Tara's Return

"Gee," said Tara, crossing her arms and looking Emily up and down. "How long have you been standing here like this?"

"Um," said Emily. "Since you left."

"With your shorts down?"

"You... you told me I couldn't let go of the implements."

"Wow."

"So..."

"So...?"

"So can I?"

"Can I what?"

"Let go of the implements."

"I guess," said Tara. She watched as Emily gratefully set the syrup hose and the ice scoop down on the table, grabbed her shorts and quickly hoisted them back up around her waist. "Wow. Since I left. That's a trip."

"Eek!"

"What?"

"My shorts!"

"Yes?"

"There's... there's ice in them!"

"Wow. How did that happen?"

"It's cold!" Emily stood in the snowcone stand, before the queue of teenagers, biting her lip and hopping from foot to foot. There was, indeed, ice in her shorts, but she wasn't sure what the most dignified way was to get it out. "Uh, is my shift over yet? I really have to get back to the locker room!"

"You look like you need a new outfit," said Tara, sleepily.

"Yes!"

"That'd be nice."

"So..."

"So...?"

"Do you have one?"

"Oh," said Tara, blinking in surprise. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

"Can I have it?"

"Can you have what?"

"The new outfit?"

"What new outfit?"

"The one you said had."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess."

"So where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"I..." Emily fidgeted, the crushed ice between her legs feeling very, very cold. Her T-shirt was still soaking wet, as well, and she'd managed to squirt herself in the face with the syrup hose eleven or twelve more times. "Forget it. I'll just do the rest of my shift like this."

"Go and stand behind the snowman," said Tara, "and I'll bring you your new outfit. It's a very safe place to get changed."

"Is it?"

"Sure. I do it all the time."