My High school Drama

Chapter 6:Mission: Ice Cream

Me and Dad got straight to work, preparing Mom's favorite dish—white rice and chicken sauce. A very spicy chicken sauce. In my family, we all have a thing for eating spicy food, but no one does it better than Mom. It's scary how she eats so much pepper like it's nothing. We often had spicy food eating contests among ourselves—me, Mom, and Dad, that is. We would prepare the spiciest chicken and race to see who could finish theirs first.

Mom always beat me and Dad like it was nothing. Believe me, I’ve tried to win, but at this point it’s impossible. I still remember the tears rolling down my cheeks as I struggled to finish my share. Oh, the nostalgia.

Well, back to reality. I cut all the ingredients for the sauce, and Dad prepared the chicken. He always handles meat like it’s a baby or something. The meat Dad made was always tender, juicy, soft, and just the right amount of spice. Oh my gosh—I’m already drooling. I can confidently say that no one makes better meat than my dad. Be it chicken, turkey, or beef, his is always the best. The aroma of the food filled the house; anyone would salivate at the heavenly scent.

I had already boiled the rice, and the sauce was coming together just fine. There was just one more thing needed to tame the monster state, and it was none other than the secret weapon: ice cream. Whenever Mom was in a bad mood—or if you wanted to get her to do something for you—you just used ice cream as your bargaining chip. Not just any ice cream, though; it had to be Rizzo's mint-flavored ice cream. That always did the trick.

Don't get me wrong, the ice cream at Rizzo's place is amazing, especially the vanilla, of course, but mint and chocolate flavors aren't just for me. To me, mint ice cream tastes like creamy toothpaste. That just sounds disgusting. But if it was going to save me from being the victim of Mom's monster state stage 2, then by all means, bring it.

The sauce was almost ready. I had set the table and was just about to bring out the ice cream, and our mission would be a success. We always had a batch of mint-flavored ice cream in the freezer for emergencies like this. I opened the freezer to bring out the final piece of the calming monster state—and, of course, something had to go wrong. You guessed it: there was no ice cream.

This was a disaster. Dad looked horrified as the words, “THE SECRET WEAPON IS NOT HERE!” left my mouth.

Dad: What did you just say?

Serena: There’s no mint-flavored ice cream.

Dad: Oh no… how is that possible?

Serena: What are we going to do? We need it for the success of the mission!

Dad: (sighs) I know… I must have forgotten to restock it. I’ve been very busy this week.

Serena: This is a disaster. Mom will be down soon.

Dad: We have about ten minutes before the sauce is done. (dips his hand in his pocket) Take this money and go get some ice cream.

Serena: Okay, Dad. If Mom comes down before I’m back, you need to distract her.

Dad: I’ll do my best. Now hurry, pumpkin!

I dashed out of the house, not caring that I was still in my pajamas. The good thing was that Rizzo's place was only about a ten-minute walk from my house—maybe seven if I ran. I arrived there as quickly as I could. Rizzo's place is actually a restaurant; their food is good, but their ice cream is on another level. Even though they’re always open, like 24/7, I hated going there at night.

I know what you’re thinking—it’s not because of my pajamas. I don’t like coming here at night because the people who run the night shift are always mean and cranky. I mean, they didn’t have to take the job, yet they act like the world owes them an apology. Talk about poor customer service.

And then there’s the vibe. At night, Rizzo’s feels… off. The smiley-face logo plastered everywhere isn’t so friendly anymore—it feels like it’s watching your every move. Dad says I’m paranoid, but I could swear I once saw it blink. Just once, but enough to make my skin crawl.

Oh well… no turning back. Mission ice cream must go on.

I was still panting, sweaty, and out of breath. I moved to the ice cream section, and my eyes caught the last bowl of mint-flavored ice cream. I turned to see a girl who looked about my age approaching it. Hell no—I was not going to stand by and watch some random girl take my ice cream after all my hard work. Mission ice cream must be a success.

I rushed over to the ice cream as fast as I could, bumping into the girl. She lost her balance and fell to the ground, letting out a scream.

“Sorry! It’s an emergency!” I shouted as I grabbed the ice cream and ran to the counter.

The girl got up, muttering, “My ice cream…” I felt a pang of guilt for her, but there was no room for negotiation. Mission ice cream must not fail.

I could feel a lot of people staring at me. It was either because of my little race to grab the ice cream or because of my Dora the Explorer pajamas. Yeah, you heard me—I’m fourteen, and I’m wearing Dora the Explorer pajamas. Really, is that a crime?

Anyway, I stood at the counter, paying for the ice cream, but the receptionist was being so nonchalant. When I told her to hurry up because I was in a rush, she said, “Pipe down, Dora.” How dare she! What’s so wrong with Dora?

People started laughing, and I wanted to slam the ice cream in her face, but that would just be a waste now, wouldn’t it? Besides, she wasn’t worth it. All I needed was to acquire the secret weapon.