The Candy Shop War
Page 9
“Except not always pretend,” Pigeon added. “Sometimes they take things too far.”
“I’ve noticed,” Nate said, touching the scab at the corner of his mouth.
“We’ve tried to fight back a little,” Summer said. “They don’t mind so much down at the creek. But when we try to stand up to them at school, they make life miserable.”
“It works out simpler to let them play their little games at school,” Trevor said. “Doing anything back just encourages them.”
“We’ll see about that,” Nate said, watching the back of that curly blond head.
“I guess I should try bringing three cupcakes,” Pigeon said miserably.
Chapter Three
Moon Rocks
Nate, Summer, and Pigeon met Trevor by the gate at the back of the school. From the rear of the playing field, a path zigzagged down a slope to a road that paralleled Main Street. From the gate at the top of the path, Nate could see most of Colson Valley, including his neighborhood on the side of a low hill across the basin.
“How did your day go?” Trevor asked.
“Not bad,” Summer said.
“I’m soaked,” Pigeon confessed. “I can’t stop sweating.”
“I can’t believe we have nine more months of Miss Doulin,” Nate groaned.
They started down the path. Dry brush and thorny weeds covered the slope behind the school, with a few oak trees adding some shade. A squirrel dashed up a trunk.
“I’m parched,” Trevor said.
“Me too,” Pigeon said. “Where’s a drinking fountain when you need one?”
“Have you guys tried that ice cream place?” Nate asked.
“On the corner of Main and Greenway?” Summer asked.
“Yeah, I think. The one on the way home.”
“It’s new,” Trevor said. “I’m not sure it’s open yet.”
“It looked open this morning,” Nate said. “We should check it out.”
“I’m melting,” Pigeon moaned.
“You could get some ice cream,” Nate suggested.
“I only have like thirty cents,” Pigeon said.
“I don’t have money either,” Nate said. “Maybe we could get a free sample. Or at least a glass of water.”
The path behind the school deposited them onto Greenway. The road was one block over from Main. The street had little traffic and was lined with small houses whose low, chain-link fences protected unkempt yards. A few other groups of kids were also walking home along Greenway. Dogs barked from behind some of the fences.
The side streets along Greenway were minor until Main curved and crossed Greenway. The intersection where Main and Greenway met marked the end of where the town continued trying to imitate the Old West. It was also the location of the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe.
When they reached Main Street, Nate noticed that Greenway had stop signs while Main had none. An old man in an orange vest held up a stop sign and walked them across the street.
Not much farther down Greenway on the right was Nate’s neighborhood. But he and the others went to the left side of the street where the ice cream shop stood on the corner. A bell jangled as they pushed through the glass doors and into the pleasantly air-conditioned store.
The floor was a white and black checkerboard. Immaculate tables and chairs with chrome legs filled much of the expansive room, leaving space to access the long, L-shaped counter that protected two shelved walls crammed with candy. Licorice, jawbreakers, caramels, gingersnaps, cookies, marshmallow treats, peppermint sticks, gumdrops, malt balls, jelly beans, lollypops, chocolate bars, and numberless other sweets burdened the shelves, some sheathed in shiny wrappers, some visible in clear jars. They had entered an extensive and sophisticated library of delicious confections.
Near the door stood a life-sized wooden Indian rendered in skillful detail, down to his pruned face and wrinkled hands. Meticulously painted, he was an ancient chief with a long feathered headdress, trinkets dangling from his neck, a buckskin shirt, moccasins, and a tomahawk in one hand. He looked weary but courageous.
The shop was empty except for an older woman behind the counter dipping an apple in molten caramel. Her hair was pinned up in a gigantic bun the color of cinnamon. She had large green eyes, and though her youth was fading, she had very pleasant features.
“Come in,” she called in a sweet voice, twirling the apple to keep the caramel from dripping before crusting it in crushed nuts. “We’re newly opened. Children are my favorite customers.”
The children crossed the room to where the woman was placing her caramel apple on a sheet of waxed paper. “This place looks expensive,” Nate ventured.
“Candy can carry a hefty price tag,” she agreed. “There are brands of fine European chocolate that cost a hundred dollars for a few ounces. You see, superlative chocolate must be made with the proper care, by the correct process, and from the best cacao beans. No shortcuts. Such supreme attention to quality demands generous recompense. We carry no name brands here. Everything is handmade. But in spite of my rigid insistence on excellence, I try to stock items for every budget. I even keep a jar of penny candy near the register.”
“Candy that costs a penny?” Pigeon exclaimed in hungry disbelief.
“I swap out the penny candy daily,” she continued. “If you don’t like what we have on sale today, you can call again tomorrow.” She motioned at the large jar near the register. Already digging for change in his pocket, Pigeon hurried toward the jar.
“No name brands?” Trevor asked. “No Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? No Jolly Ranchers? No Snickers?”
“I have my own brands,” the woman said. “Some from suppliers, many I concoct myself. If you like peanut butter cups, try my Peanut Butter Blast. If you like Jolly Ranchers, try my Sucker Squares. If you like Snickers, try a Riot bar. You may never go back to the brands you know.”
“These are only a penny?” Pigeon asked. He was holding up a smallish pretzel smothered in white and dark chocolate.
“That’s right.”
Pigeon examined the change in his palm. “I’ll take thirty-two, please.”
The woman cocked her head sympathetically. “I neglected to mention, I sell only one penny candy per customer each day. If not, I doubt I could stay in business. But take me up on the offer every day, if you like. You’ll find I never scrimp on quality, even for the least expensive treats.”
“I’ve noticed,” Nate said, touching the scab at the corner of his mouth.
“We’ve tried to fight back a little,” Summer said. “They don’t mind so much down at the creek. But when we try to stand up to them at school, they make life miserable.”
“It works out simpler to let them play their little games at school,” Trevor said. “Doing anything back just encourages them.”
“We’ll see about that,” Nate said, watching the back of that curly blond head.
“I guess I should try bringing three cupcakes,” Pigeon said miserably.
Chapter Three
Moon Rocks
Nate, Summer, and Pigeon met Trevor by the gate at the back of the school. From the rear of the playing field, a path zigzagged down a slope to a road that paralleled Main Street. From the gate at the top of the path, Nate could see most of Colson Valley, including his neighborhood on the side of a low hill across the basin.
“How did your day go?” Trevor asked.
“Not bad,” Summer said.
“I’m soaked,” Pigeon confessed. “I can’t stop sweating.”
“I can’t believe we have nine more months of Miss Doulin,” Nate groaned.
They started down the path. Dry brush and thorny weeds covered the slope behind the school, with a few oak trees adding some shade. A squirrel dashed up a trunk.
“I’m parched,” Trevor said.
“Me too,” Pigeon said. “Where’s a drinking fountain when you need one?”
“Have you guys tried that ice cream place?” Nate asked.
“On the corner of Main and Greenway?” Summer asked.
“Yeah, I think. The one on the way home.”
“It’s new,” Trevor said. “I’m not sure it’s open yet.”
“It looked open this morning,” Nate said. “We should check it out.”
“I’m melting,” Pigeon moaned.
“You could get some ice cream,” Nate suggested.
“I only have like thirty cents,” Pigeon said.
“I don’t have money either,” Nate said. “Maybe we could get a free sample. Or at least a glass of water.”
The path behind the school deposited them onto Greenway. The road was one block over from Main. The street had little traffic and was lined with small houses whose low, chain-link fences protected unkempt yards. A few other groups of kids were also walking home along Greenway. Dogs barked from behind some of the fences.
The side streets along Greenway were minor until Main curved and crossed Greenway. The intersection where Main and Greenway met marked the end of where the town continued trying to imitate the Old West. It was also the location of the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe.
When they reached Main Street, Nate noticed that Greenway had stop signs while Main had none. An old man in an orange vest held up a stop sign and walked them across the street.
Not much farther down Greenway on the right was Nate’s neighborhood. But he and the others went to the left side of the street where the ice cream shop stood on the corner. A bell jangled as they pushed through the glass doors and into the pleasantly air-conditioned store.
The floor was a white and black checkerboard. Immaculate tables and chairs with chrome legs filled much of the expansive room, leaving space to access the long, L-shaped counter that protected two shelved walls crammed with candy. Licorice, jawbreakers, caramels, gingersnaps, cookies, marshmallow treats, peppermint sticks, gumdrops, malt balls, jelly beans, lollypops, chocolate bars, and numberless other sweets burdened the shelves, some sheathed in shiny wrappers, some visible in clear jars. They had entered an extensive and sophisticated library of delicious confections.
Near the door stood a life-sized wooden Indian rendered in skillful detail, down to his pruned face and wrinkled hands. Meticulously painted, he was an ancient chief with a long feathered headdress, trinkets dangling from his neck, a buckskin shirt, moccasins, and a tomahawk in one hand. He looked weary but courageous.
The shop was empty except for an older woman behind the counter dipping an apple in molten caramel. Her hair was pinned up in a gigantic bun the color of cinnamon. She had large green eyes, and though her youth was fading, she had very pleasant features.
“Come in,” she called in a sweet voice, twirling the apple to keep the caramel from dripping before crusting it in crushed nuts. “We’re newly opened. Children are my favorite customers.”
The children crossed the room to where the woman was placing her caramel apple on a sheet of waxed paper. “This place looks expensive,” Nate ventured.
“Candy can carry a hefty price tag,” she agreed. “There are brands of fine European chocolate that cost a hundred dollars for a few ounces. You see, superlative chocolate must be made with the proper care, by the correct process, and from the best cacao beans. No shortcuts. Such supreme attention to quality demands generous recompense. We carry no name brands here. Everything is handmade. But in spite of my rigid insistence on excellence, I try to stock items for every budget. I even keep a jar of penny candy near the register.”
“Candy that costs a penny?” Pigeon exclaimed in hungry disbelief.
“I swap out the penny candy daily,” she continued. “If you don’t like what we have on sale today, you can call again tomorrow.” She motioned at the large jar near the register. Already digging for change in his pocket, Pigeon hurried toward the jar.
“No name brands?” Trevor asked. “No Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? No Jolly Ranchers? No Snickers?”
“I have my own brands,” the woman said. “Some from suppliers, many I concoct myself. If you like peanut butter cups, try my Peanut Butter Blast. If you like Jolly Ranchers, try my Sucker Squares. If you like Snickers, try a Riot bar. You may never go back to the brands you know.”
“These are only a penny?” Pigeon asked. He was holding up a smallish pretzel smothered in white and dark chocolate.
“That’s right.”
Pigeon examined the change in his palm. “I’ll take thirty-two, please.”
The woman cocked her head sympathetically. “I neglected to mention, I sell only one penny candy per customer each day. If not, I doubt I could stay in business. But take me up on the offer every day, if you like. You’ll find I never scrimp on quality, even for the least expensive treats.”
