Free Rocky Road by Rose Kent

telling your mom. I’m a
huge
Texas fan. You heard me singing ‘The Lone Star Song’! I bet I know more about the Alamo than you. ‘I shall never surrender nor retreat!’”
    “Never whatever,” I said, turning into homeroom and hoping he’d disappear.
    But he followed me in, with his jester’s hat jingling, and he was
loud
. “C’mon, Tess. I’m not leaving until we ‘resolve our conflict,’ like my court-appointed social worker always says.”
    Sleepy kids slouching in their chairs perked up when they heard
court-appointed social worker
.
    Then he leaned over my desk and stuck his hand out to shake. “Apology accepted?”
    His breath still smelled like cheese. But I could also see clear into his golden-brown eyes. There was no meanness.
    I shook his hand. “Apology accepted, and I’m sorry too—about throwing the pear.”
    The homeroom bell rang.
    “Since you’re from Texas, I’ll grant you an unconditional pardon. I better scram. The grim homeroom reaper will thrash me!” Pete shouted as he took off.
    Just before he reached the door, he whirled around. “Hey, Tess, one of these days remind me to show you my Alamo model. I got a B. Remember the Alamo!”
    I’ll remember
you,
all right
, I thought, rolling my eyes as he jingled out the door.

Chapter 8
    Take time to prepare a business plan. Running a retail operation without a business plan is like building a house without a blueprint.—
The Inside Scoop
    W
hat’s going on?
I wondered as I walked into the lobby of the apartment building later that afternoon. “You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog” was blasting from a boom box, and the space was wall to wall with seniors eating ice cream, chatting, and filling out forms. Snow was falling outside again, and the lobby was drafty. Old men and women dressed in coats and scarves and boots filled the room, swaying to the music and eating.
    “Hey, sweetie pie!” Ma blew past me, wearing her cherry-covered apron and carrying a tray full of ice cream in small Styrofoam bowls. “Can’t talk long. Conducting market research.”
    “What’s market research?”
    “Business homework. Neighbors have kindly offered to test-market ice cream and give me their two cents on flavor, texture, and presentation. So far this crowd gives fudge ripple four stars and rum raisin two thumbs down. And in case you haven’t noticed, they’re wild about Elvis, just like me.”
    I walked toward the mailroom, where even more White Hairs were sitting in a circle, talking and stretching back lazily in chairs like it was summertime. Those chairs looked familiar. Ma’s parents’ old patio chairs! And nearby, I noticed she’d arranged the end tables from the bedroom where Jordan and I slept. They were pushed together and covered with bowls of toppings, as well as hot fudge and cans of whipped cream and nuts.
    “Hey there, Tess!” Winnie called, waving a spoon in the air. Two older black men sat across from her, and Catherine was parked beside them with a bowl on her lap. Something squeezed right beside Catherine in her wheelchair was wiggling. I thought it might be Rudy the cat, but it wasn’t.
    It was Jordan.
    “Look, Tess. Peanut butter ice cream!” Jordan signed to me, smiling with a tan mustache.
    “Your brother just polished off his third bowl,” Catherine said, patting his head with her trembling hand and smiling.
    Winnie introduced me to the men, Melvin and Sam, “fellow music bandies,” she said. Melvin had wavy gray hair gelledback in a flip. His eyes twinkled when he told me that Winnie was the real star of their act.
    “How’s the ice cream?” I asked.
    “Never had better,” Melvin said, scraping his spoon against the bowl.
    “And you can’t beat the price,” Sam added.
    Winnie dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I must admit I tossed my diet out the window when Delilah offered me seconds. Peppermint ice cream is my weakness, and this brand just melts in your mouth like a cloud. I predict your