m the ‘heavy’ in the household.”

“What does that mean?”

She stepped carefully over all the messes on the floor. (My room’s a disaster, I admit it.) Then she said, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“No, of course not.”

She sat down, looked at me, and smiled. “The ‘heavy’ is the person in a story who does all the hard stuff. The stuff no one else wants to do. In a family, that’s the person who gives out the punishments or whatever.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “Okay.”

“That’s me, right?”

I wasn’t even sure what to say here.

“I, um…I guess.”

She laughed again.

“Someone has to be, Izz. Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“And that’s why you’re here?” I asked. “To yell at me?”

“Well, I thought so. At least that’s what I planned to do. When the police called, I was pretty mad. As any parent would be.”

“Yeah, I get that.” I closed my eyes, and another tear rolled down my cheek. Here it comes…

“But now, I’m not so sure.”

My eyes opened again. They flew open. And when I looked up at her, I saw that she was looking back at me. She didn’t look mad or happy or sad or anything like that. She just looked serious, which I didn’t really expect.

“You’re not?” I asked.

“Izzy…when I was in high school, something terrible happened to me. There was this perfume I really liked called ‘Evening Mist.’ And I used to go to Hagler’s Drug Store and buy it all the time. Except one day, they didn’t have it anymore. Mr. Hagler said they stopped making it.”

“That’s a terrible thing?” I asked.

“Hey, when you’re a teenage girl,” my mom said, “that’s a big deal!”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “I suppose I can understand that. So what’d you do?”

“Well, I pouted for a few days. Then I got over it.”

I thought about this for a few minutes. I suppose it made sense. I mean, it didn’t seem as though I really had a choice.

“So that’s what you want me to do, right? Just shut my big mouth and get over it?”

Her smile got bigger. I have to say, I love when I do something that makes my mom’s smile bigger.

“Kind of. I mean, yes—you need to get over it. Things change in life, Izzy. That’s just something you’ll need to get used to. Very few things last forever. The really important things do. Like my love for you, or Daddy’s, or Grandma’s. But the little things, not so much. Like ice cream or perfume. These things come, and these things go. The sooner you understand that, the happier you’ll be.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, it won’t be easy. But I guess that’s the answer, so I’ll have to live with it.”

And I thought that would be the end of the whole thing. I was wrong, though—totally wrong. 

“No, Izzy,” my mom said, and her smile was bigger than ever. “That’s not the answer. You still haven’t found the answer yet. There’s still one more thing to do before you have that. And it’s maybe the best thing of all.”

“Really? What’s that?”

She told me, and, well—wow…

Just wow.

Six—Can There Really Be Too Much of a Good Thing?

We went to the Hip Hop early the next day.

“It’s nice to see you,” Mr. Landis said. He was talking to my mom and dad, not to me. I was standing behind the two of them, kind of hiding.

“Very nice to see you, too,” my mom replied.

“And what can I get for you?” he asked. I have to admit, I missed that friendly voice of his.

“Well, first, we want to apologize,” my dad told him. “For Izzy’s behavior.”

I heard Mr. Landis laugh. “Oh, that’s not necessary. She’s upset, and I understand. I was a kid once.”

“We all were,” my mom said. “But that still doesn’t make what she did okay. So as I said, we want to apologize. But I don’t just mean my husband and myself. Izzy…?”

My mom and dad stepped apart, and there I was. Just me, with Mr. Landis staring down. He had a big smile on that big, round face of his.

“Hi, Mr. Landis.”

“Hello, young lady. How are you doing today?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it? So sunny and—”

“Izzy,” my mom cut in. “Stop stalling.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry for everything I said and did, Mr. Landis. I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did,” Mr. Landis said. “And that’s okay, Izzy.”

I looked to my mom, then to my dad, then back to him. “It is?”

“Sure. As I was saying before, I was a kid once, too. I used to get mad about things all the time. I was terrible.”

“Really? But…you seem like such a nice person now.”

All three of them thought that was so hilarious. I’m not really sure why.

“We’re all pretty rough when we’re young,” Mr. Landis said. “Then we get older, we learn, and we get better.”

“That’s exactly right,” my dad said.

“But we’re getting off the important point,” Mr. Landis went on. “I know how disappointed you are about your favorite flavor. You know why I can’t serve it here anymore. But that doesn’t make it any easier for you.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So I made one last batch just for you.”

I stood there for a long moment, staring at him. I couldn’t believe my ears.

One last batch just for you.

One last batch…

Of Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl…

Just…

for…

me…

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first,” my mom replied. They all thought that was hilarious, too.

My dad gave me his wow-isn’t-that-amazing look. “Izzy, I know what you can say. How about—”

“Thank you, Mr. Landis,” I cut in. “That’s really nice of you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Izzy. I’ve got it in the back, in one of those big containers. You and your parents are welcome to take it home. And if you want some right now, I’ll make a cone for each of—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I looked at my mom and smiled. I was thinking about the talk we had in my room yesterday.

“I’d love to take home what you’ve made. But today, I’d like to try something else instead,” I told Mr. Landis.

“You—something else? Really?”

“Yes, please. Since Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple Swirl won’t be coming back, I’ll need a new favorite flavor.”

I looked to my mom one more time, and she winked at me.

“That’s a very smart way of looking at it, Izzy,” Mr. Landis said.

“Thanks.”

“So what do you think you’d like?”

“Hmm…”

I stepped up to the counter.

“Oh boy,” my dad muttered.

I read over all the flavors listed on the big sign.

“This should be interesting,” my mom commented.

I checked out all the big tubs through the glass.

“I hope I have enough ice cream in the store,” Mr. Landis said under his breath.

“Well, I can’t decide,” I told them. “So there’s only one thing to do.”

All the grownups looked at each other.

“Izzy, don’t tell me…”

“There’s no way…”

“You can’t mean…”

But I was already nodding.

“That’s right—I want to try them all.”

Then I sat myself down at one of the tables.

“So let’s go! Bring ‘em on!”

****

There’s really nothing else left to tell here. Except maybe this—when you decide to pick a favorite flavor, do yourself a favor and just pick ONE. Not five, like I did.

Wow, does my stomach hurt…