Daily Field Journal of Annie Johnston Thursday, July 1Position: Walking toward the park with David, en route from Scoops.Cover: None.Observations:10:22 p.m.: Subject Chloe Appleby emerges, laughing, through front door of the Golden Marquee movie theater across the street. Uniform: floral sundress, strappy sandals, date-hair. Subject Jake Graydon steps out behind her. Also laughing . (Note: I miss what happens next because I walk right into a light post, drop my ice cream on my foot, and momentarily black out. When I come to again, David is laughing his ass off, my new sandals are ruined, and Subject Chloe and Subject Jake are gone.)

I’d been working at Jump, Java, and Wail! for exactly fifty-seven minutes. There was already a patch of sweat on my neckline, I’d cut my finger closing the pastry case on it, and gotten screamed at for trying to serve a doughnut I’d dropped on the floor. Apparently no one around here had heard of the five second rule.Fifty-seven minutes and I’d considered quitting thirteen times.“Can’t you just pour me a coffee? How hard is it? The cups are right there.”Make that fourteen.“Want me to come around and do it for you?”No. I want you to shut the fuck up and stuff that yoga mat you’re toting up your ass. Which, I’ll admit, was a fine ass. But still.“I told you, this is my first day,” I said through my teeth. “I can’t handle the coffee.”The woman snorted through her skinny nose. She tapped her hands against the glass case, her huge diamond ring clanging around. “You can’t handle the coffee. Takes a big man to admit that.”I paused with my plastic-gloved hand hovering over the muffins. Was she mocking me? Was this adult person mocking me?I glanced over my shoulder at Chase, who was taking orders, and Leena, who was making the coffees. I was supposed to be getting Leena an apple cinnamon muffin for her customer, but she didn’t look like she was waiting on it.“Fine,” I said to yoga bitch. “Large coffee with milk?”“Skim milk.”Her cell phone rang. I glanced at my coworkers again. No one was paying attention to me. I grabbed the regular coffee from the burner and snagged one of the large cups. I poured it half full with coffee, then bent to the refrigerator, which I’d seen Leena open a dozen times. In it were four silver containers clearly labeled: whole milk, two percent milk, skim milk, and cream. Which had more fat in it, whole milk or cream? I didn’t have time to overthink it. I grabbed the whole milk and dumped it into the coffee. The woman was still gabbing on her phone when I handed it over.“How much?” she said, holding her hand over the receiver.“S’on me,” I told her with a big-ass smile.She looked me up and down, and all of a sudden she was flirting with me. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”Then she winked, picked up the cup, and walked out. Outside the glass door, I saw her take a huge chug of it. Nice.A few guys from school walked in, including Will Halloran. Snagged. I lifted my chin at them. They looked confused. And then, Leena was all up in my face.“Excuse me. Did you just make a coffee, then give it away?” Leena demanded.“I, uh—”Over her shoulder, I saw Will and his pals looking on.“You are on muffin duty. Nothing else, all right?” Leena scolded me. “And I believe I asked you for an apple cinnamon.” Did those guys really just hear this woman tell me I’m on muffin duty? From the cackling, it looked that way.Fifteen times.What should I do? Tell her off? Make a joke? While I was still trying to figure out how to save face, she reached past me, took a muffin, and stormed away.“And you’re gonna pay for that coffee!” she threw over her shoulder.Son of a—Sixteen times.At that moment, Ally’s dad stuck his head out from the office. “How’s it going out here, Jake?”“Fine,” I replied, hoping no one would say otherwise. “Great.”“Good. Keep it up. When I’m done back here, I’ll come train you on the coffee machine.” And then he was gone.I wondered what Ally was doing right then. Sleeping in, probably. Dr. Nathanson’s shore house was sick, with a hot tub on the roof and an infinity pool on the second level looking over the ocean. Maybe she was in the pool. I wondered if she was a bikini person or a one-piece. Probably a one-piece, but let’s make it a sexy one-piece. . . .“Hey, Graydon.”I looked up. Will and his two football buddies were in front of the muffin case. One of them was Andy Lu, a linebacker I knew from trig. Kind of a jackass. He talked back to the teacher like he thought it was hilarious, when, really, it was just embarrassing for both of them and annoying for everyone else. The other was Rory Crane, the quarterback. He was okay, mostly. He lived in one of the bigger houses on the Norm side of town. I’d been there once for a group project; his mom had served us crudités for some reason.“What’s up, guys?” I asked.“I hear you’re on muffin duty,” Rory said with a laugh.I sighed through my nose. Seventeen times.“You guys want something?” I asked.“I wanna know what you’re doing working here,” Andy said, leaning his beefy arms on top of the case. The thing actually sagged in the middle. “Whaddaya, need a weekend car or somethin’?”Lu and Crane laughed. Will rubbed his eyebrow.“Jake! I need a marble loaf and a bran muffin!” Leena shouted.“I’m on it!” I shouted back.“Get on it faster,” she replied.Lu and Crane cracked up again.“Come on, man,” Will said. “Leave him alone. Dude’s working.” He smacked Lu on the chest with the back of his hand, and the three of them moved back to the line.I shot Will a grateful look, grabbed the muffin and the marble loaf, and shoved them in a paper bag. I cursed under my breath, hating my mother for doing this to me. As I dropped the bag on the counter, my phone beeped. Chase’s eyes darted to my hand as I pulled it out of my pocket, but he said nothing. Probably because he was texting every chance he got.I checked the screen, turning back toward the muffin case. It was from Chloe.Had nightmares thx 2 u. Next time I pick the movie.I laughed under my breath. Chloe had claimed to be totally fine with seeing the latest end-of-the-world flick. And it was good. The special effects were awesome. But I guess it was too realistic for her. She kept hiding her face and knocked over my popcorn when that meteor had come outta nowhere and flattened that dog. I texted back.Fine. No subtitles.The office door opened again and I shoved the phone away. Mr. Ryan came over and slapped his hand down on my shoulder.“All right, Graydon, you are about to learn the intricacies of a good cappuccino.”“Uh. Great,” I said.Will and his buddies had made it to the counter, and I was glad I wasn’t going to be running for their muffins. In fact, I was feeling a lot better than I was five minutes ago. Chloe and I had had fun last night. And she wanted to do it again. Maybe this summer wouldn’t suck entirely.

“Make me a vanilla, chocolate, and coffee banana split.”I looked at Mitch Daly, the proprietor of Take a Dip ice cream. Then I looked at the clock. It was 10:30 in the morning. He couldn’t be serious. But he didn’t blink.“Um, okay. I can come behind the counter?” I asked.“You’re gonna hafto if you’re gonna make me a banana split,” Mitch said. Then he kind of inhaled a laugh, his shoulders and massive stomach rising and falling as one.Excellent point. I stepped behind the counter and looked around. There was less space back there than I would have thought—only about three feet of red tile floor between the icecream freezer and the counters along the back. Mitch had already set up for the day, so the icecream scoops were floating in warm water in little silver buckets that hung from the sides of the freezers, and the covers had been removed from the huge tubs of ice cream. I had never made a banana split before, but my dad used to make them for us all the time. How hard could it be?I plucked one of the long, plastic bowls from the dispenser. Mitch crossed his beefy arms and laid them atop his Santa-style stomach. There was a black tattoo on his left forearm depicting a frog keeled over next to a beer bottle, its eyes tiny x’s and its tongue hanging out, trailing flat into a puddle of beer.Which begged the question: Did I really want to work for this guy?“You might want to start with a banana,” he suggested.“Right.”There were two bushels of bananas hanging from a metal holder on the counter. I ripped one off, peeled it, and looked around for a cutting board. Not finding one, I used a paper plate. Behind me, Mitch clucked his tongue, but said nothing. Feeling hot all down my back, I procured a knife from a drawer and cut the banana in half down the center, then cut both halves lengthwise. I placed them in the bowl like a hot-dog bun, just the way my dad always did. As I turned for the ice cream, Mitch stood on his toes to see over my shoulder. His stomach just grazed my back.This was definitely the oddest job interview I’d ever suffered through.I started with the vanilla, making sure to use a different scoop for each ice cream so as not to taint one flavor with the other, which was always one of my pet peeves. Mitch grunted his approval at this move. Once all the ice cream was scooped, I closed the freezer, but the heavy door slipped from my sweating palm and slammed at the last second, almost taking my fingertip off.“Oops. Sorry,” I said.Mitch simply closed his eyes for a moment, as if praying for patience. My throat was completely dry, and it felt like it was somehow coated in the same sickly sweet smell that clung to everything in the place. I turned around and looked at the row of syrups against the back wall. There was chocolate, butterscotch, caramel, marshmallow, strawberry, and a warming vat of hot fudge. Crap. Which one went on a banana split?I looked up, quickly and casually scanning the colorful signs advertising the million different combinations one could order at Take a Dip. There was a two-scoop sundae, a three-scoop waffle cone, a ten-scoop bikini buster. But the classic banana split was nowhere to be found.“Um?” I looked at Mitch quizzically. “Which toppings would you like . . . sir?”“Hot fudge and whipped cream,” he said.“Right.”I doused the ice cream with hot fudge, dripping a few huge globs of the stuff on the counter. Biting my tongue, I hit the fridge, grabbed the first can of whipped cream I saw, and sprayed. It exploded everywhere. Literally everywhere. Pellets of whipped cream dotted my shirt, the glass doors of the fridge, the ceiling fan lazily spinning above our heads, . . . and Mitch Daly’s face.“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry!”Clearly I was not getting this job. I wondered if the CVS by the causeway was hiring. At least I had experience. But there were no tips at CVS, and summer jobs down the shore were all about the tips.Slowly, Mitch extracted a filthy rag from the back pocket of his grungy shorts and wiped his face.“S’okay,” he said, licking his lips. “Happens all the time. You gotta hold it upright.”He reached over and straightened the silver bottle in my hand, so that it was perpendicular to the floor and my elbow was sticking up at an unnatural angle. I said a quick prayer and tried again. The whipped cream came out nice and slow, in perfect ridged beauty. After adding a generous mound to the top of the sundae, I placed the can back in the refrigerator and handed him the bowl.“Cherry?” he said.“Right. Cherry.” There was a topping bar in an open case between the two freezers. I plucked a cherry out by its stem and placed it atop the sundae. Then I stepped back, wiped my hands together, and realized I was nervous. I wanted Mitch Daly’s approval. What was wrong with me?He turned the sundae this way and that, inspecting it from all angles. He even held it up and checked underneath.“Not bad,” he said finally. “Technically, the customer also gets one dry topping.” He tilted his head toward the toppings bar, with its stunning array of choices, everything from sprinkles to crushed nuts to mini M&M’s to chopped Thin Mints. “But it’s okay. I’m watching my calorie intake this summer.”He reached for a plastic spoon, dipped it in, and took a huge, whipped cream–laden bite. His T-shirt rode up, exposing a swirl of black hair around his belly button. I wondered if this man actually knew what a calorie was.“Can you start this afternoon?” he asked, his mouth full. “I already had somebody call in sick.”“Yes! Definitely. And my summer is wide open, so as many shifts as you can give me, I—”He held up his hand, the spoon held between his thumb and forefinger in an oddly delicate manner, to stop me.“We’ll see how you do,” he said gravely. “The ice cream game . . . is not for everyone.” Then he turned and walked down the aisle toward the door, which led, I assumed, to the storeroom. “Pick out a shirt from the case out front. You get one free and if you want extras, you can buy ’em at half price. And be here at two for a four-hour.” He kicked open the door. “And clean up that counter before you go.”The door slammed behind him. I breathed out and looked through the windows at the fluorescent lights twisted into the shapes of dripping icecream cones and chocolate-covered bars and funnel cakes. I was gainfully employed. By a man who ate ice cream for breakfast.I swiped a rag from one of the bars that hung from the back cabinet doors, wet it, and cleaned up my mess. The case to which Mitch had referred was a double-doored bookcase filled with folded Take a Dip Tshirts in a variety of colors, which were available for purchase at the low, low price of fifteen bucks. But lucky me—I got to take one, gratis. Already this job had benefits. I chose a blue short-sleeved with a strawberry cone on the back and the words DIP THIS scrawled above it. On the front, above the left breast, was the Take a Dip logo—a girl in a bikini diving into a vat of chocolate ice cream.I balled the shirt up and turned to go, but paused when I saw Hammond peeking through the locked glass door, his hand above his eyes like he was on a boat at sea scanning the waves for the shoreline. My jaw automatically clenched. He stood up straight when he saw me approach, and took a step back. It was almost like he expected me to be there.“They don’t open for another hour, you know,” I said, stepping out into the heat.“Oh. Weird. I thought they opened at ten,” Hammond said.I let the door close and lock. Hammond’s Explorer was the only ride in the parking lot. The cruising bike I’d borrowed from Gray’s garage leaned against the brick wall next to it.“So, what was up with you and those locals last night?” Hammond asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his plaid shorts. He leaned back against the wood railing of the porch, which wrapped around the side of Take a Dip and was slam-packed with people almost every night of the summer.“Hammond, did you follow me here?”“What? No,” he said.He totally did.“You know how obsessed I am with their Moose Tracks,” he said.“Right. Don’t tell me. Jake, Chloe, and Shannen aren’t coming down, so you need someone to hang out with,” I said. “It’s so nice to be everyone’s fourth or fifth choice.”Hammond laughed. “Like you’ve ever been anyone’s fourth or fifth choice.”I blushed, and wondered if he even realized what he just said. “Well, if you’re planning on being all up in my grill all summer, good luck,” I said, trying to skate past the awkward moment. “Looks like I’m going to be spending most of my time here.”“Oh yeah?” Hammond looked up at the wooden sign above the door, all freshly repainted for the summer. “Then maybe I’ll get a job here too.”“Yeah, right,” I said.“What? What’s so funny?” Hammond asked.“You don’t work,” I replied. And half the reason I wanted to get a job was so that I wouldn’t have to be around you and your little friends.He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll give it a whirl. I do have to start saving some money for college. Since, you know, my entire college fund magically disappeared.”My throat closed over. The smile fell off Hammond’s face. Apparently he’d momentarily forgotten that it was my dad who’d magically disappeared his college fund, and that it had caused all of us more than our fair share of misery over the last couple of years.“Right, so . . . I’ll just go fill out an application.”He tried the door. Which was still locked.“You have to call the guy,” I said, taking out my phone. I dialed Mitch’s office number, which I’d found in the paper that morning. He answered on the third ring.“Take a Dip!”“Hi, Mitch. It’s Ally Ryan.”Dead silence. Except for the slurping of ice cream.“Ally Ryan? You just hired me?” I said, giving Hammond a confused look.“Oh, right. Didja clean up the counter?” he asked.“Yeah. I’m actually outside with someone else who wants to apply,” I said.There was a heaving sigh, followed by a loud squeal. Then I saw the office door open out of the corner of my eye. Mitch stuck his head out.“What’s his deal?” he asked, checking Hammond over from the other side of the shop.“His name’s Hammond,” I said. Hammond lifted a hand in a wave. “He’s . . . a good guy.”Hammond raised his eyebrows at me, pleased. What was I going to do, tell the manager that Ham was a jerk after he’d just reminded me my family was responsible for the fact that he needed a job this summer in the first place? Not likely.“All right. I’m comin’,” Mitch said.“Thanks.”I turned my phone off and tucked it away as Mitch lumbered across the small shop.“You so love me,” Hammond said with a grin.“Yeah.” I scoffed a laugh. “We’ll see if you still think that after your interview,” I said sarcastically.Suddenly he didn’t look quite so cocky. I would’ve given my left pinky finger to see Hammond fumble his way through a banana split, but I had to go. I didn’t want him thinking I cared.I just hoped he’d screw it up worse than I had. Because there was no way I was working side by side with Hammond Ross in three feet of space all summer long.As I jogged down the steps toward Gray’s bike, the man himself turned his Land Rover into the parking lot, its massive tires crunching over gravel. My mom was in the front seat, and I caught a glimpse of Quinn’s blond hair as he turned the car sideways in the lot, taking up almost the entire space. I froze with my hand on the handlebar. My mom’s window eased down.“How’d it go?” she asked, resting her arm on the windowsill.“Fine. I got the job,” I said.“Great! Hop in! We’re going to LBI Pancake House for a late breakfast.”The back of the Land Rover opened automatically, letting out a hiss. Gray got out of the car and walked around as if to help me with my bike. My fingers tightened around the grip. This whole scenario felt way too “one big happy family” for me, and I knew why they were doing it. They were trying to prove to me that just because I stormed out on them last night, it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to have to spend time with them this summer. They weren’t giving up that easily.“I’m not hungry,” I said, looking past Gray’s shoulder at my mom. “I was going to go for a bike ride.”“So you can go after breakfast,” Gray said.He put his hands on the handlebars, right next to mine. When I looked at him, poison darts flew from my eyes. “I said, I’m not hungry.”I wrested the bike from his grip and straddled it, awkwardly maneuvering around him.“Ally,” my mother said. “Come here, please.”I felt hot all over, and my throat was so tight I could barely breathe. But I turned my back on her and started to peddle toward the street. “I’ll see you guys later,” I called, my voice strained.“Ally!” my mom shouted, seriously pissed now.But I didn’t turn back. I tore out of there as fast as I could, and turned down a side street hoping to make as many turns as possible so they wouldn’t be able to follow me. My mother may have decided she wanted to spend all her time with Gray and Quinn Nathanson, but she couldn’t force me to do it too. I’d never wanted a sister. And I already had a father. They were just going to have to be one big happy family without me.