Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
About the Publisher
I slap my hand down on the scratched-up kitchen table. I can’t believe it. It actually happened. It happened. It.
I – that’s me, Sahara Smith – just received an email from none other than Blue Ribbon Creamery in Riverton, Texas. From their corporate office. CORPORATE! I blink my eyes a few times. And scan my computer once more before telling my mama. She probably won’t believe me. Shoot, I wouldn’t have believed me if I hadn’t just read it myself. I lick my lips and peak at the screen one more time. There it is, clearer than a sunrise over the parking lot at Wal-Mart.
Dear Ms. Smith,
We would like to offer you a position at Blue Ribbon Creamery as an associate product developer.
Product developer. I’ll have to explain to my mama what this means. I jump up. It’s real. This is finally happening! To me. I run through my kitchen and out the front door. My mama is sitting in her rocking chair on the porch. Her house coat is flapping a bit at her ankles. Even though she’s wearing her house coat, she’s put on her sandals for being on the porch. My mama is one for decorum and always says showing your house shoes in public is downright shameful. She’s got her knitting needles whipping up another afghan for one of her friends, I’m sure.
“Mama, mama.” I rub my lips together.
“Yes, Sahara, what is it, sugar? What’s got you in such a fuss?” She places the needles down in her lap.
“Mama, it happened! It finally happened!” I’m almost afraid to say what it is out loud. Like somehow it won’t be true.
“What, sugar? What happened?” My mama’s green eyes are wide now, like she’s worried I might say something horrible like a pipe under the kitchen sink is sprouting out water and flooding our house. She doesn’t realize that my excitement is a good thing. A great thing. The best thing that’s ever happened to me.
“I’ve been offered a job at Blue Ribbon Creamery.” I do a mini-dance, running around the porch, and come back to where my mama is sitting and grab her hands. I want her to dance with me. My mama doesn’t move. She sits still in her chair and picks up her needles and yarn again.
“What do you mean, a job at Blue Ribbon Creamery? You’ve already got a job at Dairy Queen.” My mama cocks her head to the right and gives me a look of indignation. Like I’ve got rattlesnakes crawling out of my hair.
“Mama, I told you I had creation skills.”
“Now, hush your mouth. Don’t you go talking that blasphemy.” My mama clutches her chest like she is waiting for lightning to strike us both down.
I let out a small laugh. “Mama, I mean flavor-creating skills. Remember how many flavors I created for Dairy Queen?” I say under my breath… for no extra pay. “Well, Blue Ribbon wants my skills and is offering me a job as an associate product developer.”
“Say what? How are you going develop products? That sounds too fancy for you and especially for ice cream. That implies a plural and ice cream is only one thing. How can you create products, plural, about ice cream?” My mama shakes her head in dismay, as if I’ve said I can solve a Rubik’s cube blindfolded.
“Mama, I filled out the questionnaire and listed all the products.” I swallow fast. I’m about to drown in saliva in the back of my mouth. “I put down all of the flavors that I’ve already created for Dairy Queen and Blue Ribbon must have been impressed as they are offering me this job.” I throw my hands up in the air. Why isn’t she happy for me? I press my lips together. Does my mama not think I can do this job?
“Sugar, I don’t know about this.” My mama shakes her head and works her needles back and forth.
“Mama, I’m taking this job.” I stand firm. I’m not going to be persuaded. I’ve been scooping ice cream for too long not to jump at the first opportunity to land a real job. One with benefits and the real possibility of a career. I can do this. I’m talented. I know my flavors. Dairy Queen has accepted every single one of the nineteen flavors I’ve created. Why can’t my mama be happy and supportive of me? This is my ticket. This is my way out of this small-town life.
I don’t want to follow in my mama’s footsteps. I want something more for myself. My mama always said she named me Sahara because I was destined for great things. Well, it’s arrived: the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s going to take me out of this town. Mexia is mighty nice and all that but I can’t stay here any longer. I’ve been itching my palms every day counting down the seconds until this moment. The moment I’ve been offered a ticket out. And I want it so bad. Worse than I’ve ever wanted anything. Well, except having my daddy back. But there’s no time to think about him. Not in a happy moment like this. I’ve got to pack my things and figure out where I’m going to stay. There is so much to do. But it doesn’t matter because I’m leaving! I’ve got a real important job. One that requires skills and talent. Finally, someone – well, not someone, a whole company! – thinks that my ideas, my creations, are good and worthy of payment. I’m so excited.
I do a little skip-da-loo around my mama’s front yard, which doesn’t consist of much. We live in a trailer community so it’s all pretty much open space. But my mama has some sunflowers planted in front of our single wide. I skip over to them and grab a handful and hand them to my mama.
“Sahara, get a hold of yourself. We need to talk about this. And you know I don’t like you picking my sunflowers.” She hands them back to me.
“Yes, mama.” I take them inside with me and find a jar. No sense in letting them go to waste since I’ve already picked them. I fill up the jar with water and stick in the sunflowers. They look so pretty. Too bad my mama doesn’t think so. Well, maybe she does think they’re pretty, just not out of the ground. She probably likes them stuck right where she planted them.
My mama’s sandals squeak against the linoleum of our home. “Now, Sahara, I know you’re real excited and that’s something you’ve always had a problem with.” Her hand grazes against my shoulder like she is going to pat my back or maybe even turn me around for a hug, but that couldn’t possibly be what she means to do. She lets go of my body. “You have to be more realistic about this situation. You have no place to stay. You don’t know anyone there. Why would you want to do this?” She sighs.
Why would I want to do this? I’ve only been doing everything I can – other than steal a car – to get out of this town for years. There is nothing here. Nothing other than a few small shops. No real opportunities. We don’t own a farm. We aren’t old money. We are zero money. My mama has worked every single day of her life and, lord knows, I admire her for it, but this is not the life I want for myself. I want my Saturdays and Sundays off. I want a nine-to-five job. A job with a set schedule. With expectations and guarantees. Like health insurance and a retirement. My mama should be retired but she is still scrubbing toilets for a living. And to me that ain’t no way of living. Well,