before they could say what they wanted — a chocolate soda for Claire, and hot-fudge sundaes for Margo and Vanessa.

Meanwhile, I saw a cute boy behind the counter eyeing either Mal or Vanessa, sneaking a look every now and then as he put together my cone. He was about twelve, with dark eyes and curly black hair, and I noticed that Vanessa was eyeing him back. At least I think she was, although Vanessa has been acting so spacey lately, it's hard to know what she's up to. Sometimes her eyes get this hazy, unfocused look, and she's not really watching anything — she's just writing poetry in her head.

Later, when he leaned across the counter to hand Claire her chocolate soda, I saw that his name tag read "Chris."

"Yummy," Claire said, reaching for the soda. Then it happened. One moment she was clutching the soda in two hands and the next moment she was swimming in chocolate.

"Oh, no," she moaned, looking at her shorts and T-shirt.

"Don't worry," Mal said, reaching for a roll of paper towels. "It will come off with a little cold — "

She never got to say "water," because at

that second, Chris reached for the paper towels, and he and Mal bumped heads. It was like a scene out of a Three Stooges movie.

"Gosh, I'm sorry," Chris blurted out, just as Mal started apologizing.

"Wa-a-a-a-ah!" A long wail from Claire got everyone's attention. "I want another soda," she sobbed.

"Don't worry, you'll get one right away," I said, trying to soothe her: Chris went back to filling our order while Mal and I mopped up Claire. Finally, everyone had been served, and after passing out extra napkins, I started on my ice cream.

I had only taken two bites when another disaster happened. Chris was adding extra whipped cream to Mal's strawberry sundae when he looked over his shoulder at us. His timing couldn't have been worse. The whipped-cream machine went crazy! Instead of spurting out whipped cream in neat little puffs, it blasted out clumps of cream the size of tennis balls. And it wouldn't stop.